I Want Candy
Tim Burton sweetens up Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
BY GREGORY WONKA...er...“WEINKAUF”
There is an unspoken reason why a female falls into infatuation: To wipe (or smash) that smug, silly grin off her chosen
male’s face. These days, at the movies, nobody claims that grin’s dubious and incredibly magnetic mantle like Johnny
Depp. He’s cute, yet risky; cuddly, yet sly; effeminate in all that makeup, yet not unduly poofy; prettier than most of his
fans, yet seemingly accessible -- and most of all, he instinctively knows the pull of that grin, even if it’s not visible in a
given moment. In 1990, with the release of the otherworldly-wonderful Edward Scissorhands (one of his many excellent
choices), Depp fashioned himself into the now very, very familiar and lucrative essence of director Tim Burton’s
“outsider-chic” (basically Edward Gorey vamped large and less literate: cha-ching!), and the results were not only
fabulous, but fabulously inventive: Suburban “Goth” Fairy Tale. (Ask the tattooed girls smoking outside your local Hot
Topic.) Now it’s fifteen years later, and in the manner of most entertainers who’ve since embraced wealthy European
domesticity (Burbank native Burton now uses the word “arse,” and may be becoming one), the pair who also brought us
the brilliant Ed Wood and the nifty Sleepy Hollow have played it very, very safe with their latest enterprise, wherein the
trailblazing stops and the familiar formula reaches its confident yet complacent zenith: Burton -- now basically a
corporation (like Disney or Lucas but for sadder kids, as The Corpse Bride and the Scissorhands musical will surely
support) -- dutifully delivers the glumly zany “Burtony” images expected of him; and Depp displays yet again his
ostensibly effortless mastery of populist tomfoolery (he’d eclipse Chaplin and Chan if they hadn’t come first). Most
crucially, for the hetero ladies who’d like to humble him and eat him raw, Depp works that irresistibly awkward grin
(here rendered huge and flashy and literally artificial), with the added, almost-lurid attraction of his vague perviness now
being surrounded by mad, vulnerable children and their truly sick parents. Talk about a plan looking great on paper! It
can’t miss, and it won’t miss. Fortunately, the pleasure is that, all this (and more) considered, this exercise in technique
and profit -- this safe bet, this obvious echo, this ire-inducer for Web-junkies who’ll post that “u no its definatley about
money!” or “people its JSUT A MOVIE like Plant Ofthe Apes get OVER ti!!!!” -- is still comforting, visually delightful
and a lot of fun.
The movie, of course, is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and you want to see it, you’re going to see it, you won’t
even be able to avoid it on your residential holographic projection units and roaming brain-implants during the nostalgic
telecasts throughout the Earth holidays of 2039, and nothing any critic says is going to make any difference. Which is
fine. This writer isn’t under any false impression that he’s making a difference; rather, I just like to muse aloud. And yet
for the impatient, the musing here -- of which there shall be very, very much -- boils down to this: Our Golden Ticket
arrived in 1971, however this new Factory produces undeniably tasty confectionery of a newfangled sort.
Speaking of which, Movie Headline of the Year goes out early, to Premiere magazine, for “Confections of a Dangerous
Mind.” Brill! Except that despite its perfect cleverness, it’s a bit off: Depp’s Wonka is utterly without threat; pardon my
accuracy, but for all the redundant cries of “creepy,” he’s merely a twitchy Froot Loop. Gene Wilder’s Wonka, on the
other hand -- despite, or perhaps for, whatever stupid reason Charlie author and renowned misanthrope Roald Dahl
despised him (the nose, maybe?) -- was and is truly dangerous: dreamy one minute, nightmarish the next, a brilliant study
in contrasts (from a brilliant actor), and thus, altogether human, as disturbingly unbalanced as a human. (Wilder’s
deadpan “warnings” to the rotten children are so painfully absent here that the drama sags with huge black holes where
they should be.) Where Depp errs is to try to make Willy instead seem “gentle” and “nervous” and “put-upon” -- at worst
(shudder), “sneering” -- and this is largely Burton’s shortcoming, too: Okay, Tim, we got it way back in Scissorhands:
The poor, misunderstood artist just wants to make art in the world, but instead he is vilified, boo-hoo, Q.E.D. It’s a
splendid theme, but what is this now, the tenth go-round? Next!
