"You see, before he came down here, it never snowed. And afterwards, it did. If he weren't up there now... I don't think it would be snowing. Sometimes you can still catch me dancing in it. "
EDWARD SCISSORHANDS is a weird movie, but a movie of staggering imagination and hopeless beauty. There is a reason that, of all the films Tim Burton has directed and of all the films Danny Elfman has scored, this film stands out as their favorite of their respective works. The film effortlessly juggles flips in tone and manages to create this magical realm of 1950s happy-go-lucky lifestyles with the Burton macabre we grew to love in the '90s (not so much after that). I've seen this move countless of times, but nothing ever compared to that magical evening in 1990 when I saw a man make it snow in glorious 35mm.
Johnny Depp finds a way straight into your heart with the use of only 169 words and a blank stare. We've all been that outsider, maybe not with leather gimp wear and scissors for hands, but we've all been that person on the outside dying to get in...but without a clue in the world how to do it. Tim Burton has made his living off of these outsider creations, but none have connected with me so completely as the spectacular wonder of EDWARD SCISSORHANDS. Depp crafts such an innocently strange character and imbues such unfiltered honesty in his performance of unrequited love and monosyllabic gut-punchingly pure responses that will leave even the strongest of men with tear streaked faces. And that is why this December, as our hope for snow grows, we will gather at the Alamo Drafthouse to celebrate the snow-bringer, EDWARD SCISSORHANDS. (Greg MacLennan)
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