Editorials
A Grave Proposal: Revisiting Tim Burton’s ‘Corpse Bride’ at 20
From Guillermo Del Toro winning an Oscar for 2022’s Pinocchio to Wes Anderson applying his unique style to Fantastic Mr. Fox, there have been plenty of visionary live-action filmmakers who have successfully transitioned to the world of animation. The opposite isn’t quite as common, however, as the skillset developed by working with puppets and drawings doesn’t always translate to knowing how to deal with physical sets and human actors.
That’s not to say that the transition is impossible, however, and one of the most memorable stories of an animator making it big in Hollywood happens to be that of Tim Burton. This ex-Disney artist ended up using his cartooning experience to construct some of the most visually stunning projects in film history, to the point that many of his fans aren’t even aware that he first got his start in animation.
Of course, Burton never gave up on his love of the medium, and after briefly returning to the two-dimensional director’s chair with 2000’s The World of Stainboy Flash cartoon, he decided that it was time to try his luck with something a little bigger in the form of the stop-motion musical Corpse Bride. With this undead fable currently celebrating its 20th anniversary this year, I think this is the perfect moment to look back on the history of Burton’s first animated feature and why it’s still such a beloved entry in his filmography.
Corpse Bride may have been officially announced back in 2002, but the film had been in the works since 1996, when Pixar’s legendary Head of Story Joe Ranft introduced Burton to a Jewish legend dating back to the 1600s. In the original tale (which was much darker), a groom-to-be is pressured by his friends into placing his wedding ring onto a finger that they find sticking out from a shallow grave, with the woman’s re-animated corpse later causing trouble at the man’s real wedding.
Fascinated by this macabre bit of folklore, Burton would fine-tune his own version of the story over the years, turning it into more of a universal fairy tale and adding a Victorian twist. However, despite often being mistakenly credited with directing Henry Selick’s The Nightmare Before Christmas (a film that Burton merely produced due to his commitment to Batman Returns), the filmmaker was initially hesitant to take over directing duties on a feature-length stop-motion project due to the extensive time commitment required of the medium. That’s why Burton decided to partner with co-director Mike Johnson, an animator who is probably best known for directing the music video for Primus’ cover of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”
The duo came up with a system where Burton would lay the groundwork for the film’s story and visual design while leaving day-to-day animation duties and communication with the crew to Johnson. This allowed Corpse Bride to be produced simultaneously with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, as Johnson’s input meant that Burton wasn’t constantly needed on set.
Shot between 2003 and 2005, the film had a remarkably quick turnaround for a stop-motion endeavor. This was thanks to new techniques developed specifically so that the crew could speed up production without sacrificing quality. For starters, character expressions were achieved through an intricate system of clockwork mechanisms hidden behind the puppets’ faces rather than the more traditional method of using interchangeable heads and mouths. The art department also produced about fourteen copies of the main puppets so that animators could simultaneously work on several different scenes at the same time – a process that they could only afford thanks to Burton’s rock-star status in Hollywood.
Corpse Bride was eventually released in September of 2005, with the finished film following the young Victor Van Dort (Johnny Depp) in the 1800s as he’s pressured into marrying Victoria Everglot (Emily Watson). When the couple’s marriage rehearsal goes sour, Victor flees to the local woods in order to practice his vows and ends up placing his wedding ring on what he mistakenly believes to be an old root – unintentionally marrying the deceased Emily (Helena Bonham Carter) in the process. Victor must then navigate the strange rules of the underworld in order to undo this grave misunderstanding.
Boasting a stylized cast of outsiders as well as gloomy visuals that will live on in goth Pinterest accounts until the end of time, Corpse Bride is almost a parody of what the public has come to expect from a Tim Burton film. And yet, despite the flick’s wacky musical numbers and fanciful depiction of the afterlife (which is meant to contrast with the comparatively lifeless atmosphere of Victorian England), this also happens to be one of Burton’s least cartoonish movies.
After all, once you remove the animated bells and whistles, the heart of the story is a remarkably down-to-earth relationship drama about managing societal expectations and learning to communicate with romantic partners. This grounded take on a supernatural love triangle isn’t exactly the most original love story in the world, but I really appreciate how neither Emily nor Victoria are ever villainized despite initially appearing to be rivals – and kudos to Burton for giving us a rare example of a male protagonist learning to accept (and arguably even love) a female “monster” instead of the other way around.