Well, it’s still a cool movie -- plus it’s got Christopher Lee in it, and I like literally everything I’ve seen with Christopher
Lee in it (which is a lot). The opening title sequence is appropriately Dickensian with its grim, grey factory, then once we
plummet down one of its smokestacks, we’re back in the digitally-obsessed present, as robotic chocolate machines stir
and whip and form and wrap Wonka product en route to a pair of dubiously ornate cuffs and gloves enclosing five
Golden Tickets to be dispersed into the world for you-know-why. Suddenly that unmistakably velvety 7-Up “Uncola-
Man” Geoffrey Holder starts narrating (there’s a nice tie-up later) and Danny Elfman’s patented Gothic Fairy Tale™
music kicks in, and we meet the Bucket family. They’re poor. They live in a tilted, collapsing shack with a gaping hole in
the roof. They eat only watered-down cabbage soup every day. But like most poor people who can’t afford proper
nourishment, they can afford a television, upon which they watch the broadcasts of Wonka’s exploits, Hollywood-like,
upon the fragile minds of the world’s youth. They also encourage the youngest Bucket, whose name is Saint Altruism...
er...I mean “Charlie,” to partake of the mania and soul-crushing disappointment, by way of the one single Wonka
Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight bar they can afford to buy for him.
Charlie is played by little Freddie Highmore, who was excellent in his wrenching moments in Finding Neverland, and
was hastened along by co-star Depp to this production, where he is forced to play Charlie as absolutely, impossibly,
nauseatingly good. He’s inhuman. What the hell is this -- Pay It Forward? Even adorable Mark Lester in Oliver! beat the
crap out of the undertaker’s son for insulting his dead mother. But not this Charlie. With his destitute, freezing, starving
family he hovers miles beneath the poverty line (he is the very stuff that grows up into The Sex Pistols!) and yet he
evinces not a single behavioral glitch -- unless you count deciding to sell his lucky-last-stab Golden Ticket to support his
family. Fortunately, although Grandpa George (David Morris) doesn’t get to do much here (until perhaps the sequel,
which is likely), he is nonetheless the wisest member of the Bucket household, and exhorts, “Only a dummy would give
this up for something as common as money! Are you a dummy?”
At this point, the irony could fill a thick book.
Anyway, Charlie’s mother is, by very loose definition, a “homemaker,” and no, whew, she does not sing that one song
from the original movie which I cannot tolerate. (Alas, none of the sensational original songs by Leslie Bricusse and
Anthony Newley show up here -- but we do receive some tuneful treats in their stead; more on that in a bit.) She is
played by the exceptionally strange and talented Helena Bonham Carter, who met partner and co-parent Burton whilst
wearing “Paula Abdul” prosthetics for his shockingly terrible Planet of the Apes remake, and whom I once encountered
at a Wild Oats market in the cracker aisle (not meaning “mean white people,” but “flat baked goods”) and who proved
quite congenial and apparently not too insane in her retro leg-warmers. Meanwhile, her onscreen husband is the equally
exceptional Noah Taylor (Simon Magus -- check it out), who gets to do a little more here as Mr. Bucket, in that he is
fired from his job at the local toothpaste factory only to be replaced by automated equipment.
Bummer, but with the Grandmas -- Georgina (Liz Smith; funny with Alzheimer’s) and Josephine (Eileen Essell, another
actor from Finding Neverland) -- providing good cheer and moral support, the Buckets somehow tough it out. The focal
point of the movie, unlikely as this may seem, falls not upon Charlie nor Willy but actually Grandpa Joe (David Kelly),
from whose weary old eyes we more than once take our point of view. This makes sense, since Burton is fond of
caricature, and clearly encourages Kelly to play one, all nodding and bobbing and overly enthusiastic -- perhaps how
Burton himself sees or wants to see the world. It is much too late to replace the glorious Jack Albertson for me, but
Kelly, whose more-than-average Joe used to work at Wonka’s Chocolate Factory and knew the wizard Wonka
personally before the chocolatier sank into total antisocial seclusion behind his locked gates, brings his own unique
energy to the part. He’s a fun storyteller, too, giving us the scoop on Wonka’s previous exotic exploits right up to his
trust being undermined by his workers and competitors -- all moments in which Burton’s visual flair really shines.
(And remember, please: Although there’s plenty to criticize, Burton’s worst moments are still more delightful than 90%
of studio fare. There’s even a stupid visual pun here involving what appears at first to be a montage of world-travel, and
I hated it when I first saw it, but upon second reflection I consider it amiable nonsense. The same goes for his very
weird appraisal of health care providers for animatronics.)
And suddenly there we are, at the gates of the Chocolate Factory -- again – having outrageously overburdened ourselves
with expectations from Dahl’s brilliant book (kids of all ages, your Neil Gaiman and J.K. Rowling and their managers and
minions would not exist without him) and Mel Stuart’s brilliant movie (the latter being mentioned not once in the new
movie’s press notes; for shame! Perhaps this very gifted director has the right to have said he hopes the new crew all
“fall into the chocolate river and drown.”) And then the lead-up, well, it’s about the same, really: Four other kids who’ve
been raised, respectively, to be menaces to society -- gluttonous, greedy, self-absorbed and media-mad (with ugly video
games), respectively -- “earn” the other four Golden Tickets and show up with one ghastly parent each to try to “win”
whatever it is that Wonka is giving away at the end of the legendary tour. You remember that grand entrance by Wilder
in the previous movie? The sour expression, the cane stuck in the sidewalk, the trip, roll and surprise explosion of
“delight” (or is it?) Well, Burton (with the help of screenwriter John August, also his collaborator on Big Fish) instead
puts his mechanized stamp heavily upon the movie at this point and all thereafter, mocking the characters, Disney theme-
parks, even perhaps Dale Carnegie courses. It’s a suitably funny and weird launch, but it’s also telling of the chill and
slight remove of Burton’s direction, as opposed to Stuart’s slightly less flashy but more emotionally resonant approach.
