Fri, July 15, 2005

During the 2004 presidential election, opponents of the Kerry/Edwards ticket (usually, conservative TV "pundits") complained that the two Johns were "out of the mainstream" – meaning out of touch with the values and priorities of most Americans. The resounding message of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (in theatres today) is that director Tim Burton is out of the mainstream, cinematically speaking.

Burton – whom I adore – has defined his career by making off-kilter movies about surreal subject matter. His skewed perspective is his calling card. But, while the innocent romance of Edward Scissorhands or the macabre jollity of Beetlejuice made a connection with a broad national audience, concept pieces like Mars Attacks!, Sleepy Hollow, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory can not. I respect Mars and Charlie for their disjointed camp aesthetic (and I'm committed to giving Sleepy Hollow another try), but I can't in good conscience recommend that anyone pay money to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in the theatre.

I should say that I did not stand with those who felt that making this movie was a bad idea, or that it in any way tarnished the memory of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, the 1971 Gene Wilder adaptation of the same Roald Dahl book. Had Charlie been better, I would have seen no problem with Charlie and Willy living side by side as separate explorations of the same themes and characters. I've been a fan of the previous version and a fan of the book, but even in our current frenzy of remakes, sequels, and adaptations, I think there's room for an original voice like Burton's to reinterpret a classic tale without stepping on any toes. (And, I don't think Charlie will step on toes, because it will be quickly and unceremoniously forgotten; had it been slightly better, it might have tarnished Willy; had it been much better, it might have overshadowed it.) Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is infinitely more faithful to the novel and the Roald Dahl sensibility than Willy Wonka was, which serves only to demonstrate where the makers of the 1971 film were so correct in their decisions to part from the text. There's a reason Dahl was a novelist more than a screenwriter. It's a lot easier for a book to be a journey of imagination and wonder, exploring mind-bending concepts at length without a forceful line of narrative action. But in a movie, that's much tougher to pull off (cf. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). Of course, seeing these shortcomings laid bare, I'm curious to watch the Gene Wilder film again to see if it suffers the same issues. Is its classic status a function of its catchy songs and the fact that we watched it a million times as kids, or is there something more?

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is a beautiful film. It drips with Burton's trademark style – mixing childlike whimsy with retro psychedelia and bizarre gadgets – from the deliciously garish set designs to the elaborate candy-machine opening sequence which evokes the start of Scissorhands. It overflows with clever sight gags and entertaining "beats" in the performances or the editing, which ratchet up the carnival ride atmosphere. There are moments of interesting exploration into the Willy Wonka backstory – the chief departure from Dahl's text – which show through in flashbacks and in subtle shades of Depp's tour de force performance as the candy king. For the most part, these are sadly lost in the deluge of the film's myriad blunders. It will probably be best appreciated on its third viewing, consumed more as art than as narrative. This writer will happily forgive any who decline to make such an investment (though I'm here to tell you it paid off for Mars Attacks!).

I am increasingly filled with respect for the craft of Johnny Depp. I grudgingly fell in love with him in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (grudgingly not because of him – he's perfect – but because I was so ready to dismiss Pirates as a schlocky summer synergy shitfest, which is exactly what it would have been if not for Depp). And, before that, I generally didn't consider him among the better or more interesting actors. As with Pirates, I'm happy to admit how wrong I was. What happened was, I saw him in What's Eating Gilbert Grape? and Benny & Joon and I didn't care for either. What I understand now is that he was doing the same thing in those movies: hurling himself fully into each character with complete disregard for how any decision might affect Johnny Depp – focusing entirely on the performance. It just happened that those characters, and the one in Don Juan de Marco, were entirely uninteresting to me. In hindsight, the brilliance and commitment that I see in Ed Wood and Once Upon a Time in Mexico and Pirates and Charlie were there all along – the films and characters just missed my wheelhouse. Here, Depp is at the top of his freak-out game, infusing Wonka with tics and quirks that expose his social anxiety, mysophobia, and confused isolation – all fascinating additions to the Wonka backstory by Depp, Burton, and screenwriter John August. At times, he's fumbling with keys and cue cards, or squealing like a kid at the fair, or recoiling from his invading guests with the icy sarcasm of Sarah Vowell. The key reason to see this film, despite its flaws, is to watch Depp at play. It's pretty amazing, and it all seems solidly rooted in the character, though the film ultimately fails to make most of that clear to the audience.

Making and marketing this movie is a high-wire act. Its appeal is due almost exclusively to nostalgia for the 1971 film, yet they've taken it in a whole new direction – Wonka is less avuncular and more neurotic; the factory, while sunnier, is also more austere and unwelcoming. The most memorable elements of the Chocolate Factory story (the moral lessons about parenting, the dreamy feats of imagination) are remembered from the Willy Wonka movie, not the book. It's a movie of spectacle, not story, because there really isn't a story to speak of. It's just a series of outlandish calamities and wondrous inventions, with a tacked-on denouement to address Wonka's connection with Charlie. This is the same in the 1971 film, and also the book if memory serves. So, most of the scenes feel lifeless (between joyous outbursts from Depp) because there's no line of action we're following, we're just watching for the familiar moments to happen.

It's a shame to say it, but to be successful, this film should have strayed farther from the Dahl book. The parenting/imagination stories have been done, and frankly feel a bit pat in today's world. Even without altering characters or events, Burton could have made Charlie and the Chocolate Factory into an evaluation of the media culture, by focusing on the frenzy around the Golden Ticket search, or a deeper character study of Wonka, whom August describes as the story's protagonist but isn't seen until the second act. Why not tell the story from Wonka's point of view? Start with his motivation for giving the tour, rather than pulling it out of a hat at the end, and suddenly all those quirks and nervous giggles are invested with pathos and desperation – and we yearn for Wonka to connect with his guests, as he yearns to, rather than wondering why he's acting like such a wacko. The best scenes are when Wonka and Charlie step outside the novel's narrative and have deeper discussions of Wonka's needs and Charlie's values. We get a taste of the isolation that Wonka has suffered, sequestered in his factory for decades with only the Oompa Loompas for company, and we see his struggle to understand the world and its relationships. I'm willing to accept the film's miscues and appreciate the beauty of these moments (as I was with Spielberg's A.I.), but I'm not betting on audiences to take a similar leap.

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