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“Alice in Wonderland” is far from Tim Burton’s best

To paraphrase a character in “Alice in Wonderland,” Tim Burton has lost much of his muchness.

His “Alice,” a modern retelling of the classic children’s tale, is an unfortunate jumble of awkward characters, incomplete storylines and self-indulgent casting choices. It suffers from a meandering plot and muddled approach that favors style over substance.

“Alice in Wonderland” picks up about a decade after previous film and television adaptations of Lewis Carroll’s beloved books.

Nineteen-year-old Alice (Mia Wasikowska, “Defiance”) has been plagued by dreams of a strange land populated by talking mice and mad hatters since childhood.

Now she’s about to enter a real-life nightmare — marriage to a dullard with delicate digestion (Leo Bill).

Life as a prim, proper wife in Victorian England doesn’t particularly appeal to Alice, whose father was a convention-defying world traveler. So she makes a break for it, following a white rabbit down a curiously familiar rabbit hole.

She finds herself in Underland, a twisted, Technicolor world populated by such odd characters as the Dodo, the Dormouse and constantly quarreling twins Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Here, everything is deranged, distorted and slightly bonkers.

The Red Queen of Hearts (Helena Bonham Carter) has a horrendous lisp and a huge swollen head the size of a pumpkin. The Knave of Hearts (Crispin Glover) is an arrogant giant. And the Mad Hatter (Johnny Depp), depicted here as an albino in a carrot-red fright wig, is a sweet, sad and clearly damaged fellow whose voice switches between the mincing tones of an English courtier and the vaguely threatening brogue of a Highland warrior.

As the Mad Hatter reveals, Underland hasn’t been the same ever since the Red Queen wrested control from her younger sister, the White Queen (Anne Hathaway). Her reign of terror has left a bloody trail of scorched villages, broken homes and severed heads.

The only way to restore balance is to send a champion to challenge the Jabberwock, that fearsome beast mentioned in Carroll’s poem “Jabberwocky.” And the person destined to wield the Vorpal Blade? That would be Alice.

There’s just one problem. Alice, once a brave and adventurous little girl,  isn’t acting very Alice-like.

“You used to be much more… muchier,” the Mad Hatter chides her. “You’ve lost your muchness.”

Alice must embark on a journey of self-discovery and soul-searching as Underland draws nearer to the fateful Frabjous Day.

A visually appealing romp with fabulous costumes and some delightfully demented imagery, “Alice in Wonderland” is pretty, but not particularly profound.

Mia Wasikowska makes a lovely but lackluster Alice.

Although occasionally stubborn and strong-willed, she comes across as a petulant child willing to act only when all other options have been exhausted — hardly the empowered role model that screenwriter Linda Woolverton strove to create.

Nor should young girls choose to emulate the Red Queen, who has the emotional depth of a tyrannical toddler.

As for Johnny Depp’s much-hyped performance as the Mad Hatter, it’s innovative but uneven. (Depp has shared in interviews that the Hatter is meant to be “a mood ring” whose emotions are “very close to the surface.” Great for mood rings. Not so good for actors.)

The supporting cast fares better.

Alan Rickman is fun as the wryly rude Caterpillar, while Matt Lucas of “Little Britain” makes the most of Tweedledee and Tweedledum’s comical antics. Stephen Fry, meanwhile, is positively purr-fect (sorry, couldn’t resist the pun)  as the opportunistic Cheshire Cat.

These characters — some digitally altered, some not — interact in a mostly computer-generated world that promises all the thrills and chills of Disneyland’s Mad Tea Party ride. Forget the frumious Bandersnatch.The gravest danger to life and limb in this PG-rated flick comes from flying teacups.

In the end, that’s the problem with “Alice in Wonderland.” It’s simply too safe.

Tim Burton, after all, is known for deliciously dark  comedies (“Beetlejuice,” “The Nightmare Before Christmas”) and gloriously Gothic melodramas (“Sleepy Hollow,” “Sweeney Todd”). He thrives best when he’s given full reign to create kooky characters ruled by their own inner logic, or bizarre worlds on the brink of collapse.

Here, however, Disney forces Burton forced to play nice. And the production suffers.

Burton’s natural zany streak surfaces only occasionally, buried under layers of saccharine sentimentality and kiddie-pleasing gimmicks that will only entertain the five-and-under crowd. He’s hobbled. Shackled. Subdued.

My advice to Disney? Bump Burton to a higher rating and let this modern master of the macabre work his magic.