Let's set the record straight. This isn't a film by Tim Burton. It's directed by his old chum Henry Selick; Burton produced the movie and authored the story its script is based on. He also provided the inspiration for the visuals, which are faithfully copied from his other movies, Beetlejuice, Edward Scissorhands and Batman Returns.
What Burton didn't invest in this film was his own weird brand of gifted dementia. The Nightmare Before Christmas tries for that odd mix of grotesque manners and genuine feeling that infuses Burton's best work, but it only succeeds in being a second-rate imitation that lacks the crazy drive and energy of Burton's own movies.
What it does have is some great puppet-model animation, a very minor story and a numbingly dull musical score. It's the music that really grates on the nerves: the movie is virtually a non-stop musical based upon one melodic line and a lot of bad rhymes. The net result sounds as though it should be called Andrew Lloyd Webber's Nightmare Before the Opera.
The animation is impressive, but The Nightmare Before Christmas needs more than visuals – it needs a unique spark. When Burton's special brand of black magic works, it can be brilliant. When it doesn't, you're left pondering the self-indulgent nature of adolescent obsessions.
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