Tim Burton certainly has a way with larger than life
characters. In his animated and
fantastical outings, that’s more than a little obvious, but he has a certain
way with characters in his more grounded productions as well. The excellent Ed Wood comes to mind, which portrays the worst director of all
time as something akin to being endearing rather than insufferable. However, something feels a little off about
how Burton has chosen to portray the lives of Walter and Margaret Keane, if not
in its portrayal of facts, then most certainly in which he chooses to
emphasize.
To those unaware, Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz) rose to
fame in the 1960s during the commercial art movement, selling copied
reproductions of his paintings of young girls with disproportionately large
eyes. Much to the chagrin of the art
community, Walter pushed his paintings to the masses through sheer force of
personality, becoming one of the most recognized and financially successful artists
in the world. However, there’s one
problem with that version of history; it’s not true. His wife Margaret (Amy Adams) is the one who,
for the entirety of his career, was responsible for painting the renowned
works.
The film ostensibly plays the quiet and meek
Margaret as its protagonist, which it very well should in light of Walter’s
villainous manipulation. The film opens
with Walter wining and dining Margaret, but it doesn’t take long to realize
that he’s not as noble and romantic as his eccentricities paint him to be. Eventually, Walter convinces Margaret that
the only way anyone will take her art seriously is if he, a man, takes public
credit for it. What follows is a slow
and twisted descent into a gradually more abusive relationship, one that never
reaches the point of physical blows but does amount to virtual imprisonment as
Margaret is forced to paint picture after picture, never receiving any credit
while her work forces her into isolation from everyone, including her own daughter.
And while the film does portray all this, Burton can’t seem to
stop himself from focusing on Walter’s crazed antics. Though there are certainly scenes wherein
Margaret’s suffering takes the spotlight, every scene where Walter is present
steals said spotlight so that his rambling speeches can take center stage. Perhaps that was partially the intent, as
Walter’s overpowering nature is precisely what prevented Margaret from coming
forward about her art. However, there seems
to be a certain amount of glee in Walter’s portrayal, as if Burton wants us
to marvel at how deliciously strange this man is rather than how much of a
monster he could be. Even the film’s
most disturbing scene, in which Walter assaults Margaret and her daughter with
matches, is played with a degree of whimsy, when it should have been a
terrifying representation of just how serious domestic violence can be.
And yet, despite Burton’s obvious historical crush on
Walter’s zaniness, his heart does appear to be in the right place as far as
recognizing Walter as the abusive con man that he was. As I said before, Margaret is our protagonist, and though the film
occasionally seems to forget so, it eventually steers back on course and delivers
a satisfying tale of overcoming one’s abuser.
This won’t go down as being the prophetic follow-up to Ed Wood, but it’s a decent little
passion project from one of Hollywood’s most commercial directors.
How do you feel about Tim Burton’s work in recent
years? Has he maintained his charm, or
has he become creatively bankrupt? Leave
your thoughts in the comments below.
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