Alice in Wonderland

Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland is a film of bits, all presented in the chocolate box grime he's become synonymous with.

This time, this bittersweet Gothic assortment comprises of his most CGI-oriented film to date. Aside from the opening ten minutes, in which an older, post-pubescent Alice, is attempting to ingratiate herself into the world of stuffy Victorian society, there's barely a shot which isn't bathed in a digital afterglow. This really shows up the problem with filming Alice in Wonderland; the material's charm lies in its literariness. The book is essentially about the breaking down of structure, language and convention. To film it, you have to invent a language and then actively destroy it. Burton has decided to speak the lingo of CGI – the only way to destroy CGI is by employing more CGI, and here he does this to the point it becomes almost unbearable.

Aside from the zealous, highly-constructed digitry, it's a film of barely structured tumbling. From when Alice skitters down the rabbit hole and enters Wonderland again, until Alice's final battle with Helena Bonham's bulbous-headed Red Queen, it's little more than a whistle-stop revisit of the source material. From Tweedledum and Tweedledee through to the Cheshire Cat, all the hits are here, which in combination of the indulgent visual gee-whizz, are all desperately trying to hide a creaking storyline.

Soon it emerges every one of these characters has been waiting for Alice; it has been foretold in some oracular scrolls held – and then stolen from – Absalom, the hookah-smoking caterpillar (voiced by a deliciously deadpan Alan Rickman). They also foretell a battle between Alice and the Jabberwocky. However, to do this, she needs a sword, currently held by the Red Queen. Unlike the first time around, not all of the characters are on her side. She does find support in Anne Hathaway's ethereal White Queen, and some unlikely camaraderie in the shape of Johnny Depp's bipolar Mad Hatter.

The film limps to a conclusion which is maddeningly dissatisfying, and when Alice eventually emerges from the rabbit hole, there is no sense of what she has learnt, why she was in Wonderland again and how she'll change her awkward life in high society. You're in awe of the many visual flourishes, Bonham Carter's impression of Miranda Richardson's Queenie from Blackadder II and Depp's effortless craziness. But to what end?

Worst of all, I felt my eyes were bleeding. Auteurism and individual style is a wonderful thing, however more is definitely less. For all its creativity, Alice in Wonderland casing is burnt to a crisp, while its centre is definitely undercooked

i love you, philip morris

'This really happened. It really did.'

As well as being a pre-credit statement, this may well also describe the hook behind I Love You, Philip Morris. Who thought when Jim Carrey broke through in 1993's The Mask, that he'd one day be playing a Texan and screwing Ewan MacGregor in an unlikely conman movie?

That's the beauty of indie film making and if any movie of the last ten years epitomised the spirit of it, this one is as good as any. Jim Carrey is a former cop who's new life as a liberated gay man has landed him in jail on the count of insurance fraud. To reinvent himself after coming out, he spent shed loads and needed a fraudulent source of income to fund it. In jail he meets fellow southerner (and car thief) Philip Morris (Ewan MacGregor), and falls in love.

But once a conman, always a conman. Once released from prison, he takes on a variety of jobs and schemes – whatever seems to take his fancy. And, of course, all of these vary in their ethical, moral and legal validity.

If this all sounds unfocused, episodic and free wheeling, then that's exactly what it is. However, for the most part, it's held together by charm and likability. Jim Carrey does revert to gurning mode a little too frequently for comfort, but with a character that's inherently outrageous, it's a forgivable affectation on the director's part.

Most important, as a film depicting a gay relationship, the film does well. It's still the case that a bankable Hollywood lead depicting a gay character will immediately attract the adjective 'brave', even if he doesn't have to kiss a man. And Jim Carrey only has to adapt his persona a little to accommodate his role. But the frankness of the relationship's depiction is welcome. The two do kiss, bedroom activities are hinted and they frequently exchange the 'I love you's. And MacGregor is depicted as the perfect bottom: he is both feminised and very, very masculine. He's pretty good at balancing the two.

The movie only falters when things turn serious in the second half. You know things are going wrong when a previously straightforward narrative jimmies in flashbacks for pathos. Too much effort is misplaced in trying to achieve a sudden tonal shift. Guess what? All actions have consequences! It's rubbed in a little too often. This isn't Crime and Punishment, this is still, essentially, a Jim Carrey movie. Still, the 'true story' aspect of the narrative goes some way to sweeten the pill. It really happened, it really did, after all.

A flawed and unlikely, but strangely uplifting and rewarding gem.