Hey, just to put to rest the raging arguments on whether or not this is a “remake,” it sort of is, and it sort of isn’t. There
is absolutely no way this movie could exist and look as it does without the influence of the original (heck, the kid they got
to play Mike Teavee here even looks exactly like the kid from thirty-five years ago, which is frightening). This movie also
owes its predecessor big-time for imparting to it huge dollops of collective goodwill. And, of course, many elements
from the original are missing (the fantastic sound effects, the Fizzy Lifting Drinks and associated burping, and thrilling
Slugworth is reduced here to a footnote)...while this version does nonetheless cleave closer to Dahl’s original narrative.
Let’s just call it an “evolution” and leave it at that. Most remakes are sickening (see: this summer), but this movie stands
proudly enough on its own.
Some of this evolution brings us back to the bizarre heart of Dahl’s book, especially when it comes to the Oompa-
Loompas, who are returned, essentially, to the racist caricature of pygmies Dahl originally envisioned -- “rescued” in the
jungle by wandering Wonka to become luxuriating slaves in his factory. The wonderful fantasy actor Deep Roy (Flash
Gordon, Dr. Who) brings to life not one but -- via more digital magic -- all of the Oompa-Loompas here (who end up
being about half his actual diminutive height). He’s great fun in all these “separate” parts, and his costumes (by the
exceptionally gifted Gabriella Pescucci -- are you single?) are giddy and great. However, I must ask: Why the hell is there
a tribe of identical clones running around the jungle in the first place? Oh well, studio movies need more imaginative
nonsense in them, so thanks again.
The most important detour from the book is the insertion, mostly via flashback, of Willy Wonka’s father, Dr. Wilbur
Wonka (Christopher Lee), a very, very stern dentist who illustrates his oppressive loathing of candy and sweets in no
uncertain terms. These days, Mr. Lee could wander onscreen, blow his nose and walk away, and I’d give him a twenty-
minute standing ovation, however he really is quite impressive here. No fangs, no golden gun, no curvy lightsaber -- just
a man with a terribly imposing and uncompromising disposition, who misses his son and hopes, someday, to see him
again -- perchance for who he actually is. While there are obvious parallels to Big Fish, I wasn’t nearly as impressed by
that movie, and here Mr. Lee allows for no dissent. His father-dentist-overlord may be absurd (and Depp’s perfect
choppers after years of never flossing moreso), but Mr. Lee has accumulated such gravity with the bold roles of his
incredible career that he brings emotional truth to a movie which very often cannot find it with both hands. Bless him. I
have decided to direct a magnificent feature, and I’d like more than anything for him to star. I’ll be in touch.
Returning again to Depp’s portrayal, I’m not sure he does his best with this challenging -- near-impossible -- assignment.
I like his gradually decreasing deathlike pallor as the movie rolls along (great work, makeup man Peter Owen), and,
having happily worn a very unfashionable “Prince Valiant” hairstyle myself, I like the ‘do. The latex gloves are the ideal
mark of an antisocial germophobe, and that they’re purple is close to genius. Depp’s funny, too (when asked by the
scary-hottie-bitch blonde Mom why his chocolate factory uses hair cream, he glibly responds, “to lock in moisture!”).
But to quote Pee-Wee from twenty years ago, “Everyone I know has a big ‘but.’” In this case: But...rather than seeking
to enrapture us as usual with his imaginative personae, Depp instead here looks a bit tired, and unwisely allows the seams
of his performance to show. His work here often becomes mere clowning, which is unfortunate, especially when he
keeps trying to milk laughs from slamming his face into his Great Glass Elevator.
Much cheap talk has spread of Mr. Depp’s personification of Wonka cutting a bit too close to a certain way-talented,
pallid, chronically-overdressed pop-singer of a vaguely dubious nature. Bollocks! (Although one pleasant-looking young
woman, in the parking structure after the screening, enthusiastically offered: “He was he was he was like, he was like, he
was like...Michael Jackson meets a fag!” My associate tried to ask if there’s any difference, but she didn’t comprehend
his joke.) And then Depp himself declares in interviews that his Wonka is meant to mirror aspects of Robert “Captain
Kangaroo” Keeshan or Mr. (Fred) Rogers. More bollocks! (In case Depp hasn’t noticed, those two characters were
created by hardworking, dedicated philanthropists who truly loved and respected children -- and protected them: Nothing
like this Wonka at all!)
