Balancing an hour at Home Depot with my dad against an eternity burning in the everlasting fires of Hell. This is the Devil's arithmetic I was forced to consider this afternoon.
I think I picked wrong.
Hated Big Fish for nearly all the same reasons I hated Forrest Gump, because they're nearly the same movie. When making a picture that has it grounding in real life (i.e., not something of the Star Wars/Lord of the Rings type of lineage), there are a couple of ways to work things out: there are stories of "Normal life is boring, so let's weld fantastical elements onto it and maybe it will be interesting" (of which "Big Fish" and "Gump" are examples); then there are stories of "Normal life is fascinating and it's in the closer investigation of that that wonder and power can be found" (I point you toward American Beauty, Far From Heaven and even The Royal Tenenbaums as examples of this). Speaking for myself, I find films of the second type to be light-years more compelling and interesting and satisfying.
Also, when will Tim Burton do somehting original again? Even counting The Nightmare Before Christmas (which you really shouldn't, as he didn't actually direct it--Henry Selick did), an original Burton story hasn't reached the screen in ten years. He hasn't directed an original story of his own since Edward Scissorhands, and that was Nineteen-Goddamn-Ninety. Please, Tim, I know you're going to do the Willy Wonka remake, but after that, could you please give us something original, something of your own, something to make us love you again?
One last "Big Fish" bit: Billy Crudup should be Superman, but I don't think he'd want to be.
Finally, a quote I found today:
"I've come to accept that this band is much more likely to autograph someone's Ph. D. dissertation than someone's ass. It's just as exciting, but you use a different pen."
--Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney in the current issue of Magnet magazine.