It's 10 Years Later and I Still Hate "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"

Johnny Depp

For most of my adult life, I have grown weary of hearing friends openly discuss Star Wars: Episode 1 - The Phantom Menace. Rarely is there more than a negative comment about how it ruined the originals in some capacity. While the best option is to forget about them, the films have remained as present as the common cold or summer heat. Comedians like Patton Oswalt and Brian Posehn continually riffed on the film's inferiority. Yet I come face to face with the opinion to just scream back at them to not perpetuate the hate. Don't watch the movie. Don't feel obligated to watch something you already know is terrible when you likely haven't seen The Apu Trilogy yet. I yell these things until I realize that I may fall victim, in partial, to a film that is celebrating its 10th anniversary. You see, I get The Phantom Menace hate because few films have made me as frustrated yet in denial as director Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

It may seem like a bizarre film to be mad at. Considering that Burton has been continually subpar for most of the past 20 years, it doesn't seem right to single out this one film. However, it is one that has gestated in uncomfortable ways. It has lingered with me and caused me to attempt to rewatch in horror as the film shows for the infinite time on cable. Even Danny Elfman's score, a composer I usually lack animosity towards, grinds on my nerves as a see the dark and sickly production design of a factory being introduced as it churns out chocolate. I take a deep breath as I am introduced to the new cast. I take a deep breath as I analyze the plot beats. I take a deep breath as we finally get to the factory...

Then suddenly, it happens. What starts off as a decent, sometimes incongruous, adaptation evolves into the frustrating reality that would bother me. Before we are hailed with Johnny Depp's conception of Willy Wonka, we are met with an orchestra of overproduced Oompa Loompas singing a poorly recorded introductory tune. It wouldn't be the only one and the character designs would look atrocious as well. For what it's worth, 2005 was in the middle of Depp's stranglehold on pop culture. In between The Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, he was buddy-buddy with Burton, producing their own faux-goth mainstream hits. With his Wonka allegedly based off of Michael Jackson, it meant that the eccentricities would also be more creepy.

I hate the Oompa Loompas. I hate them with every moral fiber in my body. I hate the way that the chocolate texture looks as Augustus Gloop (Philip Wiegratz) falls into the river. I hate... well, I hate a lot about this movie. It may be the moment where Burton's gothic production design stopped being interesting to me, as every piece of candy looked laced with anthrax and lead paint. 

And yet... there was a lot of everything else. For instance, Wonka's extended story distinguished itself as an authentic take on the character. His origin story with a dental father (played by the late Christopher Lee) had endearing moments. The Great Glass Elevator was an impressive look into what Roald Dahl had written about. It was technically impressive, even if a lot of the visuals were occasionally unpleasant to look at and that the cast was lacking in the charm department. For what it's worth, Depp was "different" in a way that worked half of the time. Yet, I come down on the side of Gene Wilder, who said that it "Was an insult."

Now I get to the core of my relationship with the movie. As you can likely gather from all of these past words, I have an interest in the story. Maybe I don't remember Dahl's (who disowned the film) original story, but there was some magic to director Mel Stuart's 1971 adaptation. For all of its dated limitations, it has been ingrained in my subconscious as pure happiness. I love hearing the Oompa Loompas sing their songs. I like watching the candy montages. I love Gene Wilder's Wonka, who is somewhat too pompous for the gig. There's just a whimsical nature that is reminiscent of "Classic Hollywood." Everything from the production design to the visual cues are all fascinating. Not to mention that the kids were bubbling with personality and Veruca Salt steals the entire show with "I Want it Now!" 

So it may be unfair to even ask me to judge Burton's take on its own merits. I have Pavlovian associations with the 1971 film. It ranks in my Top 10 favorite movies. Even if the 2005 adaptation was similar in tone and content, I would have trouble calling it as good. There's just too much ingrained in my subconscious. The most that I can do is look at what Burton did that Stuart didn't, which is quite a lot actually. Maybe the more focused story was for the better, who knows. Still, it becomes frustrating to correct people when discussing Willy (1971) and Charlie (2005), because you know that they'll mess it up every other time.

It is kind of why I have realized that I must come to terms with The Phantom Menace crowd. While they run more rampant, they share a similar origin story. We both had childhood films that feel sacred, watched ad nasueum. There are updated adaptations that have created their own affronts to our beliefs. Most of all, it has caused us to try and separate admiration from apathy. I have done pretty well, even if Burton's film has left just as much intriguing tweaks as there are offensive moments. Maybe I am not reminded of the film as often, but Burton's continual presence never let me forgets it. Cable will not let me at least stop for five minutes and contemplate the details that annoy me and how its vision is polar opposite to the other's infusion of pure happiness.

So, as it crawls to 10 years, I keep my nostalgia alive, choosing to be thankful for its lack of modern relevance. I am thankful that unlike Star Wars, it has died long ago. For me, there will always only be one Wonka and several Oompa Loompas (you suck, Deep Roy). I will choose to enjoy the version that embraces optimism in the face of adversity and finances. I will sit through "Cheer Up Charlie" before I ever return to Danny Elfman's score. Nothing you do can change that. So while this retrospective may have been more of an attack on this film, let it be known that it is mostly because it is my The Phantom Menace. I am just now glad that there isn't one that is my The Force Awakens.