He is back. At least, almost.

It has been hard to watch Tim Burton, he of such memorable films as "Ed Wood," "Big Fish," the original "Batman" and "Edward Scissorhands," fall from grace with such poor work as "Alice in Wonderland" and "Dark Shadows." In those two last efforts, the auteur with a knack for a bizarre and magical turned out two studio films that were actually lacking in the very qualities that have made him such an iconic filmmaker. Couple that with his now-tired collaboration with Johnny Depp (who is also undergoing his own decline of sorts in terms of his project choices) and you have a recipe for utter disappointment, if not for disaster.

Who knows what prompted his next step, but Burton made a sensible choice. He cut the cord connecting him with Depp (at least for now) and moved away from the studio system to produce a film that did not venture into the world of the mystical or magical, but still retained some of those bizarre elements that have made his work so memorable over the years.

"Big Eyes," a biopic that showcases the scandalous marriage between Margaret and Walter Keane in which authorial fraud was committed (knowingly at that), is a huge upgrade from Burton's recent work and a definite reminder of just how talented he truly is. That said, the film still seems unable to move away from some of tired tropes or techniques that Burton has grown so accustomed to in his recent projects.

In many ways, "Big Eyes" is a perfect project to reflect on Burton's own recent filmmaking. He had been a man with a degree of authorial control of his films, but then he made "Alice in Wonderland," and it was clear that this was not wholly his film. Moreover, his relationship with Johnny Depp, which produced some memorable films ("Ed Wood," "Edward Scissorhands," "Sweeney Todd") had in itself become more of a commercial enterprise than a powerful artistic collaboration. The opening images of "Big Eyes," in a traditional Tim Burton credit sequence which focuses around one visual idea, showcase the mass production of one of the big-eyed waifs that defined Margaret Keane's painting style. Throughout the film, Margaret is forced to consider giving away those works of art, which she claims are near and dear to her heart, to mass production and the prospects of a better life. In the same manner as Margaret eventually breaks from this system of servitude, Burton's film is his own statement about retaining an authorial voice and still having what it takes to be a potent filmmaker.

As the film opens, the viewer is introduced to Margaret Ulbrich (soon to be Keane), who has run away from her abusive husband with her young daughter, no prospects and tremendous talent. She eventually meets Walter Keane, another painter, who quickly proposes marriage when she realizes that she might lose her daughter without appropriate financial backing. He then sets out to expose their work and eventually realizes that not only is she the most talented, but he might get more out of telling the world that he drew the big-eyed waifs.

The film, which rushes through its opening act (even Margaret makes a comment that her relationship with Walter is moving too quickly), finds sure footing in its second act development when Walter starts taking credit for his wife's work and grows to great fame and notoriety. While he is growing more, his demands on her art are greater. All the while, she is returning to the imprisoned state that she thought she was escaping permanently at the start of the film. It makes for a unified structural dynamic, even if Burton has opted for using a voiceover to explain her first marriage instead of actually showing it.

There is some tonal confusion as the film attempts to reconcile the dark drama with the absurd nature of the entire situation. In real life, Walter and Margaret's legal issues were settled in court via a paint-off. She managed to showcase her talent in under an hour, while Walter, who also served as his own lawyer, claimed to be suffering from a shoulder ailment and refused to paint. If it had not actually happened, most would find this climactic face-off absurd and highly unrealistic. But so is life and Burton is given an ample opportunity to play around. He manages to get the unhinged nature of the situation, but goes a bit overboard with some of Walter's antics. In some ways, the execution is at times so over-the-top that those uninformed about the real events will find it silly.

The other issue with the film is Danny Elfman. Burton's long-time collaborator has created a number of ravishing scores for the auteur's films. But "Big Eyes'" treatment is arguably one of his weakest. It almost seems at times as if Elfman is still composing for a bigger studio production like "Alice in Wonderland" or "Dark Shadows" and who could blame him? One look at his resume and it is clear that this is mostly what he does and what he knows. Which is why the sound, which uses a cornucopia of instrumentations (with a piano at the forefront), often sounds overbearing in the film. One might intuit that these musical gestures express Walter's own over-indulgent self, but they often strip the film of its intimacy. One of the best passages of the film, in which Margaret discovers Walter's forgery in another respect, is absent of music for a large portion.

Amy Adams should lead the way as the heroine Margaret, but she rarely does. Part of this has to do with her own battle with society's expectations of her, but a lot of it is also defined by Adams' seeming passivity throughout the film. While there are moments where she clearly struggles with her situation, most of the crucial decisions come too easy without that sense that she really does not want it. While Burton and Adams certainly want the viewer to identify with Margaret and her difficulties, the almost "angel in the house" quality of Adams' portrayal makes it more frustrating for the viewer. This strips her big moment, in which she finally fights for her rights, lose some of its cathartic effect.

It also does not help that Christoph Waltz's Walter is so dynamic and charismatic (and utterly loveable despite his actions). And maybe this is the whole point. The viewer, like Margaret, is supposed to be enraptured by the high-flying showmanship and larger-than-life personality of her supposed hero. Even when he is driven mad by frustration and dejection, Waltz is a marvel and his own brutality comes off as a so unhinged as to make the viewer more and more fascinated.

The bizarre nature of the story and its actual outcomes is perfect for cinematic adaptation and Burton has certainly showcased his way with the material. While the film's tone might feel unbalanced at times, there is no denying that at its best, it is cracking entertainment. And this only adds to the discussion at the core of the film -- is art's greatest value in its personal expression or its commercial viability? This film in and of itself can certainly fit right into that conversation when juxtaposed with its creator's output.