The Fantastical Works of Tim Burton (and why I adore them)
With the recent release of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, I’ve been fielding questions about its director, Tim Burton. Burton has been a creative hero of mine since childhood, and I’ve followed his career closely, flaws and all. His work resonates with me on a profound level, even when some projects fall short. Why do I admire him so much? What is it about Burton that affects me? What are my favorite films? The questions seem endless.
As for favorite films, I can’t say I have just one. My answers are far too detailed and nuanced to sum up, and often varies due to mindset and which lens I’m using to reflect on his impressive and stellar work.
“A Tim Burton Film”
I was the typical kid whose babysitter was the television. After school, I’d rush home to watch my favorite shows or pop in a VHS of a movie I’d already seen countless times, much to my family’s dismay. Movies weren’t just entertainment for me—they were a cornerstone of my childhood and upbringing.
Even before I recognized the name Tim Burton, I was instinctively drawn to his artistic sensibilities. Each of his projects impacted me in unique ways. I remember watching Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure and Beetlejuice at a very young age, captivated by their visual and creative qualities. But it was the summer of 1989 that truly changed everything. Barely able to read, I sat in a darkened theater as Danny Elfman’s triumphant score for Batman filled the room and the opening credits danced on the screen. I was enthralled.
The film itself was transformative. It reshaped the cinematic landscape much like Star Wars had, especially in marketing and creating a cultural phenomenon—a blockbuster event on a scale previously unseen. It was also, quite simply, a great movie, requiring no justification for the joy it brought me.
Those repeated VHS viewings may have irritated my family, but they also heightened my awareness of the name “Tim Burton,” prominently displayed in the opening credits. Without realizing it, his influence was taking root. Batman may not have been my first exposure to Burton’s work, but it was the first to truly capture my imagination. Gotham City felt real, tangible, and immersive. Despite its fantastical elements, the meticulous artistry in costume design, sets, and makeup gave it extraordinary depth.
Then, in 1992, Batman Returns premiered—a moment I had eagerly anticipated like no other. The film delivered on every level: intricate sets, stunning costumes, masterful makeup, a brilliant score, and a compelling story. Yet beneath all that, something else lingered—an emerging awareness of Tim Burton himself.
It wasn’t until about a year later that I began to fully understand who Burton was, what a director did, and the significance of his role in shaping the films I loved. Batman had already played a pivotal part in my life, both as an aspiring filmmaker and a budding film enthusiast. It planted the seeds for understanding the complex layers of storytelling, composition, and narrative. Those seeds fully blossomed in 1992 with Batman Returns. But the distinction between Batman and Burton didn’t solidify for me until 1994.
That year, I learned about the production of Batman Forever—and that Burton wouldn’t be returning as director. Around the same time, I saw a TV spot for the biopic Ed Wood, proudly billed as “A Tim Burton Film.” Suddenly, I made the connection: the man behind the Batman films I adored was creating something entirely different. I realized I needed to better understand who Tim Burton was and what made his work so compelling.
An Outsider’s World
A common thread in Tim Burton’s films is their focus on the perspective of outsiders. From Pee-Wee Herman’s peculiar, childlike demeanor to Willy Wonka’s wildly eccentric behavior, Burton’s characters often see the world in ways that set them apart. At their core, however, these stories revolve around the universal desire for acceptance. Perhaps this is why Burton’s films resonate so deeply with audiences—his characters’ struggles for belonging mirror something we all experience.
Take Lydia Deetz in Beetlejuice, for example. She yearns to be part of the afterlife, feeling alienated from the living. Her closest connection is with two ghosts, the Maitlands, who themselves desire a peaceful existence but are repeatedly disrupted by the living. Lydia’s stepmother, Delia, is also an outsider, dismissed by her agent as a hack artist. Even Charles, Lydia’s father, retreats from high-society life, buying the Maitlands’ home to escape a world where he no longer fits.
