One’s acceptance of Big Fish, Tim Burton’s latest fantasy adventure about a son’s last ditch attempt to understand his dying father, will be tested early on by just how long you can tolerate Ewan McGregor’s southern-fried Alabama accent. For me that was about ten minutes, by which time the Scottish actor’s unconvincing drawl, coupled with his wide-eyed, Forrest Gump-like enthusiasm, started to irritate me. McGregor, a fine actor whom I’ve enjoyed in many disparate performances (Trainspotting, A Life Less Ordinary, Moulin Rouge!), seems to be doing a bit here. Playing a part. I didn’t buy it for a minute. Similarly Albert Finney, the veteran British actor who has never won an Oscar® despite being nominated five times, spends much of his time in his death bed as the grown-up Edward Bloom (McGregor plays him in his youth), recounting stories at a hellish pace that would frustrate the slowest snail. It’s not a very complementary role and the primary reason Finney was cast is because, in his youth, he looked a little like McGregor, supposedly. So Bloom the elder, a teller of tall tales that entertain all but his son William (stiffly played by Billy Crudup), is asked by Will to separate the fact from the fiction once and for all. To that end we, the audience, are taken on a unbelievable journey that features larger than life characters–giants, witches, conjoined twins and other circus performers, plus the love of Edward’s life, one Sandra Templeton (Alison Lohman), whom he declares he will marry. Burton’s offbeat style is very much in evidence here but the film, when not being overly cute in its forced whimsy, commits the ultimate sin. It’s deathly dull and boring. Big Fish is a fishy tale that might best be characterized as Burton’s one that got away.