Edward Scissorhands

The recent release of "Dark Shadows" has led to yet more hand wringing over the State of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp.  The A.V. Club: "what's gone missing in recent years...is the spiky wit and purposefulness that used to accompany that unmistakable visual style."  The New Yorker: "a long, expensive joke in search of a purpose."  The Wall Street Journal: "familiar and fatigued."

Depp, who starred in the film--his eighth collaboration with Burton--wasn't spared either.  The New Republic: "Depp is a puppet made of blood, starch, and the actor's vanity."  The Globe and Mail: "He's a persona now, no longer an actor."

The general consensus seems to be that Burton and Depp have hit a creative rut.  Their movies are now largely an excuse for Burton to have fun with the production designers and Depp to have fun with costumes.

But it's worth returning to the duo's first collaboration, "Edward Scissorhands."  Did these two really lose their creative mojo?  Or has the novelty just worn off?

The film tells the story of the titular character, a man created by an inventor who died before being able to give him real hands.  Ed gets taken to a satirically bland version of suburbia.

Once you get past the high concept, not much happens in the film.  Burton gets as much comic mileage as he can out of those hands: Edward landscapes, grooms dogs, and give haircuts.  Meanwhile, Edward struggles to fit in, and there's a perfunctory love story.  You keep waiting for some sort of pointed message, and it never really comes.  The film serves as a mild request for tolerance and a gentle dig at the conformity of the suburbs, old and easy marks to land.

Depp occasionally does some nice acting with his eyes and a shuffling gait.  But mostly he just stands, inert, and lets his costume--basically Robert Smith in leather--do the work for him.

"Edward Scissorhands" is an enjoyable, lightweight fairy tale.  It's largely an excuse for Burton to have fun with the production designers and Depp to have fun with costumes.