The titular character in Edward Scissorhands similarly longs for acceptance. Introduced to suburban life, Edward’s stark contrast—gothic leather and scissors for hands—initially makes him a novelty. For a time, he is embraced for his uniqueness, beautifying the world around him, but he is ultimately rejected by the community.
In Planet of the Apes, Leo Davidson is the stranger in a new world, but the real outsider is Ari, an ape whose advocacy for acceptance and equality makes her a pariah. She is later exiled for her beliefs, embodying Burton’s recurring theme of the outsider challenging societal norms.
At times, Burton’s characters embrace their outsider status, creating their own worlds or identities. Bruce Wayne becomes Batman, fully embodying his true self even if it isolates him further. Pee-Wee Herman unapologetically remains himself, enduring others’ judgments while maintaining his childlike wonder—a quality that feels quintessentially Burton. Similarly, Willy Wonka thrives in his self-made world of eccentricity, surrounding himself with the Oompa Loompas for a sense of belonging. Yet, his isolation from humanity becomes apparent, and it takes young Charlie Bucket to help him reconnect with society while preserving his individuality.
Burton has a remarkable ability to normalize these outsider traits. In Ed Wood, for instance, the titular character is a Hollywood misfit who simply wants to make movies—bad ones, perhaps, but films he believes in. Wood’s identity as a transvestite affects some of his relationships, but Burton treats it with striking normalcy. It does not define Wood as a person, nor does it dominate the story. This nuanced portrayal makes Ed Wood not only one of Burton’s most grounded works but arguably his best.
Big Fish takes a deeply personal approach to the theme of outsiders. Will Bloom feels estranged from his father, Edward, dismissing his fantastical stories as lies and struggling to understand why others revere him. Unbeknownst to Will, Edward is an outsider in his own right, a big fish in a small pond longing for something greater. The elaborate tales Edward tells are symbolic of his life, adding layers to his character and imbuing his experiences with meaning. By the film’s end, Will comes to see that Edward’s stories are not just self-aggrandizing—they’re about the two people he loves most: his wife, Sandra, and his son.
Big Fish may be a story about fathers and sons, but its core is one of acceptance and understanding, speaking directly to Burton’s strength as a storyteller. In Burton’s films, the outsiders may stand apart, but their journeys reveal the universal need for connection, acceptance, and belonging. His focus on outsiders serves as a narrative device to build empathy while uncovering deeper truths about humanity.
The Human Condition
The works of Tim Burton, no matter how whimsical or fantastical, are fundamentally about humanity—layered, complex, and often darkly introspective. Batman Returns, even more than its 1989 predecessor, serves as a sociological exploration of human nature and psychosis. On one level, it’s a comic book movie about a man who dresses as a bat. On another, it’s the story of a fractured man masking his true self. The film constantly questions which identity is real: Batman or Bruce Wayne?
Similarly, Selina Kyle and her alter ego Catwoman grapple with fractured identities. Selina’s transformation into Catwoman is both physical and psychological, symbolized by her stitched-together costume—a patchwork of her fractured self. As the film progresses, her costume frays and unravels, mirroring her descent into instability. By the climax, Batman removes his mask, exposing his own humanity in a plea to Selina to see beyond their pain and isolation.
The dynamic between Batman/Bruce and Catwoman/Selina is the emotional core of the film. Their relationship is deeply tragic—two equally broken people who are perfect for one another yet incapable of finding lasting connection. The romanticism here is among Burton’s most mature work, elevating the story beyond the comic book genre into a bittersweet romance of two souls who belong together but cannot be.
The Penguin adds another layer to the film’s exploration of humanity. Born a monster and mistreated because of it, he lacks the luxury of hiding behind masks like Batman and Catwoman. Penguin accepts the role society has forced upon him as a “freak.” Unlike the other characters, he doesn’t struggle to reconcile his identity—he embraces it, even revels in it. Yet his monstrous exterior pales in comparison to the true villain, Max Shreck. Shreck, a sadistic and manipulative capitalist, hides his cruelty behind a polished façade, embodying a far more insidious form of monstrosity. The contrast between Shreck and Penguin highlights a recurring Burton theme: the conflict between nature and nurture and how society shapes the monsters it fears.
