ED WOOD (1994) • Frame Rated

Though largely unknown during his tragically brief lifetime, Edward Wood, Jr now lingers in the archives of cinema history. He spent the majority of his career passionately dedicated to filmmaking but oblivious to the world’s utter disdain or indifference towards his work. However, despite his repertoire of abysmal production values, absurd performances, and bewildering narrative choices, the infamous likes of Glen or Glenda? (1953) and Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957) are still watched with equal measures of derision and admiration to this day. The director’s peculiar personality and startling lack of talent inadvertently transformed him into a cult figure for those fascinated by the aberrational. The recognition he so desperately sought came posthumously when Michael S. Medved’s “The Golden Turkey Awards” proclaimed Plan 9 From Outer Space as “the worst film ever made”.

Despite being burdened with a completely ludicrous label, screenwriters Scott Alexander (Man on the Moon) and Larry Karaszewski (The People vs. Larry Flynt) were fascinated by Wood. The pair sought to emerge from their distressing experience writing Problem Child (1990) with a memorable adaptation of the Wood biography “Nightmare of Ecstasy” by Rudolph Grey. Michael Lehmann (Heathers) was originally chosen to direct Ed Wood, but he eventually withdrew due to scheduling conflicts with Airheads (1994). The screenplay eventually caught the attention of Tim Burton when his interest in Mary Reilly (1996) fell apart. Fresh off the highly controversial Batman Returns (1992), it was the perfect chance for the newly vacant filmmaker to honour his kindred spirit of cinematic misfits and misunderstood auteurs.

Against the backdrop of 1952, Edward D. Wood Jr (Johnny Depp) is desperate to break into the motion picture business. He’s assembled an ensemble of societal misfits who serve as his theatre troupe and are convinced that he’ll ascend the cinematic pantheon alongside the likes of Orson Welles. When news surfaces that a biopic on Christine Jorgensen is in production, Wood believes this is the perfect opportunity to prove his supposed genius. Unfortunately, the studio has no desire to work with the enthusiastic filmmaker. After developing a close friendship with the legendary but tragically washed-up horror icon Bela Lugosi (Martin Landau), Wood eventually begins production on his debut feature, Glen or Glenda? Joined by a growing cavalcade of misfits and outcasts, the filmmaker attempts to successfully translate his unique story to the screen. Despite a litany of insurmountable challenges, Wood remains utterly convinced that he is destined to leave an indelible mark on the world of cinema.

An enormous amount of Wood’s galvanising likability lies in the outstanding performance by Johnny Depp. Long before his eternally tired portrayal of Captain Jack Sparrow, Ed Wood captures the actor at his best. Introduced to Wood by John Waters during the production of Cry Baby (1990), Depp imbues the titular director with boundless enthusiasm and infectious sincerity. Basing his performance on a deft synthesis of Ronald Reagan’s unyielding optimism and Jack Hatley’s Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz (1955), Depp exaggerates Wood’s evert expression without overstepping the line into caricature. His love for Angora sweaters and his unshakable belief in his cinematic vision is played with such earnest conviction that the character’s absurdities become endearing. It’s a delicate combination of deadpan delivery and outlandish humour that would have been fatal if overdone. However, Depp elevates his youthful energy into something profoundly human. While the creative collaboration between Burton and Depp continues to flourish three decades later, this is arguably the actor’s most compelling and memorable performance for the filmmaker.

The remainder of the cast delightfully populate a gallery of distinctively eccentric Hollywood archetypes. Sarah Jessica Parker (Hocus Pocus 2) enthusiastically delivers some deliberately exaggerated and artificial acting as Dolores. In contrast, Patricia Arquette (True Romance) imbues her character with sensitivity, portraying the one figure who possesses the patience to endure Wood’s peculiarities. As Kathy, the actress conveys a quiet strength, offering a nuanced counterpoint to the chaotic figures that surround her. The most notable performance is that of Martin Landau (North By Northwest) for his superlative turn as Bela Lugosi. Aided by truly transformative prosthetics, the actor resurrects the horror icon with a lugubrious Hungarian accent and seductive presence. Landau’s performance captures the eccentricities of the elderly actor, alongside the very real pathos of his declining mental and physical health. He portrays Lugosi as a curmudgeonly camp relic of old Hollywood shouting profanities at his rival Boris Karloff. Yet beneath the surface-level camp, he tragically captures the inevitable erosion of stardom and the agonising descent from a stratospheric rise. It’s a balancing act of exquisite precision, straddling the line between homage and parody without ever descending into farce.

