If Tim Burton wants to have fancy dress parties with Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter then fine, but we don’t need to see them. I love Burton as a filmmaker, but I want to slap him around the face with a shoe and tell him to snap out of his annoying new routine of making fucking awful films. This uninspired, needlessly bleak piece of rubbish serves as the perfect advert for short term memory loss caused by a serious head injury. Ultimately it slots perfectly into Burton’s back catalogue with the other rancid films he’s made post-Corpse Bride.
