It is, you quickly remember, a wonderful story. Indeed, it's so bright and vivid that the mental pictures still remain from childhood reading, drifting easily into the mind's eye as the familiar tale unfolds. Such is the imaginative wealth that there's plenty of room for multiple interpretations; a great shame, therefore, that Tim Burton's version fails to live up to its obvious promise.
Even more so, because it starts so perfectly. The opening parts of the story were always among the most compelling anyway, much more human than the extravagant morality tale that takes place in the factory. And Burton's direction is just magical: brilliantly capturing the characters and their world with his unique touch, at once traditional and wildly creative, and building up tantalising anticipation. There's a vital warmth about it, about the old folk tucked up in their bed, about the dreams of the golden ticket. It is the book, brought to life.
And then it all goes a bit, er, wonky. Naturally, Burton runs riot as soon as the gates open, but it's all too fast, all too rushed. It feels as if we've barely set foot in the factory before, with some regret, we're smashing through the glass ceiling and up into the sky. The result is something that entertains well enough; Johnny Depp's distinctly Jackson-inspired, slightly melancholic turn is terrific, even if the songs get bogged down in unnecessary pastiche. But the real disappointment, rather ironically, is that it loses the magic that it conjured up outside the factory walls.
In a sense, that's the moral of the story. But it's surely not quite as either Dahl or Burton intended.
No comments:
Post a Comment