This same exploration of humanity and societal rejection is central to Edward Scissorhands. Like Batman Returns, it’s a love story at its core, though framed as a modern retelling of Frankenstein. Edward, initially viewed as strange and unusual, wins over the pastel suburban community by sharing his unique gifts—creating elaborate topiaries and inventive haircuts. For a time, his uniqueness is celebrated, but as society grows tired of him and begins to exploit him, he becomes a target—even becoming a victim of sexual assault.
Edward’s downfall isn’t due to his actions but the community’s inability to truly accept him for who he is. Ultimately, the antagonist of Edward Scissorhands isn’t a single character—it’s society itself, with its rigid norms and fickle embrace of difference.
Burton’s films are often seen as stories of outsiders, but this oversimplifies their depth. His characters’ outsider status is not the focus but rather a consequence of deeper societal issues. Burton’s true interest lies in examining why these characters are marginalized and how they navigate their struggles.
This theme is perhaps most powerfully realized in Sweeney Todd. Sweeney, once Benjamin Barker, is driven to madness by the injustices of a corrupt society. Wronged by a sexual predator judge, he reinvents himself to seek revenge, adopting a new identity much like Batman. Yet his single-minded pursuit of vengeance blinds him to his own humanity, making him a pawn in Mrs. Lovett’s manipulations. Mrs. Lovett, in turn, exploits Sweeney’s pain to fulfill her own desires, dreaming of a life as Mrs. Todd. Both characters, deeply flawed and broken, descend into monstrosity as they perpetuate the very cycles of harm that shaped them.
Sweeney Todd is a masterclass in Burton’s storytelling, blending haunting visuals, compelling performances, and emotional depth. Its themes of romanticism, revenge, and the human cost of societal corruption recall the emotional maturity of Batman Returns. It’s a testament to Burton’s ability to craft rich, layered narratives, and remains one of his last truly remarkable films.
Ultimately, Burton’s works are not just about outsiders—they are about what it means to be human. Through his exploration of identity, acceptance, and the roles imposed by society, Burton uses his fantastical worlds to reflect our own, challenging us to confront our own humanity in the process.
Feminism and Empowerment
Tim Burton’s films often feature strong, multifaceted female characters who face societal challenges head-on, refusing to conform to traditional gender roles. While not all of these characters are overt feminist icons, they are consistently depicted as equal to their male counterparts, bringing depth and agency to their narratives.
In Beetlejuice, Delia Deetz defies conventional expectations within her marriage to Charles. Although antagonistic toward Lydia and the Maitlands, she struggles with her own battles against societal gender norms, particularly in her attempts to impress male superiors like her agent. Delia’s ambition and creative drive place her on equal footing with her husband, emphasizing her independence and complexity.
Kim Boggs in Edward Scissorhands is far from a helpless damsel in distress. She holds her own against her abusive boyfriend, Jim, and challenges the dismissive attitudes of her father. Despite societal expectations viewing her as “just a girl,” Kim’s actions reflect her strength and moral compass, especially when she sacrifices her own desires to protect Edward, subverting the trope of a passive love interest.
Selina Kyle in Batman Returns is one of Burton’s most compelling feminist creations. Her transformation into Catwoman arises from the injustices inflicted upon her by a male-dominated world. She’s undervalued as a secretary, dismissed by a boyfriend via voicemail, and literally thrown out of a window for asserting herself. Catwoman rejects the traditional “love interest” role, instead crafting her own identity through resilience and defiance. Her unraveling costume visually mirrors her psychological struggle, while her rejection of Batman’s offer to escape into a fairy-tale ending speaks to her refusal to conform to patriarchal fantasies. Catwoman’s iconic line—“I am Catwoman, here me roar”—is but a promise fulfilled and cements Batman Returns as a feminist exploration of identity and autonomy long before films like Barbie made similar cultural waves.