Ironically enough, the titular Corpse Bride is responsible for much of the film’s warmth. Not only does Emily’s design masterfully ride the line between genuinely unsettling zombie and beautiful goth doll, but Carter’s earnest line deliveries also manage to make the character’s naive persona endearing rather than annoying. Combine that with her surprisingly beautiful singing voice, and it’s no wonder why many fans still dress up as this tragic figure for Halloween, even a quarter century after the film’s original release.
The rest of the cast is also excellent, with bit parts by Christopher Lee and even an unrecognizable Danny Elfman helping to flesh out both halves of the movie’s universe, but it’s a shame that the flick’s musical elements aren’t quite as refined as the rest of the experience. Don’t get me wrong, “Remains of the Day” and “Tears to Shed” are absolute bangers, but they’re also the only stand-out songs in the movie. It also doesn’t help that so much time passes in between tracks that it’s easy to forget that this is supposed to be a musical.
The 77-minute runtime also means that some character beats aren’t quite as fleshed out as they should have been – especially where Richard E. Grant’s conniving Barkis is concerned. While I understand that this murderous con-artist isn’t exactly the main antagonist, with the film running on rom-com logic where most conflicts are the result of misunderstandings rather than acts of evil, it’s a shame that we don’t get more insight into what may very well be a bona fide serial killer hiding in a children’s film.
Unfortunately, the surprisingly adult subject matter and an overall focus on aesthetics over story are probably why Corpse Bride wasn’t hailed as a classic back in ’05. While the film wasn’t exactly a failure, raking in over double its production budget at the box office and accumulating numerous accolades, it makes sense that Burton would take over seven years to release another animated movie. The film also lost the coveted Best Animated Feature Oscar to 2005’s other horror-adjacent stop-motion production, Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit – a movie so good that not even Hayao Miyazaki could compete with it.
Yet, I’d argue that Corpse Bride became a success in the long run. From its impressive home video sales to its well-deserved second life on streaming services, it’s clear that the story of Victor and Emily had a spooky audience willing to engage with it – the movie just needed to find them first. That’s why I don’t feel that it’s even necessary to recommend Corpse Bride to genre fans this Halloween season, as this past quarter century has already established it as a creepy yet endearing delight and one of the most fascinating projects in Burton’s filmography.
Steven Spielberg has always been conversant in the cinematic language of the horror genre, despite relatively few credits in the genre. His contributions as a writer and producer on things like Poltergeist are legendary, and films like Duel and Jaws certainly wield the horror genre in remarkable, often chilling ways. He may not be a horror filmmaker, but he knows when he needs to scare us, and he has the tools to make that happen.
I didn’t go into Disclosure Day, Spielberg’s alien epic, expecting outright horror, and indeed the film leans much more into thrilling than frightening. This is not a horror film, but for a few minutes in the middle, much to my surprise, it became one.
Spielberg has filmed more than his fair share of scary scenes over the years, but with Disclosure Day, he directed a new contender for the scariest scene of his entire career.
SPOILERS AHEAD for Disclosure Day!
Josh O’Connor in DISCLOSURE DAY, directed by Steven Spielberg.
Among the various alien secrets laced throughout Disclosure Day are a trio of palm-sized rods, the color of pencil graphite. These rods, originating from another planet, can be used for a number of things, but for the purposes of this scene, the most important is “diving,” gripping the rod in one bare hand and using its power to “dive” into the mind of another person.
The person holding the rod in this scene is Noah Scanlon (Colin Firth), head of shadowy cybersecurity firm Wordex, who is hellbent on keeping human knowledge of extraterrestrials secret from the general public. Scanlon’s trying to find whistleblower Daniel Kellner (Josh O’Connor), who’s got all of those alien secrets tucked in a backpack while he’s on the run, and while Daniel’s more experienced mind is protected from diving, his girlfriend Jane’s (Eve Hewson) is not. So, monitored by medical personnel at Wordex headquarters (diving is dangerous), Scanlon pushes his way into Jane’s mind to find the location of Daniel’s safe house.
