CHOCOLATE NEVERLAND
Depp's Willy Wonka goes over the top and gets under the skin
By Andy Klein
For those to whom the 1971 Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory is iconic, the big question about Tim Burton's tremendously amusing new version - which reverts to the actual title of Roald Dahl's children's book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - is: why bother?
Sure, there is spiffier effects technology now (though that frequently turns out to be the worst reason for a remake, as in the 1976 King Kong or Burton's own Planet of the Apes). And I doubt anyone considers Mel Stuart - the director of the first version - a visionary auteur on a level with Burton. Indeed, Burton's visual scheme here has several new elements.
But the main excuse is Johnny Depp, who has been on a roll for quite a while now, giving performances that range from as-good-as-can-be-hoped-given-the-material (Secret Window, Finding Neverland) to utterly inspired (Pirates of the Caribbean, Once Upon a Time in Mexico). Not that there was anything wrong with his earlier work, but in middle adulthood - I can't bring myself to call the 42-year-old Depp "middle-aged" - he just seems to be getting better and better.
I'm a bit too old for the '71 version to have much meaning for me. Yes, Gene Wilder brings a magical brio to the role of Willy Wonka; and he has an amazing ability to switch from merely distracted to stark raving bonkers instantaneously, which can also be seen in Young Frankenstein, Start the Revolution Without Me, and The Producers. Director Stuart - most of whose memorable work was as a documentarian - wisely cleaved to the book in most regards and used an appropriately garish candyland design scheme.
On the other hand, the Leslie Bricusse/Anthony Newley songs are frankly awful: "The Candy Man" is arguably the worst piece of crap to be a No. 1 hit in the early '70s; and Veruca's song, while not quite as bad, is so exactly in the style of standard-issue '60s show tunes that it pulls you right out of the chocolate factory and onto the stage of the Schubert Theater.
In Burton's version, Charlie (Freddie Highmore, who also worked with Depp in Finding Neverland) lives an even more Dickensian existence than in the original. Not only does he share a tiny space with Mom (Helena Bonham Carter), Dad (Noah Taylor), and his four bedridden grandparents, but Dad - who didn't exist in the older film - has been laid off from his job screwing caps onto toothpaste tubes. The house itself - which evokes memories of the witch's house in Burton's Big Fish and James's house in Burton's previous Dahl adaptation, James and the Giant Peach - appears to have been frozen in the middle of crashing down.
Willy Wonka (Depp) owns the world's biggest candy factory but, having been ripped off once too often by his competitors' spies, has locked its gates. No one has come or gone in a decade; and no one knows just who works the equipment. Suddenly, for reasons not explained until near the end, Wonka decides to open the doors of his enterprise for one day to five children (each accompanied by an adult). He places golden tickets in five candy bars - an incidentally savvy business move, considering the boost it gives his products' sales.
Charlie, of course, finds one of the tickets, as do gluttonous Augustus Gloop (Philip Wiegratz), greedy Veruca Salt (Julia Winter), arrogant Mike Teavee (Jordan Fry), and overly competitive Violet Beauregarde (AnnaSophia Robb, from Because of Winn-Dixie).
Stuart held back Wonka's first appearance until 40 minutes into his 100-minute film. Burton trims down the first act a bit and even shows us early glimpses of Wonka in flashbacks narrated by Grandpa Joe (Waking Ned Devine's David Kelly). Wilder's memorable entrance defined Wonka as a high-spirited, eccentric trickster and a bit of a conscious ham. Likewise, the grand entrance of Depp's Wonka sets the tone of the character ... but, boy, is it different.
The Wonka that Burton and Depp have come up with is far less benevolent and ... well, downright creepier ... than anything in the original. In his welcome to the children, Wonka is still going for big dramatic effect, but it screws up and turns sinister. He's much less in control - of himself and of the subsequent events. And, most of all, his weirdness goes way beyond lovable eccentricity.
This is one deeply messed-up guy. Much has been made of the ways in which Depp's pallor and manner suggest Michael Jackson. Indeed, this Wonka is a germaphobe, who wears gloves and often talks in a high-pitched voice.
But Jackson isn't the main model. At the Golden Globes a few months back, Depp joked about wanting to portray Carol Channing at some point, leading to speculation, based on the trailers, that he was using Channing as a source for Wonka. The film bears this out. The grin, the rhythm of speech, the cute little head tilt: all come straight from Channing.
Where in Pirates Depp gave Capt. Jack Sparrow a certain sexual ambiguity, the infusion of Channing pushes Wonka even further. It's not that Wonka seems gay/bi so much as he seems pervertedly pre-sexual. Like Jackson, he comes across as a mutated hybrid - a man's body inhabited by a personality whose development was arrested at exactly the most confused moment of adolescence. Unlike Jackson, he is repulsed by physical contact and seems to regard children as filthy little beasts. He's totally ill-at-ease in his own skin; he has that awkward, over-deliberate carriage often seen among men who are completely uncomfortable with their own sexuality.
In the film's greatest deviation from the text, Burton and screenwriter John August have gone so far as to contrive a backstory that explains much of the adult Willy. It's a fun bit of business that gives Burton an excuse to use Christopher Lee, but I suspect that it will grate on people who are deeply attached to the book or the earlier movie.
The film tries to use this backstory, involving Willy's relationship with Wilbur Wonka, his stern father, both as a source of humor and as a setup for some emotional payoff at the end. Like Wonka, Burton himself seems awkward in dealing with deep feelings; he usually puts more emphasis on design (as in Batman) and jokey shtick (as in Mars Attacks) than on emotion. (There are exceptions, most notably Edward Scissorhands and Big Fish.)
In Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, he goes for the same sort of climax, in both tone and theme, as in Big Fish - a rediscovery of family, centering on father/son reconciliation, infused with genuine feeling. But, unlike Big Fish, the result is weakened by the humorous tone of the setup. We learn about Willy's dad problems through a series of flashbacks that are introduced like post-traumatic memories in a war movie. They're funny enough that, when Burton tries to squeeze serious feelings from them at the end, he's just barely successful.
I would be remiss not to briefly mention what a great improvement Danny Elfman's score is over the original. While retaining the book's lyrics (which were also used in the '71 version), he writes each child's song in a different pop style - one is sheer funk, another Beatles-ish '60s pop, another Queen-like. And the non-song parts of the score contribute mightily to the movie's effectiveness.Published: 07/14/2005
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