In Planet of the Apes, Ari defies male oppressors in her fight for equality, embodying strength and conviction. While her mission extends beyond gender to advocate for justice for all, the fact that Burton cast a female character in this pivotal role underscores his commitment to portraying women as agents of change.
Sandra and Jenny in Big Fish stand out as women who challenge traditional roles. Sandra, Edward’s wife, is a source of unwavering love and support, while Jenny’s character adds layers to the story by confronting societal perceptions of women as witches or temptresses, depending on the observer’s biases.
Mrs. Lovett in Sweeney Todd is another example of Burton’s nuanced approach to female characters. While she pines for Sweeney’s love, she is far from passive. She manipulates Sweeney just as he manipulates her, showcasing her agency and moral ambiguity in a male-dominated narrative.
Burton’s post-Alice in Wonderland era marks a noticeable shift, with female protagonists taking center stage. Alice herself represents a maturing woman challenging societal expectations. She resists being forced into marriage and business roles dictated by men and embarks on a journey of self-discovery in a world where she must do the impossible. The Red Queen and White Queen serve as symbolic guides, reflecting different aspects of Alice’s internal struggle.
Miss Peregrine from Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children epitomizes strength and leadership, serving as a protector for those who cannot defend themselves. Similarly, Dark Shadows highlights a range of female characters, both heroic and villainous, who drive the story while Johnny Depp’s Barnabas Collins plays a more reactive role.
Big Eyes stands as Burton’s most explicitly feminist film, departing from his usual fantastical style to tell the real-life story of Margaret Keane. Margaret defies societal expectations by leaving an abusive husband, navigating a male-dominated workforce, and eventually reclaiming her identity after her second husband exploits her talent for his own gain. Even smaller roles, like Millie Frazier in Dumbo, emphasize female empowerment. Millie’s scientific curiosity and intellect challenge gender stereotypes, even in a narrative focused on her father’s struggles.
More recently, the Netflix series Wednesday centers on the iconic Wednesday Addams. While the series doesn’t place womanhood at the forefront thematically, it celebrates strong female characters and relegates male roles to supporting capacities. Similarly, in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, the three leads—Lydia, Delia, and newcomer Astrid—navigate themes of motherhood, daughterhood, and personal growth, underscoring Burton’s continued exploration of women’s relationships and resilience.
Across his body of work, Burton consistently portrays women as complex, autonomous, and integral to their stories. Whether through subversion of gender norms, nuanced depictions of societal challenges, or outright feminist themes, his female characters remain as compelling and essential as their male counterparts.
Adaptations vs. Originality
Tim Burton may not always be considered the most groundbreaking filmmaker, but his ability to reshape and redefine existing properties is a hallmark of his career. His films demonstrate moments of brilliance that have left a lasting impact on the industry, blending creativity with respect for the source material. 1989’s Batman exemplifies this influence. Not only was it a massive cultural phenomenon and a box-office juggernaut, but it also set the standard for modern blockbuster filmmaking. Burton’s attention to detail and his dark, stylized vision elevated the superhero genre, laying the groundwork for today’s Marvel Cinematic Universe and Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy. Nolan’s brilliance is undeniable, but without Burton’s Batman paving the way, it’s unlikely The Dark Knight would have even been made.
Similarly, Alice in Wonderland played a pivotal role in shaping Disney’s live-action remake strategy. While the film itself received mixed reviews, its success—grossing over $1 billion worldwide—was unprecedented at the time. Burton’s take on Alice was more than a simple remake. Instead, it expanded upon the original animated classic and Lewis Carroll’s novels, functioning as a pseudo-sequel that told a new story about Alice’s return to Wonderland. This approach distinguished it from later Disney remakes like The Lion King or Aladdin, which largely stuck to retelling the same narratives.
Dumbo further underscores Burton’s originality within the realm of adaptations. Unlike Disney’s other remakes, Dumbo was not a rehash of the original animated film. It eliminated talking animals, introduced new characters, and created a unique story that stood apart from its predecessor. These choices gave Dumbo a distinctive identity, something Burton consistently brings to his adaptations.