Nay, when you take into account Wonka’s ostentatious behaviour, crazy globetrotting, rotten relationship with his father,
desperately showy philanthropy, chronic inability to sustain a romantic partnership and penchant for collecting tiny,
exotic, underprivileged people (rather than cats like any normal lonely person), the model for this Wonka becomes
obvious: Angie Voigt.
Whoo!
Perhaps the reason for this disconnect -- for thinking, for once, that Depp isn’t totally glorious -- is that he is forced by
the role to abandon his inherent sexuality: the very undercurrent which makes those girls go crazy. I mean, come on:
We’re to believe that Wonka Jr. has spent fifteen years locked in a candy factory with a bunch of identical jungle-
midgets without turning into Pervertus Maximus? BUZZ! WRONG! DOES NOT COMPUTE!
It’s also pretty darned funny to view this “wholesome family movie” whilst keeping in mind the onscreen work of Depp
and Bonham Carter circa 1999, when one was -- let’s see, how to put this gently -- F-ing the S out of Charlize Theron,
while the other was letting Brad Pitt discover more violently inventive uses for rubber gloves. Titters of the cinephile!
Plus, let’s just get to the nitty-gritty already: Americans might not grok this, but the character’s name is “Willy” and his
last name is very nearly “Wanker.” He runs a chocolate factory. And even in this remake...er...evolution (pardon), the
innuendo floats very near the surface of that creamy river. It starts out kinda scientific:
“Hey, did you guys know that chocolate contains a chemical that releases endorphins -- causing the feeling of being in
love!”
Then it gets a little more intense:
“I want you to take Mrs. Gloop to the fudge room; take a long stick and start poking around...”
And then subtlety goes right out the window:
“Don’t touch that squirrel’s nuts -- it’ll make him crazy!”
Yeah, there’s definitely something for everyone here. (Those squirrels rule, incidentally. Warner Bros. -- a whole movie
with just those, please.)
And what else doesn’t work about this movie? Well, although all the bad parents and bad kids are good, they’re just not
extreme enough to compete with the originals. More cartoon characters from Burton, rather than actual deranged people
a la Dahl and Stuart. Plus, if you’re going to upgrade the characters to the 21st century, why not skip TV altogether and
call the kid Mike Ynternett or something? Also, on a related note, I found the little homages to classic movies in the
teleportation sequence excessively twee. Disjointed creative choices in general.
And what does work? Why, most of the movie! Depp almost achieves the impossible (a feat for the effete), Burton keeps
kicking life into the terribly beleaguered collective imagination, and the cast and crew are all top-notch. Little grace-notes
abound, such as the sweatshop worker for rich Mr. Beauregarde who attempts to palm the Golden Ticket and
immediately gets nabbed (the nabbing is implausibly quick, but the attempted thievery adds another needed human touch.)
I also appreciated that Wonka’s tour in the Elevator almost exactly parallels Slartibartfast’s effects-laden tour of Creation
in the somewhat iffy Hitchhiker’s Guide...um..."evolution" from a couple of months ago.
Extra-special praise goes to Danny Elfman for his Oompa-Loompa songs, which essentially form the greatest Oingo
Boingo record he hasn’t made in ten years! (As a fan of his brother Richard’s The Forbidden Zone -- which is not for
kids, at all, really -- I kept expecting Danny to join the O-L’s for a number, dressed as Satan in a tuxedo.) Putting Dahl’s
actual verses to musical styles ranging from Bollywood Musical Extravaganza to what sounds remarkably like The Byrds
is a stroke of genius, and we’re going to be digging Deep Roy’s crazy choreographed moves for a long time to come.
Nobody knows yet if it’s a classic like Stuart’s project, but (Oh no -- Hyperbole Alert!) IT COULD BE ONE OF THE
GREATEST GOTH-FANTASY MORALITY-TALE COCOA-WORSHIP PICTURES (WITH WEIRD SONGS) OF THIS
OR ANY OTHER EPOCH OF HUMAN EXISTENCE!
Oh, I’m kidding. It’s good, though.
Ultimately, it’s not even fair to compare this Chocolate Factory adaptation with the original; it’s a context thing; with
scant few exceptions, filmmaking today is nowhere near as bold as it was in the 1970s. That Burton and August and their
producers (Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston are making mucho coin on this, too) even made a film this heavy with potential
disappointment and yet this good is a laudable achievement. Chalk up my assorted disgruntlements to the diminishing
returns of movie entertainment in general: There are too many Oompa-Loompas running wild in the factory, and
apparently not enough Pure Imagination to go around.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Entertainment Value: 10/13
Style: 10/13
Philosophical Insight: 6/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 13 July, 2005
This review is appreciatively and affectionately dedicated to my mother, who has always encouraged us to go to the
library, to check out books, and to read them.