Though often celebrated for distorting his cinematic landscape through a phantasmagorical and expressionistic lens, Burton’s restrained approach respectfully evokes the spirit of 1950s exploitation cinema. Stefan Czapsky (Batman Returns) marvellously evocative monochromatic cinematography subtly mirrors the low-budget aesthetic of Wood’s own productions. The heavy use of shadows and dramatic asymmetrical compositions are deployed wonderfully to evoke the images of vintage creature features. Whereas Tom Duffield’s (The Ring) production design devilishly recreates the scenes of Wood’s notorious cinematic transgressions. The glorious opening sequence pays playful homage to Bride of The Monster (1955) and Orgy of The Dead (1965), featuring some of the least convincing special effects the eponymous director became synonymous with. As lightning crackles behind cardboard tombstones and cheap flying saucers teeter precariously on visible strings, there’s an intelligent self-awareness that suggests Burton relishes the opportunity to deliberately replicate all the mistakes Wood made.

Interestingly, Ed Wood lacks what many might consider a quintessential element of Burton’s cinematic identity: the unmistakable presence of Danny Elfman’s whimsically macabre compositions. The lengthy productions of Batman Returns and The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) attributed to a temporary strain on their relationship. Replacing Burton’s frequent collaborator was Howard Shore, a composer renowned for his evocative and expressive work on David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983) and Dead Ringers (1988). Shore’s brooding melodies deviate from Elfman’s playful eccentricity and embrace an atmospheric tone. Reminiscent of Ronald Stein’s works in atomic age classics including The Day the World Ended (1955) and The Planet Saucer Men (1957), the wavering tonalities of the Theremin work wonderfully with the verisimilitude of the sci-fi setting. Transcending mere pastiche, there are moments when the score is imbued with genuine emotional resonance. The reimagining of Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake” manifests a hauntingly melancholic theme that encapsulates Lugosi’s tragic descent into addiction while paying tribute to his immortalised portrayal of Dracula.   

Throughout Burton’s career, he’s consistently championed society’s outsiders and crafted narratives that simultaneously highlight their eccentricities and explore their emotional landscapes. Whether examining the spectral mischief of Beetleguese, the poignant isolation of Edward Scissorhands, or the brooding introspective duality of Bruce Wayne, the filmmaker’s oeuvre provides a fascinating insight to those relegated to the fringes of a stiflingly conservative world. Burton’s idiosyncrasies pair wonderfully with Karaszewski and Alexander’s sympathetic screenplay, celebrating the titular director’s steadfast enthusiasm and endearing eccentricities. While there’s certainly a healthy dose of humour in Wood’s directorial shortcomings, the approach remains refreshingly devoid of condescension. In the hands of a lesser filmmaker, it could have descended into caricature. However, there’s an overarching aether of respect present throughout that transforms Ed Wood into a celebration of his incompetence and uncompromising dedication to achieving his dream. Whether he’s begging for the attention of financial backers or convincing his friends to undergo baptism to secure funding for his movie, his unbridled enthusiasm becomes infectious.

It’s this infectiousness and understanding that makes Ed Wood so vibrantly compelling. Despite Wood’s ineptitude or his sexual proclivity for dressing in women’s clothing, he attracts an unwaveringly loyal group of displaced personas. Horror icon Bela Lugosi (Martin Landau) is reduced to a tragic figure grappling with addiction and obscurity, the flamboyant Amazing Criswell (Jeffrey Jones) continues his charade of clairvoyance and makes ridiculously inaccurate predictions on television, the voluptuous Vampira (Lisa Marie) finds herself adrift after losing her celebrity status, and Bunny Breckinridge (Bill Murray) is an openly homosexual drag artist yearning for a sex change during a puritanical era when such desires were relegated to the shadows. Burton resists the temptation of lampooning these personalities and offers a portrait of humanity in all its flawed glory. Through his affectionate lens, each character is transformed from potential objects of ridicule into an endearing gang of misfits with whom the audience can empathise.

Providing the narrative its principal weight is its nuanced portrayal of Bela Lugosi and the unlikely relationship that blossoms between Wood and the horror legend. Burton offers an opportunity to reflect on the Hungarian actor who never received the recognition he deserved. Despite his definitive performance as Bram Stoker’s infamous vampire in Dracula (1931) and cementing himself as the quintessential horror figure of Universal Pictures, his career was tragically overshadowed by Boris Karloff. Following the release of Frankenstein (1931), Karloff’s career ascended to greater cinematic heights and ultimately consigned Lugosi to languish as one of Hollywood’s forgotten talents. When he eventually befriended Wood in 1953, Lugosi was but a spectre of his former self. He was freshly divorced, enveloped by the deepening gloom of his obscurity, and hopelessly addicted to morphine. However, through a prism of a certain innocence, Wood only sees his childhood idol.

