In short: everything is busy and colorful and chaotic and full of imaginative touches and weirdly marvelous things, and it all lacks a soul - even stealing the soul from Robert Louis Stevenson, it still lacks a soul. There's too much stimulation, signifying nothing: the film suffers from the being overweighted by the massive explosion of creativity of two directors who'd been privately nurturing the story for at least 12 years by the time they finally got a chance to make it, and were so eager when their chance finally came that the forgot or didn't care about putting some kind of brake on their creativity - they never stopped to ask, "Yes, but why do we do this? Why the cat-woman with Emma Thompson's voice who looks just like Jane from Tarzan? Why put a supernova right in the middle of the plot, especially when we do not understand how supernovae work? Why, other than because it allows for an awesome transition, should this spaceport be shaped like a crescent moon?" Why, why, why, why. Whys pour off the movie without end, absolutely smothering its decent story and pretty animation. There is simply too much of Treasure Planet, and none of it fits together except in some catch-all bucket marked "in science fiction, you can do this." It is like stepping forth, in an explosion of colors, weird body shapes and bad comedy, into somebody else's migraine.