A wondrous tale

Rating: 10/10 (7 October 2015)

Tim Burton's Big Fish is the fantastically inclined director at his most mature, while never losing the whimsy and otherworldly elements that have made his films so beloved. While the film is literally about larger than life stories that are perceived by characters in the narrative as wildly embellished tall tales, the tone is one of utmost sincerity and unblinking frankness, leaving out the winks, nudges and sly jabs that usually come with Burton's aesthetic. It's straight up drama, coming from a place of true humanity, that just happens to take place in a story where we get to see these tales of fantasy and unbelievable occurrences. It's this merging of the serious with a dose of utter magical flair that makes it so special, and a beacon of memorable, down to earth style in Burton's otherwise spooky lineup of stories. Billy Crudup, an extremely underestimated actor, plays rational, logical Will Bloom, who is visiting his ailing father Edward (Albert Finney) in the countryside. He grew up hearing wild stories from his father about daring, impossible exploits that he went through in his youth, stories that couldn't fathomably be true. Or could they? Will resents his father for his blatant eccentricities and Crudup expertly displays the subtle rift this has formed between the two of them, creating wounds that only open again with this visit. He brings along his wife (a dazzling Marion Cotillard). As Edward continues to regale them with stories that Will has heard a thousand times (and Cotillard for the first time, humouring him with her warmhearted patience), the film transports us back in time and brings these stories to wild, colour filled life, with a youthful and vibrant Ewan Mcgregor playing the young version of Edward. We learn of his encounter with a mysterious witch, an eerie town in the forest inhabited by a future bank robber (Steve Buscemi), a giant, his time in the war and subsequent escape, and in the film's most touching vignette, a stint working for a local circus, run by a flamboyant ringleader (Danny Devito, the crass little teddy bear) with a scary secret. There he meets his gorgeous future wife, played by Alison Lohman, a positive vision of beauty. Jessica Lange plays her in the present time, infusing quiet warmth and aching love with simple gestures. These tales from the past all have a brilliantly bright, storybook wonder to them, reigned in towards introspect by the characters in the present who they are being told to, and ruminated on by. Whether they are true or not (although there is a concrete answer, surprisingly) doesn't really figure in our enjoyment of the film, or its validity as a moving piece of work, but they instead serve as an illustration of Edward's enormous imagination, only equaled by the size of his heart, and love for his wife and son. The ending sequence is one you'll be fighting back tears during, and is one of the most genuine, earnest moments in a career that for Burton tends to dwell in the realms of detached, emotionally gray territory, but here he orchestrates the most moving, heartfelt work I've ever seen him do. From beginning to end, this tall tale makes your imagination leap with the notion of fantasy and larger than life endeavours, but always beckons you back to relatable, human roots with the back and forth synergy of an orchestral symphony. A classic.