"In times like these..."
Burton remains disconnected from the light, his cinema only achieving the ephemera. The scent of pastels replaced by the heat of hardware. Your travels will always leave a trace. The camera lovingly vacates within a ram-shackled backwoods, overstocked with broken dreams, crippled big tops, and discarded histories. His father's face was floating, fading in Adam's ale. The tall-tale canvas orally yearns the passing of its fabricator, while its inscribed images remain uncertain of their origin or author.
Contains three confounding images that are worthy of the entire run-time alone. Both the melting bodies against the African horizon and the motionless mowing men who move slower than the cumulus clouds above them are mouth gaping moments. But more specifically, the Ambassador Bridge sequence, which due to Hutton's camera placement, creates a composition that effectively manufactures the most terrifying staircase to heaven imaginable; both lugubrious and endless. It's more vertigo-ish than anything Hitchcock ever accomplished.