Lugosi’s relationship with the overeager young director provided him with the admiration he so desperately needed and a final series of roles that granted him double immortality. Wood finds a renewed sense of purpose and legitimacy in his filmmaking career because the horror icon wants to star in his movies. Their collaboration evolves into a symbiotic relationship, a quintessential example of mentor and protégé dynamics. It’s a lovingly rendered portrayal of intergenerational friendship imbued with pathos and tenderness. Burton himself has openly reflected on his fascination with their camaraderie due to his connection with the legendary Vincent Price during Edward Scissorhands (1990). Furthermore, through a retrospective lens, it also parallels the filmmaker’s kinship with Christopher Lee who would eventually appear in Sleepy Hollow (1999), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), and Dark Shadows (2012) before his passing.

Much like Milos Forman’s Amadeus (1984) and David Fincher’s Mank (2020), Burton’s biopic champions the power and passion for filmmaking by exploring it through the eyes of one of the worst directors to have ever made a motion picture. He dramatises selected portions of Wood’s career, showcasing the production of Glen and Glenda?, The Bride of The Atom, and Plan 9 From Outer Space. The darker periods of his life including his unhappy descent into pornography, alcoholism, and unrealised projects such as The Day the Mummies Danced and I Awoke Early the Day I Died have understandably been omitted. Regardless of how authentic Burton’s portrayal of the director is, he crafts an affectionate story of artistic endurance and an inspirational tale about the creative process. This sentiment is best captured during a compelling encounter with Orson Welles (Vincent D’Onofrio). Despondent from repeated failure and incessant studio executives, Wood expresses his frustration about moronic producers. Welles listens with genuine sympathy and encourages “Visions are worth fighting for. Why spend your life making someone else’s dreams?”. It’s a heartwarming moment and doubly poignant considering Welles’ experience making Touch of Evil (1958). It provides Wood with the motivation to complete his masterpiece and suggests all should be respected regardless of their quality. Filmmaking is an insanely strenuous and intangible process that’s wildly unpredictable, and Burton suggests even the worst cinema deserves appreciation.

Burton was heralded as one of Hollywood’s most original and commercially viable filmmakers during the production of Ed Wood and his biopic of the notoriously eccentric director was a daring artistic endeavour. Unfortunately, it was fraught with distribution issues because the filmmaker had already signed with Warner Bros to helm Batman Forever (1995). This prior obligation effectively incinerated any prospects of a lasting partnership with Disney and Ed Wood was promptly released with barely any marketing campaign. Despite being lauded by critics for its artistic merit, it was commercially unsuccessful at the box office, grossing a paltry $5.9M against a $18M budget. Nevertheless, Ed Wood ultimately found redemption and a more appreciative audience through its subsequent release on home video. Its artistic triumph was further validated at the 1995 Academy Awards, where it received two Oscars. Landau’s portrayal of Bela Lugosi earned him the accolade for ‘Best Supporting Actor’, while Rick Baker’s (An American Werewolf In London) transformative makeup was honoured with the award for ‘Best Makeup’.

Three decades after its release Tim Burton’s peculiar tribute to one of classic Hollywood’s directors remains a captivating experience. Ed Wood transcends its biopic label and reminds audiences that failure may be inescapable, but that our response to failure is what separates real artists from poseurs. While many viewers may admonish the embellished narrative, Burton’s approach is so affectionately humorous and wonderfully compelling that it barely resonates. Anchored by Johnny Depp’s infectiously fun performance, Ed Wood is an exemplar of inspiration for anyone pursuing a dream.”Cut! Print! We’re moving on!”

USA | 1994 | 127 MINUTES | 1:85:1 | BLACK & WHITE | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Tim Burton.
writers: Scott Alexander & Larry Karaszewski (based on the biography ‘Nightmare of Ecstasy: The Life of Art of Edward D. Wood Jr.’ by Rudolph Grey).
starring: Johnny Depp, Martin Landau, Sarah Jessica Parker, Patricia Arquette, Bill Murray, Lisa Marie & Jeffrey Jones.