Tim Burton matches style and subject, bringing his own brand of directorial oddity to this oddity in the history of popular art, though not precisely pop art.

It is the story of Margaret Keane, whose chocolate-boxy paintings of sweet little kids with big eyes became a commercial smash in the early 60s, though mocked by snooty critics, rather like Jack Vettriano later. But her domineering and abusive husband Walter claimed her work as his own and Margaret finally had to battle through the courts to be recognised as their creator. Amy Adams plays Margaret as an unhappy, determined soul and Christoph Waltz is the oleaginous and thoroughgoing creep Walter. The movie begins with a deadpan quote from Andy Warhol endorsing the Keane brand; Burton’s movie itself isn’t sure whether to go along with this affectless postmodernism, or to come out in favour of the paintings actually being good in themselves, a different question to whether Margaret should be properly credited for her own work. But it does raise important questions about why women artists are discouraged and marginalised. There is a shrewd moment when Margaret tells Walter that people might think he has “an unhealthy obsession with little girls”. If a woman paints them, that is obviously motherly and sentimental. But if a man does it – well, that is challenging, or questionable, or ironic, or transgressive. In short – it is artistic. Burton’s study of the strange case of Margaret and Walter Keane is a diverting black comedy which dramatises relevant questions about sexual stereotype and artistic authorship.