Neurotrash

My Big Fish Story...

I truly believe that our wealth and our worth is determined not by the amount of cash we accumulate, not by the stuff we collect (though, lord knows I have a lot of stuff), but by the lives we touch.
If that's the case, Big Fish's Edward Bloom is one of the richest men to walk the earth. We first meet him as he tells the story of catching the uncatchable, legendary fish called The Beast on they day his son was born. Edward is a storyteller, with a yarn for every occasion. He's a romantic and a dreamer, and he's led a life that can only be called legendary...that is, if you believe a word he says.
His son, Will, doesn't understand his dad. Will hasn't spoken to his father for three years, is about to become a father himself, and finds out that his dad is dying. He's tired of the fish stories and tall tales. He just wants the truth. He wants to know who his father really is.
So goes the plot of Tim Burton's latest movie, an imaginative, fun, joyous celebration of life. Bloom's stories paint a larger than life picture of a man who has led an impossible existance. He's befriended giants, worked in a circus, seen a mermaid, been a war hero...you name it, he's done it...and he's got a story to tell you about it.
Will's struggle with the facts of Edward's life is really the crux of the picture. At what point does reality become fantasy? And what's more important...the facts or the story itself? It really matters to Edward that Will believe his stories. The stories need to live on...if not for Will, for his son and future generations of Blooms. The stories are his legacy...his gift to the future. In a sense, they are his immortality.
To go off on a bit of a personal tangent, I really didn't get to know my father well enough. I didn't hear a lot of his stories, except second and thirdhand. He wasn't one to exaggerate, but I understand the need to look for some history of the ones we love. When my father was dying, we talked more about concepts and abstracts than anything else. Same with my mom. About two months before she died, we had a wonderful talk about happiness that still haunts me to this day.
I tend to be the family romantic. I'm the one with the crazy stories...though strangely, the really crazy ones I can't tell because I don't have the context for the weirdness of reality itself. I've led a charmed life, and done things that I know sound like total bullshit to the casual listener. Fact is, if they don't believe me...fuck 'em.
I was touched by this movie. In fact, I bawled like a little girl. I was sad, yes...but deliriously happy, too. It's a tribute to the power of life and love and joy, and it made me damn glad to be alive.
I haven't read Daniel Wallace's novel (though now I'd like to) or John August's script that he posted online. I'm not sure what kind of picture either of them would paint of Edward Bloom's world, but I just can't think of a better person to bring it to life than Burton. His imagination and sense of wonder have long made me a fan. This is his most accomplished, mature picture and one of the best movies I've seen ever, let alone this year. Considering I've been able to say that about a handful of movies in the last 12 months...let's just say I'm a happy boy.