I will admit it: upon learning that Tim Burton and Johnny Depp had gotten their hands on
Alice in Wonderland, my heart broke a little. The atrocities they committed to
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory had been that severe. Burton's goals as an artist have always seemed skewed to me; his first goal seems to be to make a movie uncomfortably creepy. Only after this is achieved does he then strive to make the film
good. Similarly, since he hit his stride with "Capt. Jack," Depp has failed to create truly creative performances, and merely resorts to recycling the tired traits that worked in previous roles. This being my rather sturdy mindset, I was decidedly wary going into
Alice in Wonderland. Luckily, my fears that this would be another rape of literature committed by talented con artists went unfulfilled. Unfortunately, my hope that this would be a vivid and intelligent interpretation of Lewis Carroll's classic work was similarly disappointed.
First, let me say that I did actually enjoy the film, and that it had it's merits. I want to start with those, so that my compliments do not end up as afterthoughts to a tirade of criticisms.
All in all, this new envisioning of Wonderland was exciting and tangible. Like Avatar's Pandora, Wonderland seems absolutely accessible and real, as if this was a real place we have the privilege of viewing, but the misfortune not to visit in our lifetimes. From the sweeping grounds in the prologue, to the woods of Wonderland, to the battlefields and castles in the climactic scenes, Burton brings us a Wonderland which is appropriately dreamlike, definitively English, and absolutely believable.
The set design, though mostly animated, fulfilled every dreaming aspiration for Wonderland. Every facet of architecture and every stretch of wildlife carries with it a distinctive English flair. Wonderland’s terrain has the brilliance and delicacy of English gardens (Hampton Court comes to mind) as depicted in the original text. (You may remember that Alice’s original objective in the book was to get into the Queen’s garden.) Scenes with the Cheshire Cat and the Mad Tea party are comfortably familiar from the 1951 animation, yet highly original, with that same tangibility. Watching the film, one feels as if this footage was the source material for the cartoon versions of Wonderland. However, while each individual set carries these qualities and helps define the mood of the film at the moment, there is little cohesiveness tying Wonderland together. Even the cartoon carried with it a sense that all these locations were easily connected, but Burton’s landscape takes us from one beautiful locale to another, with no telling what lies between or how Alice got there.
The costuming of the film enjoyed the same success, but did not suffer the lack of cohesion. From Alice’s blue dress to the Hatter’s top hat, the costumes were familiar, yet original, English and yet Wonderlandish. Though stark in contrast, it seems natural that our first spat of real colored costumes is in Wonderland, while England is in drab shades of white. Also noteworthy is that, once in Wonderland, every clan Alice comes across tries to dress her. She loses her frock and goes about in her undergarments, then the Hatter creates a doll sized dress for her when she is small, the Queen of Hearts dresses her in red when she is tall again, and the White Queen has had armor crafted just for her. In this way, Wonderland is trying to create Alice as they envision her. The only problem being that Alice does not, in her moments of epiphany and triumph, ever clothe herself. The allegory would have been better fulfilled if, upon remembering her first trip to Wonderland, she dons a new outfit that is entirely Alice in nature. Yes, of course she must wear the armor into battle, but without something of her own, she is merely the pawn of the White Queen. In this way, Alice chooses her allegiance, she does not become her own woman.
Enjoying far less success than either costumes or sets, and with far less to contribute to the film, is the score. Far from memorable, the music failed in any aspect to add substance to any scene. No themes were used to indicate character growth, none to define the nature of wonderland, and none to encourage our sense of bewilderment. I can think of any number of directions the score might have been taken. It could have been reminiscent of the jazzy yet theatrical music from the Disney cartoon, it could have been a conglomeration of English styles, it could have been highly abstract, building on character themes and the idea of memory. None of this was done, however, and the score was simply something in the background making noise. To make matters worse, the credits rolled to some Avril tune. If there is a better way to undermine the film we’ve just seen, I don’t know it.
