Alice in Wonderland and Dark Shadows have made the Burton / Disney marriage a bit rocky. While both films had their moments of fantastical fun, the overall products were Disneyfied with silliness (Fudderwhacking?!) unnecessary twists (the flash of open eyes in the ocean?!) and a pre-production sequel to Alice in Wonderland. However, Frankenweenie might have – at least momentarily – righted the ship like a good counselor.
Based on an original Burton idea, Frankenweenie tells the story of Victor, a young boy enamored with science, and the love he has for his recently-deceased dog, Sparky. Guilt plays a role in this resurrection in that Victor’s smash of a baseball during a little league game compelled Sparky to chase it into the street and under the wheels of a car. At the same time, Victor’s loneliness and isolation encourage him to bring back his best friend. Characteristically, Tim Burton is at his best when conveying the lament of an outlier.
And, Victor – and Sparky due to his death and resurrection – is just that.
The narrative arc here is simple, but Burton adds to this cinematic wonder by telling much of the story in silence. The dialog is sparse, but the musical sottos and crescendos make a film about Frankenstein’s monster and elegiac as it can be. There’s an earnest empathy with Victor’s loss of his dog during the silent visuals; his facial expressions reveal the horror in witnessing his dog’s demise.
Amidst the intelligent camp and meticulous animation, Burton echoes themes from Shelley’s Frankenstein, particularly when he pits the best and worst of mankind’s intentions head to head. Victor and his passion represent the best of science and industry. His genius is not for commerce or fame but to reunite with his best friend. At the same time, Edgar, an Igor-resembling classmate – and a handful of bullies — wants to resurrect his fish not for a reunion but to win the school’s science fair. While unimportant in the life of an adult, it represents popularity and rank in public school.
The power that Victor harnesses is ultimately bastardized by other students that don’t perform the work with feeling and emotion, only with a foresight to popularity and success. Their experiments go awry, offering Burton the opportunity to satirize our world’s inception of – and infatuation with obtaining — nuclear weapons. In a nod to the dangers present in Godzilla, one boy’s turtle is transformed into a giant, rampaging reptile that gets so far out of control that it no longer recognizes its owner. Another little girl’s cat is mixed with a bat and becomes a symbol of something sacrificed to obtain something better but ends up a horrible mutation.
In the end, the most resonating line comes from the Mr. Rzykruski, a Vincent Price-looking high school teacher voiced by Martin Landau, who states, “Your country does not make enough scientists.” In truth, America is comprised mostly of consumers; we find potential scientists from other countries and educate them so that we can sell the science. And, yes, we too develop science, but it is often for sale to the highest bidder.
The culture that we’ve created takes the emotion and love out of projects. It makes monsters out of potentially exciting ideas. Our drive, intelligence, and ability head to head with competition, greed, and superiority represents the best and worst of mankind.
