In terms of my childhood influences, Roald Dahl occupied the
same rare air as J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and Dr. Seuss. He was a master
storyteller; one whose work I savored much like Charlie Bucket savored his
Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight chocolate bar on his birthday each
year—bit by precious bit. Needless to say, then, when someone like Tim Burton
ventures to bring a book like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to the
big screen, for me and countless other former children, he is treading on holy
ground. Thankfully, even though Burton’s account of the gospel of Wonka is
eerily unorthodox, he avoids falling into full-blown heresy. I wouldn’t
necessarily call the changes he has made to the story improvements, but
Burton’s film is definitely an intriguing adaptation of Dahl’s beloved
children’s tale.
One of the most significant and fascinating deviations from
the book is Burton’s characterization of Willy Wonka. As written by Dahl, Wonka
was a mysterious, delightfully childlike man with a heart like Santa Claus and
a face like Uncle Sam. He was also a genius, a “magician with chocolate,”
according to Charlie’s Grandpa Joe. In Burton’s film, Wonka is still a genius,
but he has more in common with Howard Hughes or Michael Jackson than Santa
Claus. And his face, well… Let’s just say it’s more disturbing than comforting.
Burton’s Wonka is also childlike in his own way. But rather than portray him as
an old man who has managed to retain his sense of childlike wonder, Burton
depicts him as more of a man-child who hasn’t really gotten over the trauma of
his early years but who doesn’t know how to grow up either. He is clumsy,
gawky, unsure of how to relate to others, and uncertain if he even wants to. He
doesn’t seem to like children, so it’s a wonder he ever issues the invitation
for the children to tour his chocolate factory at all. But perhaps it’s his way
of reaching out, a desperate cry for help from a troubled man who realizes he
is losing his grip on reality and that somehow only the wisdom of a child can
bring him back.
In these and other ways, Burton’s take on Wonka couldn’t be
more different from Dahl’s original vision. However, even though I regard
myself as somewhat of a Dahl purist, I don’t see these changes as intrinsically
negative. Not only have Burton and actor Johnny Depp managed to create an
entirely original character who is captivating in his own right, the choices
they made also enabled them to showcase Dahl’s delightfully wicked sense of
humor, which is one of the most attractive features of his work. In fact, my
only real complaint about the film is the superfluous backstory that explains
how Willy Wonka became the troubled genius we see on screen. Mystery, says
screenwriter William Goldman, is one of the key ingredients of an effective character.
While Burton’s Wonka definitely starts out as an enjoyable enigma, eventually
it is revealed that he is nothing more than the product of a (yawn) troubled
childhood. As I’ve stated elsewhere in regard to George Lucas’s laborious
exposé of Darth Vader’s origins in Star Wars Episodes I–III, sometimes
you just need to leave well enough alone.
That said; Burton’s ambiguous depiction of Willy Wonka does
lead to some interesting spiritual reflections. But before I get to those, a
bit of set-up: In terms of structure, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
bears a strong resemblance to C. S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce. In
Lewis’s tale, a group of people gets the chance to take a bus from hell to
heaven. If they like it there, they will be allowed to stay. If not, they are
free to return to the dreary, rainy place from whence they came. Strangely
enough, after a short stint in Paradise, one-by-one, each passenger decides
they were much happier down below where they were free to pursue their vices,
so back on the bus they go. Only one character decides to stay, and he is
gloriously transformed as a result.
Similarly, in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, five
children and their guardians are invited to leave the dreary, hopelessness of
their lives (hell) and visit Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory (heaven). At the
end of the tour, Wonka (an admittedly bizarre stand-in for God) promises that
one of the children will receive a prize far greater than they can imagine.
However, as in The Great Divorce, one-by-one, the children fall victim to their
vices—whether gluttony, greed, pride or anger—turn their back on Wonka and the
factory and return to the world from whence they came. In the end, only Charlie
remains. By virtue of his stalwart character, he has proven himself worthy to
receive the prize, which is nothing less than Wonka’s glorious chocolate
factory itself!
However, in a surprising departure from the original story,
rather than give the factory to Charlie outright, Wonka reveals one final
stipulation: To inherit the factory, Charlie must say goodbye to his family
forever. Suddenly, what appeared to be a gift from God looks more like a deal
with the devil. Charlie refuses, and Wonka goes away angry. But he is also
troubled. How could Charlie turn down such an offer? Never having experienced
familial love himself, he simply cannot understand Charlie’s motivation. Only
when Charlie helps Wonka reunite with his own father does he finally see what
Charlie was on to.
To my mind, Wonka’s surprising about-face is an accurate
reflection of our current feelings of uncertainty toward God. In Dahl’s book,
Wonka is similar to the version of God I heard about in Sunday school—all
knowing, all loving, and so forth. In Burton’s film, however, Wonka is nasty,
confused, and socially awkward—hardly what you would call divine attributes. At
times, you can’t help but wonder, is Wonka God or is he the devil? Are his
Oompa Loompas angels or demons? Is the chocolate factory heaven or hell? Should
the children love Wonka or fear him?
Some of our depictions of God bring to mind the same
questions. Does God delight in seeing us fall victim to our vices? Is he some
sort of eccentric misfit who needs us as much, or more, as we need him? Could
it be that, like Wonka, God has a thing or two to learn from us as well? Can he
be trusted? At times, we may see him as unable or unwilling to relate to common
people like ourselves, as Wonka was unable to do. We may also suspect that, like Wonka at the opening of
the factory tour, God is just putting on a show for his own amusement—and not a
very good show at that.
I much prefer images of God closer to Dahl’s original
description of Wonka—a kindly, self-assured being with an eye to celebrating
redemption rather than glorying in defeat. A God of grace and constancy
certainly has been my experience. Faced with a double-dealing God similar to
Burton’s version of Wonka, the choice to re-board the bus back to hell would
almost seem to make sense.