Tim Burton sweetens up Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
BY GREGORY WONKA...er...“WEINKAUF”
There is an unspoken reason why a female falls into infatuation: To wipe (or smash) that smug, silly grin off her chosen
male’s face. These days, at the movies, nobody claims that grin’s dubious and incredibly magnetic mantle like Johnny
Depp. He’s cute, yet risky; cuddly, yet sly; effeminate in all that makeup, yet not unduly poofy; prettier than most of his
fans, yet seemingly accessible -- and most of all, he instinctively knows the pull of that grin, even if it’s not visible in a
given moment. In 1990, with the release of the otherworldly-wonderful Edward Scissorhands (one of his many excellent
choices), Depp fashioned himself into the now very, very familiar and lucrative essence of director Tim Burton’s
“outsider-chic” (basically Edward Gorey vamped large and less literate: cha-ching!), and the results were not only
fabulous, but fabulously inventive: Suburban “Goth” Fairy Tale. (Ask the tattooed girls smoking outside your local Hot
Topic.) Now it’s fifteen years later, and in the manner of most entertainers who’ve since embraced wealthy European
domesticity (Burbank native Burton now uses the word “arse,” and may be becoming one), the pair who also brought us
the brilliant Ed Wood and the nifty Sleepy Hollow have played it very, very safe with their latest enterprise, wherein the
trailblazing stops and the familiar formula reaches its confident yet complacent zenith: Burton -- now basically a
corporation (like Disney or Lucas but for sadder kids, as The Corpse Bride and the Scissorhands musical will surely
support) -- dutifully delivers the glumly zany “Burtony” images expected of him; and Depp displays yet again his
ostensibly effortless mastery of populist tomfoolery (he’d eclipse Chaplin and Chan if they hadn’t come first). Most
crucially, for the hetero ladies who’d like to humble him and eat him raw, Depp works that irresistibly awkward grin
(here rendered huge and flashy and literally artificial), with the added, almost-lurid attraction of his vague perviness now
being surrounded by mad, vulnerable children and their truly sick parents. Talk about a plan looking great on paper! It
can’t miss, and it won’t miss. Fortunately, the pleasure is that, all this (and more) considered, this exercise in technique
and profit -- this safe bet, this obvious echo, this ire-inducer for Web-junkies who’ll post that “u no its definatley about
money!” or “people its JSUT A MOVIE like Plant Ofthe Apes get OVER ti!!!!” -- is still comforting, visually delightful
and a lot of fun.
The movie, of course, is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and you want to see it, you’re going to see it, you won’t
even be able to avoid it on your residential holographic projection units and roaming brain-implants during the nostalgic
telecasts throughout the Earth holidays of 2039, and nothing any critic says is going to make any difference. Which is
fine. This writer isn’t under any false impression that he’s making a difference; rather, I just like to muse aloud. And yet
for the impatient, the musing here -- of which there shall be very, very much -- boils down to this: Our Golden Ticket
arrived in 1971, however this new Factory produces undeniably tasty confectionery of a newfangled sort.
Speaking of which, Movie Headline of the Year goes out early, to Premiere magazine, for “Confections of a Dangerous
Mind.” Brill! Except that despite its perfect cleverness, it’s a bit off: Depp’s Wonka is utterly without threat; pardon my
accuracy, but for all the redundant cries of “creepy,” he’s merely a twitchy Froot Loop. Gene Wilder’s Wonka, on the
other hand -- despite, or perhaps for, whatever stupid reason Charlie author and renowned misanthrope Roald Dahl
despised him (the nose, maybe?) -- was and is truly dangerous: dreamy one minute, nightmarish the next, a brilliant study
in contrasts (from a brilliant actor), and thus, altogether human, as disturbingly unbalanced as a human. (Wilder’s
deadpan “warnings” to the rotten children are so painfully absent here that the drama sags with huge black holes where
they should be.) Where Depp errs is to try to make Willy instead seem “gentle” and “nervous” and “put-upon” -- at worst
(shudder), “sneering” -- and this is largely Burton’s shortcoming, too: Okay, Tim, we got it way back in Scissorhands:
The poor, misunderstood artist just wants to make art in the world, but instead he is vilified, boo-hoo, Q.E.D. It’s a
splendid theme, but what is this now, the tenth go-round? Next!
