There’s something reassuringly familiar about Danny Elfman’s score to Tim Burton’s new version of Alice in Wonderland. Not in a ‘Oh no, you’re just ripping off you’re your old stuff again!’ way, but more in a comforting manner. In so many ways, Alice was the film that Burton was destined to make, and Elfman was destined to score it, and what we get here is a score that sounds exactly as you imagine it would or should, and is no lesser an effort as a consequence.

The cynic will sit there ticking off his checklist of Elfman soundtrack staples – Boys’ choir? Check. Sparkly strings? Check. Wacky percussion? Check. Big top hijinks? Check. This score is essentially a primer in Elfman soundtracks – Elfman 101 if you like – but again, this isn’t a complaint. The composer has matured in recent years into many non-genre projects, which ultimately suppress his original trademark style, so it’s a joy to see old school Elfman composing a score that wouldn’t be out of place if it had been released somewhere between Batman and Beetlejuice. It’s Planet of the Pee-Wee’s Nightmare Before Batman and the Chocolate Factory – and that’s a hybrid confection I’m more than happy to consume.

Ok, the next complaint about the score is likely to be that it’s mono-thematic. True, the album starts with the five-minute Alice’s Theme and then works around variations on this theme, complete with five very similar reprises, but to criticise the score’s single-mindedness would be missing the point.

The movie is about Alice – it’s all in her head – everything that happens is from her point of view, so it’s inevitable that in Alice’s world we get Alice’s theme as the dominant sound. And while there’s no attempt to give motifs to The Red Queen or the Mad Hatter, there’s a regal theme for Absolem the caterpillar and the Cheshire Cat gets a twinkly meowing from stressed strings.

Alice’s Theme on the album is not used for the main titles in the movie, and in many respects feels like an end credits medley. It sets up the album for what you’re going to hear next, and at a generous five minutes it’s a complete orchestral gothic pop work in itself. There are five more reprises of the theme across the album serving as the end of key chapters. Young Alice is the most delicate use of the theme, tempered with the toy piano Celeste, before moving into the Elgar-esque Proposal. But once Alice tumbles Down the Hole the score really kicks off.

Listening to a soundtrack first is often a compromised experience – you have to see the film to fully appreciate what’s going on or the subtleties of what the music is trying to underscore at any given point. But Alice is a different beast – it feels more like a complete classical movement, and if anything it works better outside of the film.

The version that you see in the film is more cut and paste, and the vocal of Alice completely disappears in the opening credits. So here’s the question: would you rather have the music reproduced exactly as it sounds in the film, or would you like a more complete experience that’s closer to what the composer envisaged? Personally speaking, I’ll always opt for the longer concert-style suites.

Oh, and if you’re expecting to hear Avril Lavigne’s end credits song you’ll have to treat yourself to Almost Alice, a collection of songs inspired by the movie, and clearly aimed at the 14-year-old-girl demographic. And the Mad Hatter’s Fudderwacken dance is also absent – but I can live without it.

Make no bones, this is not a score that will convert new fans to Elfman. But if you already pray at the shine of the composer, there’s much here to enjoy, and for my money it’s the best thing he’s done in many a year. I’ve been humming the tune for days now – and for my muddled old soundtrack-laden head to keep pulling out this jaunty little theme, there’s no greater compliment.