Tim Burton makes a funny, unusually kind film about artistic failure, with Johnny Depp’s optimism and Martin Landau’s vulnerability giving it substance. It runs long, and its affection sometimes leaves too little for Depp to play.
Tim Burton’s Ed Wood is a funny, generous film about a filmmaker who lacks the talent to justify his confidence. It succeeds because Burton takes that confidence seriously, while allowing us to see how badly Wood’s work turns out. Making films matters to these people, even when the results are dreadful, and Burton gives their pleasure in the work proper attention. We recommend it warmly, though his fondness for Wood makes the film longer than it needs to be.
Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski build the screenplay around persistence and friendship, giving this biopic something to follow besides a career. They find comedy in Wood’s certainty that another film is worth making, even when there is little evidence that he will make it well. The writing understands the attraction of a collaborator who has enough enthusiasm to get other people involved. Burton lets the pleasure of working together count for something, and the jokes mostly respect the people doing the work.
Johnny Depp plays Wood’s optimism at a pitch that is funny before it becomes tiring. His eager delivery makes failure seem like a brief interruption, and he catches the usefulness of someone who can keep believing on everybody else’s behalf. But the performance has a limited range, partly because Burton and the writers protect the character from too much doubt. A little more uncertainty would give Depp something else to play without requiring Wood to abandon his ambitions.
Martin Landau supplies some of that uncertainty as Bela Lugosi. The force of his performance gives the friendship some friction, so Depp has something to respond to beyond his character’s own enthusiasm. We were moved by the vulnerability Landau lets through Lugosi’s bluster, because it makes his need for company feel painfully immediate. Depp’s eagerness becomes more touching beside him, and their scenes together give us a reason to care beyond the next bad film.
Stefan Czapsky’s black-and-white cinematography keeps the faces expressive and distinct within the period atmosphere; the affection would mean less if everyone became another decorative eccentric. Tom Duffield’s production design supports the connection to old exploitation pictures, making the filmmaking surroundings part of the pleasure without overwhelming the actors. Howard Shore’s score allows some sadness into the comedy without insisting that we stop laughing. That restraint is useful in a film whose central character rarely seems capable of it.
Chris Lebenzon’s editing gives the comedy room to register, but at 127 minutes the film is longer than its variations on Wood’s determination can comfortably support. The slower passages do not always reveal anything new about him or the people who keep him company. This is where Burton’s kindness becomes a limitation: he has found a quality he loves in Wood and keeps presenting it for our approval. A tighter cut could have preserved the warmth without asking us to enjoy the same enthusiasm quite so often.
The usual film about an artist rewards years of effort by proving that everyone who doubted the hero was wrong. Ed Wood has the more awkward job of keeping us interested when the doubters have a point, and it mostly succeeds. Watch it with someone who has helped you make a mess of something you cared about.
