Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Tim Burton, 2005)
Tim Burton’s Charlie and the
Chocolate Factory, an adaptation of Roald Dahl’s beloved, nasty
children’s classic is an imperfect film, though it fares better than Willy
Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, the first film made from the source novel.
The title change that marked Wonka’s first transition to screen
almost seemed
appropriate, since Gene Wilder’s stagy, slightly unnerving performance as that
crazed candyman was one of the few worthwhile aspects of the production. It was
cursed with sappy interplay between its young protagonist and his family and
wholly unwelcome songs. Burton’s decision to rectify the change, and put Charlie
back in the title where he belongs, suggests that the young character takes
a more dominant role in this version of the film, but that’s only half-true.
The first act of his adaptation is indeed dominated by Charlie Bucket’s
plight, transporting the viewer to an expressionistic town dominated by the
presence of Wonka’s omnipresent but out of reach factory. The expository
scenes, in which the children selected to tour Wonka’s factory are introduced,
work brilliantly. The detailing of Charlie’s quest to gain entry into that
exclusive group feels a bit abbreviated, though it does much to endear the boy
to the audience. When the movie moves to the factory, however, and introduces
Wonka (Johnny Depp), the clear star of the show, poor Charlie all but evaporates
from the screen and Burton’s personal attachment to the material becomes all
too clear.
Though the idea of a Burton / Dahl
collaboration would seem a perfect aligning of sensibilities, it becomes
incredibly apparent that the director’s pretenses get in the way of Dahl’s
simpler intent. The finale in particular deviates from the book, not so much
because the film needs emotional closure, but seemingly more because Burton
himself needs to better identify with Wonka. He presents him as a tortured,
socially awkward artist, who must learn to love again to find the happiness to
create (though this hardly stopped him early on), which isn’t exactly an
unwelcome sentiment, though it goes a long way toward reducing the actor’s
earlier quirky effectiveness. There’s no rule that says children’s films
can’t be serious, but the problem is that little beyond Depp’s own
skittishness has prepared us for this weight. Certainly not many of Burton’s images have much to do with the film’s weightier themes.
One exception occurs when Burton presents the image of 2001:
A Space Odyssey’s iconic monolith as it is replaced with a Wonka Bar. It
becomes apparent that the film’s ulterior motive is the artistic evolution of
its creator and that of the boy who strives to emulate him. The desire to be
faithful to the book’s plot and include five songs all but squeezes the young
boy out of the second half of the film, though, and since Charlie becomes a
non-entity, this theme seems half-formed and somewhat pretentious. Depp’s
Wonka is a weird conception, but is saddled with a Freudian motivation that does
no one any favors. When Wonka’s motive for running the contest is revealed, he
is still clearly a narcissist, and his rapid transformation into a caring
individual is unconvincing (and rather unwelcome). These changes provide a
redemptive spin (Burton’s obviously more sentimental than Dahl ever dreamed of
being), but one has to wonder if the Charlie-as-an-artist theme is appropriate
when the script makes it clear that he’s a resoundingly average little boy
except for his strong character. Is Burton merely trying to say here that good
character is an essential requirement for mental health or is he trying to
suggest that it’s the cornerstone to artistic success? I can’t fathom why
he’d argue either point, but the narrator’s early insistence that Charlie is
not a particularly clever or smart boy greatly undermines the theme.
Burton’s narcissistic desire here to
normalize Wonka deflates the wonders that have come before, and I suspect that
the director’s wish to create a work with a personal message in the context of
a monolithic, mega-budget adaptation of a well-known classic novel got the
better of him. The varied images of the first act fly by quickly, which might be
why the film builds such admirable steam those early scenes. Augustus Gloop’s
hairless face and Mrs. Beauregarde’s intense stares at her daughter are
marvels of caricature that instantly epitomize those characters, which speaks of
Burton’s skill as a stylist as much as it illustrates what shallow characters
they are. When a more serious direction is taken, though, and Burton needs to
show us the profound emotional experiences of Charlie and Wonka, there’s next
to no stylistic shift. They feel as hollow as any of the film’s characters,
unfortunately. At one point, Charlie’s says, “Candy doesn’t have to have a
point… that’s why it’s candy.” It’s a line that’s unmistakable as a
directorial mission statement. Burton wants his candy to have a point, though,
and as a result it’s not that satisfying.
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Jeremy Heilman
07.18.05