Well, it’s still a cool movie -- plus it’s got Christopher Lee in it, and I like literally everything I’ve seen with Christopher
Lee in it (which is a lot). The opening title sequence is appropriately Dickensian with its grim, grey factory, then once we
plummet down one of its smokestacks, we’re back in the digitally-obsessed present, as robotic chocolate machines stir
and whip and form and wrap Wonka product en route to a pair of dubiously ornate cuffs and gloves enclosing five
Golden Tickets to be dispersed into the world for you-know-why. Suddenly that unmistakably velvety 7-Up “Uncola-
Man” Geoffrey Holder starts narrating (there’s a nice tie-up later) and Danny Elfman’s patented Gothic Fairy Tale™
music kicks in, and we meet the Bucket family. They’re poor. They live in a tilted, collapsing shack with a gaping hole in
the roof. They eat only watered-down cabbage soup every day. But like most poor people who can’t afford proper
nourishment, they can afford a television, upon which they watch the broadcasts of Wonka’s exploits, Hollywood-like,
upon the fragile minds of the world’s youth. They also encourage the youngest Bucket, whose name is Saint Altruism...
er...I mean “Charlie,” to partake of the mania and soul-crushing disappointment, by way of the one single Wonka
Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight bar they can afford to buy for him.
Charlie is played by little Freddie Highmore, who was excellent in his wrenching moments in Finding Neverland, and
was hastened along by co-star Depp to this production, where he is forced to play Charlie as absolutely, impossibly,
nauseatingly good. He’s inhuman. What the hell is this -- Pay It Forward? Even adorable Mark Lester in Oliver! beat the
crap out of the undertaker’s son for insulting his dead mother. But not this Charlie. With his destitute, freezing, starving
family he hovers miles beneath the poverty line (he is the very stuff that grows up into The Sex Pistols!) and yet he
evinces not a single behavioral glitch -- unless you count deciding to sell his lucky-last-stab Golden Ticket to support his
family. Fortunately, although Grandpa George (David Morris) doesn’t get to do much here (until perhaps the sequel,
which is likely), he is nonetheless the wisest member of the Bucket household, and exhorts, “Only a dummy would give
this up for something as common as money! Are you a dummy?”
At this point, the irony could fill a thick book.
Anyway, Charlie’s mother is, by very loose definition, a “homemaker,” and no, whew, she does not sing that one song
from the original movie which I cannot tolerate. (Alas, none of the sensational original songs by Leslie Bricusse and
Anthony Newley show up here -- but we do receive some tuneful treats in their stead; more on that in a bit.) She is
played by the exceptionally strange and talented Helena Bonham Carter, who met partner and co-parent Burton whilst
wearing “Paula Abdul” prosthetics for his shockingly terrible Planet of the Apes remake, and whom I once encountered
at a Wild Oats market in the cracker aisle (not meaning “mean white people,” but “flat baked goods”) and who proved
quite congenial and apparently not too insane in her retro leg-warmers. Meanwhile, her onscreen husband is the equally
exceptional Noah Taylor (Simon Magus -- check it out), who gets to do a little more here as Mr. Bucket, in that he is
fired from his job at the local toothpaste factory only to be replaced by automated equipment.
Bummer, but with the Grandmas -- Georgina (Liz Smith; funny with Alzheimer’s) and Josephine (Eileen Essell, another
actor from Finding Neverland) -- providing good cheer and moral support, the Buckets somehow tough it out. The focal
point of the movie, unlikely as this may seem, falls not upon Charlie nor Willy but actually Grandpa Joe (David Kelly),
from whose weary old eyes we more than once take our point of view. This makes sense, since Burton is fond of
caricature, and clearly encourages Kelly to play one, all nodding and bobbing and overly enthusiastic -- perhaps how
Burton himself sees or wants to see the world. It is much too late to replace the glorious Jack Albertson for me, but
Kelly, whose more-than-average Joe used to work at Wonka’s Chocolate Factory and knew the wizard Wonka
personally before the chocolatier sank into total antisocial seclusion behind his locked gates, brings his own unique
energy to the part. He’s a fun storyteller, too, giving us the scoop on Wonka’s previous exotic exploits right up to his
trust being undermined by his workers and competitors -- all moments in which Burton’s visual flair really shines.
(And remember, please: Although there’s plenty to criticize, Burton’s worst moments are still more delightful than 90%
of studio fare. There’s even a stupid visual pun here involving what appears at first to be a montage of world-travel, and
I hated it when I first saw it, but upon second reflection I consider it amiable nonsense. The same goes for his very
weird appraisal of health care providers for animatronics.)
And suddenly there we are, at the gates of the Chocolate Factory -- again – having outrageously overburdened ourselves
with expectations from Dahl’s brilliant book (kids of all ages, your Neil Gaiman and J.K. Rowling and their managers and
minions would not exist without him) and Mel Stuart’s brilliant movie (the latter being mentioned not once in the new
movie’s press notes; for shame! Perhaps this very gifted director has the right to have said he hopes the new crew all
“fall into the chocolate river and drown.”) And then the lead-up, well, it’s about the same, really: Four other kids who’ve
been raised, respectively, to be menaces to society -- gluttonous, greedy, self-absorbed and media-mad (with ugly video
games), respectively -- “earn” the other four Golden Tickets and show up with one ghastly parent each to try to “win”
whatever it is that Wonka is giving away at the end of the legendary tour. You remember that grand entrance by Wilder
in the previous movie? The sour expression, the cane stuck in the sidewalk, the trip, roll and surprise explosion of
“delight” (or is it?) Well, Burton (with the help of screenwriter John August, also his collaborator on Big Fish) instead
puts his mechanized stamp heavily upon the movie at this point and all thereafter, mocking the characters, Disney theme-
parks, even perhaps Dale Carnegie courses. It’s a suitably funny and weird launch, but it’s also telling of the chill and
slight remove of Burton’s direction, as opposed to Stuart’s slightly less flashy but more emotionally resonant approach.
