Big Fish did nothing for me. It tries to combine magical realism with meditations on life & death, but comes off as a low rent Forrest Gump that never finds it narrative pacing & fails to truly unite the disparate stories of the real present and the mythical past. Though filled with great actors and directed by the (formerly) great Tim Burton, I kept thinking, “Jessica Lange may be the only actual Southern person in this cast. The hell? Why would you cast Danny DeVito & Steve Buscemi as Southerners. And why does the son look nothing like his parents. And can the dreamy Ewan McGregor stop doing the dreamy schtick. We get it. You have a dazzling smile & you’re filled with wonder. No wonder that guy kind of hated you & beat you up.” Burton went wild and had a whole town filled with wide eyed blondes that weren’t from the Village of the Damned. The wardrobe gave some healthy nods to Edward Scissorhands. Helena Bonham Carter, check and check. A movie that talks a lot about deep feeling but evokes none. Felt like it was going through the paces. Maybe I’m dead inside or maybe this film was directed by Vulcans who only read about human emotion though I suspect that I would find a movie directed by Vulcans delightful since I love PBS. A ton of unearned quirkiness with no bite or real sense of authentic danger, which is a necessary component to a life of adventure.