Review: Edward Scissorhands (1990)

Director Tim Burton combines elements from his two previous films, "Beetlejuice" (the skewed view of suburban life populated with off-center characters) and "Batman" (the gothic, expressionistic gloom) with liberal doses of "Frankenstein" and "Being There" for a remarkably personal modern fable.

Johnny Depp underplays his way through the title role, a man-made creature who winds up alone in a castle on a hill when his inventor (Vincent Price, in his last big-screen role) dies just as he's about to put the finishing touches on his creation: real hands, as opposed to the enormous gardening sheer-like things Edwards has on his wrists.

One day, an Avon lady (Dianne Wiest) shows up, finds Edward all alone in the hilltop castle and brings him home to live in her brightly colored suburban subdivision with her husband (Alan Arkin) and beautiful daughter (Winona Ryder, who looks kind of odd as a blonde, but I once read that that's her natural hair color...oh, never mind). Once there, he displays talents like making cool topiary animals and trimming the hair of the local housewives, including a ravenously sexual Kathy Baker. Despite his artistic skill and his strong attraction to the daughter, who has a typical asshole boyfriend (Anthony Michael Hall), Edward can't find happiness and, in the end, winds up alone in the castle again.

What makes this movie so oddly affecting is how Burton turns Edward into an on-screen surrogate for himself. After all, Edward has wild black hair and pale skin and dresses (at least initially) all in black, much like Burton himself. Edward also comes from the mold of most of the heroes of Burton's films: bright outsiders who, despite their oddness, try to help the "normals" have better lives. And Edward is a talented artist who creates intricate pieces of art but nonetheless not given his due by the masses and is ultimately driven out by the "angry villagers" of old. (Guess not much has changed in 60-plus years.)

It's too bad that Burton doesn't do more with this basic premise. Instead, a lot of time is wasted on sight gags involving Edward's inability to hold things (silverware, doorknobs, etc.) or his penchant for accidentally cutting up things or people. And then, when the film stops being a comedy and gets serious, it starts to show promise (as in the scene in which Ryder asks Depp to hold her, to which he replies, simply but heartbreakingly, "I can't"), only to be overtaken by a final showdown in the castle with the asshole boyfriend that seems to have been grafted on from a mindless action flick, thus undercutting much of what had come before.

Still, the overwhelming loneliness of Edward himself--even when in a yard full of fawning neighbors--and the moments of simple beauty and joy of the artist-at-work--like Ryder twirling under a fall of ice shavings created as Edward carves enormous sculptures--ably supported by a more whimsical than usual score by Danny Elfman, give this movie a depth that overcomes the gearwork of typical Hollywood filmmaking. Just as many moments in the movie are capable of making me cry as other moments are of making me cringe.

And even if "Edward Scissorhands" isn't entirely successful as a fairy tale or a satire of suburbia, Tim Burton must be given some credit for trying to hit buttons most directors don't even try to reach--and, for the most part, succeeding.