Movies
‘Big Fish’ proves to be a pretty good catch
BY MICHAEL S. GOLDBERGER
Film Critic

‘Big Fish," a delightful fairy tale for contemporary tastes from director Tim Burton, got me thinking about him. I forget his name ... just that he was roly-poly, with dark curly hair, and from Brooklyn. But in my junior and senior years of college, I had the good fortune to have him among my dorm mates. You see, he was the biggest, well, to put it politely, prevaricator in the world. He could really tell ’em ... especially on warm spring nights when we’d eagerly gather on the fire escape, prompting a command performance.

Granted, no matter how his tall tales started out, they all inevitably ended with him winning the heart of some dean’s daughter. But the telling was consistently great ... the variations on a theme astounding. And not a one of us ever dared call him on the veracity of his yarns.

I like to think that part of it had to do with not wanting to embarrass him. Maybe. But the fact of the matter is, he was just too entertaining to shush. Mind you, this was before cable and the Internet. Why kill the golden goose? He was a riot. Little did we know we were witnessing the profound talents of a dying breed.

So it is with Ed Bloom, a.k.a. Big Fish, title character and storyteller extraordinaire, portrayed to perfection by Albert Finney. Difference is, when we meet him, the Big Fish is literally dying. And it is upon the occasion of his impending death that son William, nicely exacted by Billy Crudup, tries to gain some final understanding of his enigmatic dad.

Thing is, while practically everyone who knows Ed Bloom loves him for his outlandish fables, the younger Bloom doesn’t get it. Can’t they see he’s only concerned with his own self-aggrandizement, that his life has just been one big lie?

Of course William is hardly objective. He would have preferred a more conventional and attentive father, or so he thinks.

Thus it is to this purpose that Will, while attending what is in all likelihood his dad’s deathbed, reconstructs and explores the legendary narratives that he has heard ad nauseam since childhood. For us, the happy byproduct is an uncanny look into the multifarious nooks and crannies that comprised Ed Bloom’s life.

Done in scattershot flashback, the highly diverting and philosophical recounting is Felliniesque with a touch of Dali and some inspiration from Rod Serling. Among the dramatis personae that populate the senior Bloom’s adventures, there is no less than one giant, named Karl (Matthew McGrory), a lovably larcenous circus owner, played by Danny DeVito, and a witch (Helena Bonham Carter). Going all the way back to adolescence, lending a bit of literary temper to the doings, it’s a run-in with the witch that pretty much sets the path of Bloom’s life.

Come to think of it, add a little Greek mythology to the mix. By spying into the hag’s "bad" eye, Ed and his pals get to see how they will die. Later, the famous raconteur would relate that, when faced with danger, but knowing that this wasn’t how he was going to go, said knowledge inspired bravery. In other words, our hero’s life was blessed by a writ of safe-conduct. We wonder what changes we’d make if our well-being were thus assured. Other such interesting thoughts and conjectures abound.

Most wondrous is the film’s treatise on romance, Ed Bloom style. And ideal as the jewel of his wanderlust is Jessica Lange’s Sandra Bloom. The adventurer’s fidelity may be open for speculation, largely fueled by Will’s suspicions and disapproval. But we’ve no doubt that, along with being his greatest defender, Mrs. Bloom is also entirely devoted to her perplexing spouse. Their courtship is to the film what sprinkles are to an ice cream cone.

On a more sober note, Mr. Burton’s movie, based on Daniel Wallace’s novel and adapted for the screen by John August, does indeed, through its parables and metaphors, address its stated goal. And that is to investigate the disenchanted relationship that exists between father and son. This bit of family psychology reaffirms the bittersweet wisdom expressed in the late Harry Chapin’s "Cat’s in the Cradle." As a matter of background, note that the younger Bloom is a reporter for UPI. The elder Bloom, at one juncture of father and son’s last hurrah, justifying his wont to tell tales, points this out: "I tell ’em; you write ’em. It’s the same thing." Will rails at the comparison.

Funny. In so many instances it’s not until a parent is gone that we willingly acknowledge being just like them, even taking pride in having assumed their perceived shortcomings. And while supplying no real explanations for this phenomenon, "Big Fish" offers the comfort that comes with knowing that others have tread the path of our anxieties.

Then there is the more esoteric angle to "Big Fish." For instance, why has Ed Bloom been granted grace from all sources save for his own son? Don’t tell me it’s that Oedipal thing? Yecch. In any case, literature majors in search of a thesis could do worse than to consider why common man Ed Bloom is a heroic, if shady, figure at the center of a delicious fantasy, when, across town, Willy Loman ("Death of a Salesman") commands center stage of modern drama’s most famous tragedy?

Don’t look at me. I’m only putting it out there for those so inclined. I just like to look at the pretty pictures, of which there are plenty here ... and quite colorful at that. But here’s the rub. While all of Mr. Burton’s elements are nicely in place, from the script to the quirky characters, to the wackily emotive performances, it’s ironic that the telling of the fantastical biography lacks authority. Its transitions are lackluster. Better stitching might have made for a great film instead of just a good one. Still, with that said, most moviegoers who reel in "Big Fish" will be glad that this one didn’t get away.