Hey, just to put to rest the raging arguments on whether or not this is a “remake,” it sort of is, and it sort of isn’t. There
is absolutely no way this movie could exist and look as it does without the influence of the original (heck, the kid they got
to play Mike Teavee here even looks exactly like the kid from thirty-five years ago, which is frightening). This movie also
owes its predecessor big-time for imparting to it huge dollops of collective goodwill. And, of course, many elements
from the original are missing (the fantastic sound effects, the Fizzy Lifting Drinks and associated burping, and thrilling
Slugworth is reduced here to a footnote)...while this version does nonetheless cleave closer to Dahl’s original narrative.
Let’s just call it an “evolution” and leave it at that. Most remakes are sickening (see: this summer), but this movie stands
proudly enough on its own.
Some of this evolution brings us back to the bizarre heart of Dahl’s book, especially when it comes to the Oompa-
Loompas, who are returned, essentially, to the racist caricature of pygmies Dahl originally envisioned -- “rescued” in the
jungle by wandering Wonka to become luxuriating slaves in his factory. The wonderful fantasy actor Deep Roy (Flash
Gordon, Dr. Who) brings to life not one but -- via more digital magic -- all of the Oompa-Loompas here (who end up
being about half his actual diminutive height). He’s great fun in all these “separate” parts, and his costumes (by the
exceptionally gifted Gabriella Pescucci -- are you single?) are giddy and great. However, I must ask: Why the hell is there
a tribe of identical clones running around the jungle in the first place? Oh well, studio movies need more imaginative
nonsense in them, so thanks again.
The most important detour from the book is the insertion, mostly via flashback, of Willy Wonka’s father, Dr. Wilbur
Wonka (Christopher Lee), a very, very stern dentist who illustrates his oppressive loathing of candy and sweets in no
uncertain terms. These days, Mr. Lee could wander onscreen, blow his nose and walk away, and I’d give him a twenty-
minute standing ovation, however he really is quite impressive here. No fangs, no golden gun, no curvy lightsaber -- just
a man with a terribly imposing and uncompromising disposition, who misses his son and hopes, someday, to see him
again -- perchance for who he actually is. While there are obvious parallels to Big Fish, I wasn’t nearly as impressed by
that movie, and here Mr. Lee allows for no dissent. His father-dentist-overlord may be absurd (and Depp’s perfect
choppers after years of never flossing moreso), but Mr. Lee has accumulated such gravity with the bold roles of his
incredible career that he brings emotional truth to a movie which very often cannot find it with both hands. Bless him. I
have decided to direct a magnificent feature, and I’d like more than anything for him to star. I’ll be in touch.
Returning again to Depp’s portrayal, I’m not sure he does his best with this challenging -- near-impossible -- assignment.
I like his gradually decreasing deathlike pallor as the movie rolls along (great work, makeup man Peter Owen), and,
having happily worn a very unfashionable “Prince Valiant” hairstyle myself, I like the ‘do. The latex gloves are the ideal
mark of an antisocial germophobe, and that they’re purple is close to genius. Depp’s funny, too (when asked by the
scary-hottie-bitch blonde Mom why his chocolate factory uses hair cream, he glibly responds, “to lock in moisture!”).
But to quote Pee-Wee from twenty years ago, “Everyone I know has a big ‘but.’” In this case: But...rather than seeking
to enrapture us as usual with his imaginative personae, Depp instead here looks a bit tired, and unwisely allows the seams
of his performance to show. His work here often becomes mere clowning, which is unfortunate, especially when he
keeps trying to milk laughs from slamming his face into his Great Glass Elevator.
Much cheap talk has spread of Mr. Depp’s personification of Wonka cutting a bit too close to a certain way-talented,
pallid, chronically-overdressed pop-singer of a vaguely dubious nature. Bollocks! (Although one pleasant-looking young
woman, in the parking structure after the screening, enthusiastically offered: “He was he was he was like, he was like, he
was like...Michael Jackson meets a fag!” My associate tried to ask if there’s any difference, but she didn’t comprehend
his joke.) And then Depp himself declares in interviews that his Wonka is meant to mirror aspects of Robert “Captain
Kangaroo” Keeshan or Mr. (Fred) Rogers. More bollocks! (In case Depp hasn’t noticed, those two characters were
created by hardworking, dedicated philanthropists who truly loved and respected children -- and protected them: Nothing
like this Wonka at all!)
