But that ending. Fuck, the ending.

I get why Kim (Winona Ryder, in the most busted hair I’ve seen since, well… name your favorite Real Housewife) has to tell the angry mob that Edward died. She was trying to spare him from the mob justice of a crowd that wouldn’t have listened to her even if she had been shouting at the top of her lungs. Hell, even if we’re going by the Hollywood Studio Code that was still adhered to in the 1950s – including the punishment of ill deeds, such as murder – we can argue that Johnny Depp’s Edward must be punished. He showed a dark side and he crossed a bridge from which he could not return. I get that. No, I had problems with the frame story and its implications.

In the frame story, Kim is revealed to be telling the story to her granddaughter as an elderly woman (and using the absolute worst old lady voice I’ve ever heard, next to my poor impression of Ethel Merman). We get some interspersed shots of Edward clipping a topiary away from the town, complete with a hand (something he always wanted but never got to experience, and, in essence, the root of his troubles) as well as a buck (hi there, masculine sexuality) and a pelican (nice to see you, free bird). The granddaughter asks the million-dollar question of her aged granny: “How do you know he’s still alive?” Kim replies, much to my fury, “I don’t know. Not for sure. But I believe he is. 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.”

Got your seatbelt on? Good. Because it’s time to go for a drive.

Jesus H. Christ, lady, would it have fucking killed you to go see him every now and then? He saved your life, made you see the world differently, and you proclaimed to love him. Would a simple secret weekend jaunt to the spooky old manor that apparently no one has visited in the last 60 years have been too much to ask? No one has realized that he’s still alive and kicking up there (and that the location happens to be the source of the fucking snow that has mysteriously appeared since the “death” of our hero); I don’t think you were in any real danger of being found out. I mean, what the fuck is this, ancient Greece? Is everyone in that town so stupid that they refuse to question why it’s suddenly snowing in a climate that has never seen snow before, or do they believe that god was just really angry that they drove the nice freak to his death? No one went up there to investigate, even on a dare? Were there no fraternities that had to haze new pledges?

It’s incredibly depressing to think that Edward – who was nothing but kind and loving throughout the duration of the film – has spent the last 60 years in isolation, with only his memories of the week he had amongst the normals (and I’m using that term lightly here), yet here we are. Think about how lonely that must have been. It certainly didn’t bother Kim enough to visit. The first way I could articulate why it made me sad when I was younger was, “That bitch got to go on and live her life and have her wedding and kids and grow old and he had to stay up in that castle by himself making snow for everyone.” It’s not like anyone was grateful for this action, or that it was a profession he chose after careful consideration – he was driven the fuck out of town. It was run or be killed; in fact, the only reason he survived was due to someone’s lie over his death. This is like the worst witness protection plan ever, componded by the fact that he had to endure it with memories of a life in which he found beauty and love despite that he was different. Really, go back and look at everything he’s carving: Kim with her hand outstetched; a bird bath; children playing with a ball. These are representations of freedom and love. He’s replaying these things over and over again because they give him joy. This is what’s stuck in his head, keeping him going. He has no fresh material; it’s all from his experiences leading up to his isolation. If that’s not depressing as fuck, I don’t know what is.

Oh, wait, I do – it’s the thematic implications of this ending. After all this quirk and acceptance – and dammit, Burton, you had me up until the end – we have our main character –a good, childlike, innocent man that worries about pleasing those he loves – get completely shut out of society in order to remain alive. He is fundamentally different, and this does not change. That’s not the problem here. The problem is that the townspeople are so narrow minded and quick to jump to conclusions based upon manipulative, self-serving machinations that they disregard any good he’s brought in favor of automatically jumping to crucify him when something goes wrong. What he gets is not by any means a life: he is by himself for fear of being killed; he has to go off of the happiness he achieved while still being held at arm’s length by the rest of the world; he has not had contact with the woman he loves, now an elderly woman, since she was a teenager. But hey, the town gets snow, so I guess it’s a fucking wash.

That is why this film pisses me off. It’s not the score; it’s not the costuming; it’s not the hammy acting of Ryder as an old woman (seriously, the voice needs to go). It’s that the nice guy finished last, and was beaten down for being different in the end. If he’s still that young that long after the events of the film, that means that he gets to live isolated and on replay for ages to come. And that, folks, is a fate worse than death.