Even Burton’s most traditional attempt at a remake, Planet of the Apes, was a reimagining rather than a direct retelling. While the film’s ending caused confusion due to an insufficient setup, it was drawn from Pierre Boulle’s original novel rather than being an invention of Burton or any contemporary screenwriter. It’s interesting that Kevin Smith would gain some notoriety when he accused Burton of stealing the ending from one his own creations—when Smith himself stole it from the Boulle novel. The film blended elements of the 1968 classic with the novel, creating something that paid homage to its predecessors while carving its own path. Despite its flaws, Planet of the Apes showcased Burton’s commitment to reinterpreting material rather than simply copying it.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory remains one of Burton’s most commercially successful films, though it faced mixed reception due to its inevitable comparison to the beloved 1971 adaptation. However, Burton’s approach stayed true to Roald Dahl’s original novel, placing greater emphasis on its themes and moral lessons. Johnny Depp’s eccentric portrayal of Willy Wonka and the film’s heightened visual style divided audiences, but the adaptation itself was deeply faithful and inventive. It reframed the story’s characters, particularly Charlie and Wonka, in a way that aligned more closely with Dahl’s vision, which the author famously felt the 1971 version failed to capture.
Burton’s skill lies in his ability to balance faithfulness to source material with his own distinct artistic vision. In an industry increasingly reliant on reboots and remakes, Burton stands out as an artist who breathes new life into pre-existing works. His adaptations, whether critically lauded or divisive, consistently reflect his originality and respect for the stories he reimagines.
Defining “Burtonesque”
Tim Burton’s career exemplifies an extraordinary range and diversity that sets him apart from most filmmakers. In the first decade of his career, he explored a variety of genres, including comedy, drama, action-adventure, sci-fi satire, and horror. As he progressed into the next decade, his repertoire expanded to include family films, musicals, and animation—often blending these genres in ways that were both innovative and commercially successful. Burton consistently defied norms, earning critical acclaim while maintaining widespread audience appeal. Even as doubts arose about his long-term viability after his initial success with Batman, he silenced skeptics with several later films surpassing their box-office achievements.
The most recent phase of Burton’s career, however, has been more uneven. Films like Dark Shadowsand Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children lacked the distinctive spark that defined his earlier work, drawing some valid criticisms. Nevertheless, some of his less commercially successful ventures, such as Mars Attacks!, have grown in stature over time. Misunderstood upon its release, Mars Attacks!is a brilliant homage to 1950s and 60s sci-fi films and 1970s disaster movies. Its deliberately campy tone, bloated ensemble cast, and exaggerated visuals are part of its charm and a testament to Burton’s love for the genres it parodies.
Similarly, Sleepy Hollow stands as one of Burton’s most compelling tributes, this time to the Hammer horror films that influenced him. From its rich cinematography and stylized blood to its evocative visuals and casting, the film is a love letter to a bygone era of horror cinema. While Sleepy Hollow may be the more polished and widely appreciated film, Mars Attacks! was crafted with the same care and affection for its source inspirations, showcasing Burton’s ability to celebrate and reinterpret cinematic traditions.
Burton’s style—often termed “Burtonesque”—is frequently misunderstood. While many associate him solely with gothic aesthetics, this label oversimplifies the breadth of his work. Yes, there are gothic elements in his films, but many also embrace vibrant colors, whimsical designs, and an eccentric playfulness that defies strict categorization.
In truth, Burton resists definition. His signature style is unmistakable, yet it transcends easy labels. His ability to blend haunting imagery with heartfelt emotion, tragedy with humor, and surrealism with grounded human themes makes his work timeless. Burton’s films are mirrors, reflecting humanity’s desire to be understood while celebrating individuality and uniqueness. They capture beauty and darkness in equal measure, offering stories that resonate on both a personal and universal level.
While not every film has been a critical or commercial triumph, Burton’s unwavering commitment to storytelling and visual artistry remains his hallmark. From his earliest works to his most recent projects, Burton’s unique vision and his exploration of the human condition ensure his legacy as one of cinema’s most distinctive and influential creators.