Netflixs finally delivered "The Corpse Bride" yesterday. Due to my lack of transportation, I took the day off to arrange my insurance claim, wait for news about the car, etc. etc. As you can imagine, I abandoned all of my plans for the day and watched my movie instead.
I should have just gone out and bought it. Did I actually think Tim Burton would disappoint me? How is it that a strange man and his puppets move me more than some of the "great" actors and directors? Is it wrong that I fell asleep during "Mystic River" but was moved to tears by a stop-motion animation? Don't answer that until you've seen it.
It was such a relief and pleasure to see a truly original story. I can't remember the last time I saw something (well, something NOT directed/produced/written by Mr. Burton!) that wasn't just a twist on the same old formula. I'm starting to feel worn out by all the remakes and sequels we've been forced to wade through this year.
I found myself feeling sincere compassion and sympathy (and crying compassionate, sincere tears!) for a puppet. No, a corpse bride puppet. Now that's some good storytelling.
It's worth a rent just to hear Danny Elfman's haunting soundtrack. Gorgeous.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Aleisha. This is a horrible day, and thank you for making me smile. You win.:)
Post a Comment