Charlie And The Chocolate Factory

Though much has been made of the darkened hues in Tim Burton’s new adaptation, few who saw Mel Stuart’s original screen version of Roald Dahl’s classic 1964 novel ever needed to be told about the dangers of strange men with sweets again. This time around, Johnny Depp’s conked hair and deathly white pallor may have creepy echoes of one Michael Jackson, but unlike Gene Wilder, he never strikes you as a man capable of anything up to, and including, fucking a sheep.
All the same, as Depp’s volatile Willy Wonka escorts the five golden ticket holding children through his scrumptious sweet factory, one can’t help but fear for their personal safety. Sure enough, our four kiddie grotesques – gut-heavy Augustus Gloop, shrill me-me-me brat Veruca Salt, self-absorbed gum-chewer Violet Beauregarde and passive-aggressive Mike Teavee – are duly dispatched with sweet irony, leaving only loveable Charlie Bucket (Highmore, sweet, not cloying) in this chocolatey paradise.
The marriage of Dahl and Burton always promised to be a happy affair and so it proves. But for an oedipal detour into Big Fish waters when Wonka flashes back to childhood with his dentist father (Christopher Lee), the director stays faithful to the source, impressively fashioning edible meadows and chocolate waterfalls. The film certainly looks suitably sumptuous, with all manner of Burton bells and whistles, though many will feel dismayed by the new oompa loompas (all played by Deep Roy courtesy of CGI), which lack the garish bad-acid quality of their 1971 predecessors.
Still, like Burton’s last visit to Dahl-ville in James And The Giant Peach (which he produced), we could have done without all the bloody singing. Delicious, nonetheless.