The majority of the cast was as believable as the world, both in appearance and performance. Mia Wasikowska is expertly cast as our adult Alice, bringing a both sense of bewilderment, and yet the bravery and wisdom we expect of the character. Other notable characters include Helena Bonham Carter's satisfying portrayal of the villainous Queen of Hearts, the March Hare (who's insanity is just comedic enough not to tread on drug usage) and Bayard the Bloodhound. It is from Bayard that I think we get the majority of the heart in the film, played by the versatile Timothy Spall. Tweedledum and Tweedledee were a successful gimmick, and the Dormouse a cute character, but unfortunatly all three seemed to stray quite far from their origins in the book. Other characters--the talking flowers, the Dodo for example--were passed over almost entirely. Knowing how Burton treated Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, this came as no surprise.
In fact, the only surprise in Wonderland was that there were no surprises. At no point did I ask myself "I wonder where this is going next." From the purely exhibition prologue, through the adventures in Underland, to the painfully predictable conclusion, the thrill could only be found in the visual splendor of the piece, not in an suspense of what was to come. In fact, after the Caterpillar unrolls the Oraculem, predicting the events to come, we are given no reason to believe that the victory foretold will not come true. Tim Burton's history had led me to be expecting wild turns and deep character development (and bless his soul for sparing us the cruelty he bequeathed to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), but there were no questions in this film. Without questions, there is no suspense. Without suspense, no story.
Meanwhile, as beautiful as Wonderland is, and as exciting as all it's inhabitants are, our journey with Alice is ripe with inconsistencies and inaccuracies. Not just the artistic liberty taken with the source material (which I think was generally appropriate), but within the story itself. Case in point, the Caterpillar informs our heroine that she is "Hardly" the Alice. And yet, we have seen her doing nothing but Alice-like things, pondering flight, refusing to wear stockings and a corset, suggesting painting roses, and diving down a rabbit hole on a whim. Later, when the Mad Hatter claims she has lost her "muchness," Alice sets out to prove him wrong. But this is the same Alice we've seen throughout the entire film, so why can't she remember Wonderland?
Along with this incongruence of Alice's character (a flaw of writing and direction, not of performance), Wonderland itself fails to develop. Our first four minutes in Wonderland tosses in all our favorite characters, as if to say "There. Familiar faces. Now let's get on with it," instead of introducing them organically with the story. We have in one fell swoop talking flowers, the tweedle bros., the Dodo, White Rabbit, Dormouse and Caterpillar...who are all quickly rounded up and removed without developing themselves or contributing to Alice's character development. I might add that we have a star studded cast...most of whom have less than ten lines. Michael Sheen's White Rabbit, Alan Rickman's Catterpillar, and Christopher Lee's Jabberwocky (a small mistake; the creature's rightful name in the book is the Jaberwock, without a 'y') all deserve more screen time than they are granted, leaving the grunt of the story to fall on Alice and the Mad Hatter.
Ah, at last we come to Mr. Depp. Contrary to my fears based on Depp's performances as Willy Wonka and Sweeny Todd, the Mad Hatter was not abused or over-performed. In fact, he was downright dull. Unfounded in the original text, Depp's Mad Hatter has a blind devotion to justice, a fear of being mad, and an unparalleled love for Alice. Depp fails to show reason or growth in these emotions, however; the Hatter is the same in the end of the film as he was when we met him: boring. He is Edward Scissorhands meets Captain Jack, and these two combined are surprisingly dull, with little to no place in Wonderland.
What all this points to, in my mind, is that although he was ahead of his time twenty years ago, Tim Burton has failed to evolve as a director. Alice in Wonderland is beautiful, but in today's arena is far from original. Painfully linear, tired and predictable, and weird without justification, Burton's direction did nothing to elevate the script or bring substance to Wonderland. Yes, the film is a gorgeous, fun, dreamlike soiree through what feels like an authentic world. But as an interpretation and re-imagining of one of the most iconic literary pieces for children and adults, Alice in Wonderland is merely adequate.