Nay, when you take into account Wonka’s ostentatious behaviour, crazy globetrotting, rotten relationship with his father,
desperately showy philanthropy, chronic inability to sustain a romantic partnership and penchant for collecting tiny,
exotic, underprivileged people (rather than cats like any normal lonely person), the model for this Wonka becomes
obvious: Angie Voigt.
Whoo!
Perhaps the reason for this disconnect -- for thinking, for once, that Depp isn’t totally glorious -- is that he is forced by
the role to abandon his inherent sexuality: the very undercurrent which makes those girls go crazy. I mean, come on:
We’re to believe that Wonka Jr. has spent fifteen years locked in a candy factory with a bunch of identical jungle-
midgets without turning into Pervertus Maximus? BUZZ! WRONG! DOES NOT COMPUTE!
It’s also pretty darned funny to view this “wholesome family movie” whilst keeping in mind the onscreen work of Depp
and Bonham Carter circa 1999, when one was -- let’s see, how to put this gently -- F-ing the S out of Charlize Theron,
while the other was letting Brad Pitt discover more violently inventive uses for rubber gloves. Titters of the cinephile!
Plus, let’s just get to the nitty-gritty already: Americans might not grok this, but the character’s name is “Willy” and his
last name is very nearly “Wanker.” He runs a chocolate factory. And even in this remake...er...evolution (pardon), the
innuendo floats very near the surface of that creamy river. It starts out kinda scientific:
“Hey, did you guys know that chocolate contains a chemical that releases endorphins -- causing the feeling of being in
love!”
Then it gets a little more intense:
“I want you to take Mrs. Gloop to the fudge room; take a long stick and start poking around...”
And then subtlety goes right out the window:
“Don’t touch that squirrel’s nuts -- it’ll make him crazy!”
Yeah, there’s definitely something for everyone here. (Those squirrels rule, incidentally. Warner Bros. -- a whole movie
with just those, please.)
And what else doesn’t work about this movie? Well, although all the bad parents and bad kids are good, they’re just not
extreme enough to compete with the originals. More cartoon characters from Burton, rather than actual deranged people
a la Dahl and Stuart. Plus, if you’re going to upgrade the characters to the 21st century, why not skip TV altogether and
call the kid Mike Ynternett or something? Also, on a related note, I found the little homages to classic movies in the
teleportation sequence excessively twee. Disjointed creative choices in general.
And what does work? Why, most of the movie! Depp almost achieves the impossible (a feat for the effete), Burton keeps
kicking life into the terribly beleaguered collective imagination, and the cast and crew are all top-notch. Little grace-notes
abound, such as the sweatshop worker for rich Mr. Beauregarde who attempts to palm the Golden Ticket and
immediately gets nabbed (the nabbing is implausibly quick, but the attempted thievery adds another needed human touch.)
I also appreciated that Wonka’s tour in the Elevator almost exactly parallels Slartibartfast’s effects-laden tour of Creation
in the somewhat iffy Hitchhiker’s Guide...um..."evolution" from a couple of months ago.
Extra-special praise goes to Danny Elfman for his Oompa-Loompa songs, which essentially form the greatest Oingo
Boingo record he hasn’t made in ten years! (As a fan of his brother Richard’s The Forbidden Zone -- which is not for
kids, at all, really -- I kept expecting Danny to join the O-L’s for a number, dressed as Satan in a tuxedo.) Putting Dahl’s
actual verses to musical styles ranging from Bollywood Musical Extravaganza to what sounds remarkably like The Byrds
is a stroke of genius, and we’re going to be digging Deep Roy’s crazy choreographed moves for a long time to come.
Nobody knows yet if it’s a classic like Stuart’s project, but (Oh no -- Hyperbole Alert!) IT COULD BE ONE OF THE
GREATEST GOTH-FANTASY MORALITY-TALE COCOA-WORSHIP PICTURES (WITH WEIRD SONGS) OF THIS
OR ANY OTHER EPOCH OF HUMAN EXISTENCE!
Oh, I’m kidding. It’s good, though.
Ultimately, it’s not even fair to compare this Chocolate Factory adaptation with the original; it’s a context thing; with
scant few exceptions, filmmaking today is nowhere near as bold as it was in the 1970s. That Burton and August and their
producers (Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston are making mucho coin on this, too) even made a film this heavy with potential
disappointment and yet this good is a laudable achievement. Chalk up my assorted disgruntlements to the diminishing
returns of movie entertainment in general: There are too many Oompa-Loompas running wild in the factory, and
apparently not enough Pure Imagination to go around.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Entertainment Value: 10/13
Style: 10/13
Philosophical Insight: 6/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 13 July, 2005
This review is appreciatively and affectionately dedicated to my mother, who has always encouraged us to go to the
library, to check out books, and to read them.
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