A telepathic invasion is scary enough on its own, but Spielberg doesn’t stop there. When Scanlon dives into Eve’s mind, he appears to her to be sitting across the kitchen table, like he’s in the room. Her bright blue eyes turn Scanlon’s dark brown, and she loses much of her control over her own body, not to mention her mind. Moments before, Daniel finally shared with her the secrets in his backpack, so Jane is shocked, conflicted, deeply vulnerable when Scanlon slips inside her head. This is not just telepathy. This is possession.
Spielberg underscores this not just through the visual language of the scene, as Jane breaks out in a sweat and struggles to sit upright as Scanlon invades her mind, but through Jane’s background. As she revealed to Daniel earlier in the film, Jane is a former novitiate nun who left her convent when she began to question her calling. She still believes firmly in God and, more importantly, believes that perhaps proof of alien life should be kept secret from the public because, in her eyes, it would upset the entire balance of faith in the world. God is a defining factor for humankind, Jane argues, and showing humanity proof of creatures from the stars would undercut that in dangerous ways.
This context, combined with the crucifix necklace Jane’s holding in her hand at the time of the dive, makes this scene the closest thing Spielberg will ever shoot to something out of The Exorcist. It’s not just a battle of wills, but a battle of faith. As an amoral technocrat worms his way into her memories, her beliefs, her faith, Jane turns the crucifix into a weapon, squeezing it until her hand bleeds when she discovers that a pain response can momentarily push Scanlon out of her head.
Of course, when you put a crucifix and a bloody hand together, it conjures images of stigmata. Screenwriter David Koepp pushes the allusion further by having Scanlon quote Christ on the cross to Jane by way of convincing her that she must be the one to stop Daniel by any means necessary.
It’s easy to see why this is scary, right?
On a very basic level, you have a powerful, wealthy man subduing and assaulting an innocent young woman, which is frightening enough. Then, the layers of the scene kick in. Scanlon doesn’t just assault Jane, but possesses her, seizes her memories, her knowledge, and finally her own free will, all while Jane literally clings to her faith in an effort to fight back. Disclosure Day is, among other things, a story about who has a right to the truth, and Scanlon believes that he should be the arbiter of that truth. Not just the truth as he sees it, but the truth as Jane sees it as well. If they don’t see eye to eye, he’ll make her.
But the possession, as it turns out, cuts both ways. Using the rod to dive is, for a normal human being, an intensely strenuous process. Scanlon admits that previous attempts almost killed him, and for some members of his time, so much as touching the rod results in a near-death experience. Even accessing an unprepared mind like Jane’s takes a lot of Scanlon, and when she kicks him out by squeezing the crucifix – again, so much meaning embedded in the details here – his team holds him back and tries to offer medical intervention. But Scanlon persists, pushing them away, and keeps diving back in.
This means that Jane can’t escape him because he just won’t stop pushing back through her defenses, but it also means that each time Scanlon enters her mind, and thus the safe house, he looks more monstrous. By the end, through a combination of lighting and makeup, Firth barely looks human, conjuring up images of the possessed Father Karras at the end of The Exorcist.
Colin Firth (center, standing) in DISCLOSURE DAY, directed by Steven Spielberg.
On a pure, visceral craft level, all of this is quite frightening, but the real trick to making this scene into Spielberg’s most terrifying lies in the more existential horror surrounding all of this. Disclosure Day is a film about the battle for the truth over extraterrestrials, but it’s also about a fight against an impossibly powerful surveillance state, the devaluing of human and alien lives in favor of some nebulous collection of assets, and the value of the individual in a world that increasingly lumps people into demographic boxes and writes them off.
In this scene, the surveillance state becomes supernatural, a human life is worth less than a piece of information, and an extragovernmental technocrat would rather sacrifice his own humanity than see reason. In 2026, few things could be more terrifying than that. Spielberg knows this and wields it mightily, proving once again that, while he’s not a strictly horror filmmaker, he can direct horror with the best of them.
Disclosure Day is in theaters now.
Eve Hewson (second from left) in DISCLOSURE DAY, directed by Steven Spielberg.
You must be logged in to post a comment.