California, 1958. Margaret Ulbrich leaves her husband and the quiet suburbs, moving to San Francisco with her daughter Jane. With the soul of painter, she finds work in a factory and tries to sell her art at the markets. There she meets Walter Keane, an artist intrigued by her creation: children with huge and sad eyes. They fall in love and join forces in selling their work. But when he realizes the public prefers his wife’s paintings, Walter claims they are his, telling Margaret that no one will want to buy art by a woman. She reluctantly accepts and is forced to lie for years until she decides to fight back and regain control of her work.

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The paradox of Tim Burton’s return to his roots: he is reunited with the screenwriters of Ed Wood, one of his best films, but separated from his muses Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter. Big Eyes therefore seems confessional, after a decade of sad self-parody. Rid of his usual weapons, he has rediscovered sensitivity, simplicity and a kind of dignity that greatly suits this incredible true story. However, the movie doesn’t have a clear identity, polarized on the one hand by the sober performance of Amy Adams and on the other by yet another hysterical number from Christoph Waltz. Big Eyes oscillates between these two incompatible dimensions – a more mature movie, with Burton highlighting his imagination in a few successful scenes, would have been even better.