Wonka

Come With Me/And You'll Be/in a World of Re-Imagination

or

Chocolopalypse Now
 

Did they need to make another "Willy Wonka" movie? Not really. The original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was such a fine confection, a combination of elements so slick and shabby that it far exceeded the sum of its parts. It hit the brain like dopamine, the same reaction as when chocolate melts on your tongue.

 

And like chocolate, it was a surprise that it was as good as it was, given its meager budget and its less-than-pure beginnings (Originally, envisioned as a marketing tool for a new line of candy, it pretty much had to stand on its own when Quaker Oats, the company making the stuff, had production problems and scrapped the "Wonka" candy line). The book's author, Roald Dahl, is credited with the screenplay, but he didn't really write it—his script was shelved—and David Seltzer wrote the egg-creamy Gene Wilder version. He and director Mel Stuart turned it into a perennial, one of "those" movies—the ones like The Wizard of Oz or The Black Stallion—that you have to show your kids knowing that those movie-memories will be golden, enriching and last a lifetime. Quaker Oats' loss was our gain.

So, there didn't need to be another Willy Wonka movie. In fact, the only reason to make another Willy Wonka movie...is that Wonka is so darned good.

 

A prequel of sorts to the 1970 film, it follows young Wonka (played by a winsome Timothée Chalamet), new immigrant from wherever, sailing into England (I think, hard to say), full of hopes and dreams, visions of chocolate trifles dancing in his entrepreneurial head. He has a vision, this guy, inspired by his mother (Sally Hawkins, always welcome) of making the sweetest chocolate this side of Loompaland (from which he has absconded their out-sized cacao beans) and with the magical thinking that if he can just establish his choco-shop, it will fulfill his late mother's promise that she would be at his side at the opening to divulge her secret of chocolate-making.

Illiterate, and in shabby clothes with only 20 shillings in his threadbare pocket, he ends up sleeping on a bench, when he is offered accommodations at the rooms of Scrubbit (Olivia Colman) and Bleacher (Tom Davis), where the rent is only 1 shilling to be paid by end of next day. Wonka is sure he can sell enough chocolates to pay oodles more, but before he can sign the contract, he is warned by the waif Noodle (Calah Lane) to "read the fine print" But, he can't read, so he signs—not that he would have read the slogan on the wall "Come For a Night, Stay For a Lifetime" if he could.

After a night of making confections, he goes out into the street and with just his brio (and a song), he sells his wares, only to confronted by "The Chocolate Cartel" of Slugworth (Paterson Joseph—he's great!), Prodnose (Matt Lucas), and Fickelgruber (Mathew Baynton) that his chocolates are "...weird." And is told by the Chief of the Police (Keegan-Michael Key) that he cannot sell his chocolates without a shop and without a shop he cannot sell chocolates, so he must cease and desist.

And if that weren't enough of a bad day, he is informed by Scrubbit and Bleacher that he has incurred a debt of 10,000 shillings from his stay and the fine print, and must work it off in their considerable laundry service, alongside past tenants Abacus Crunch (Jim Carter), Piper Benz (Natasha Rothwell), Larry Chucklesworth (Rich Fulcher), Lottie Bell (Rakhee Thakrar), and Noodle. Only two days in the city and Wonka is Catch-22'd into no work, no income and no hope (not to mention that when he's able to make chocolate, it is being stolen by someone nefarious that he hasn't been able to catch yet).

What's a Wonka to do?

Well, it's a musical-comedy based on a children's book, so, obviously he has a lot to do. Nobody working on Wonka is doing something world-shaking or revolutionary.

 

Other than making a darned good movie.

Oh, sure it takes about 20 minutes and a so-so song before it finds it's legs, but right about the time Wonka mentions that one of his chocolates is "salted with the bittersweet tears of a Russian clown" I was fully on-board and the film did not disappoint. In fact, it made this jaded old film-writer laugh out loud several times.

Credit must go to director/co-writer Paul King, who may be something of a magician himself. With the two Paddington Bear movies under his belt, he seems to have developed the recipe for making a charming entertainment that appeals to both kids and adults with equal rapture. There was a funny through-line in last year's The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, where Nic Cage, in attempting to bond with his millionaire benefactor asks him what his third favorite movie is and the response to his shock is Paddington 2. The Cage character is aghast, but after watching it, is moved to tears and cannot help but agree. I haven't seen the Paddingtons. On the strength of Wonka, they are now on my ever-expanding list of "must-sees."

The cast is uniformly superb. Doubts about Chalamet being a suitable Willy Wonka should be put to rest given the evidence (the reason Chalamet is so ubiquitous in movies these days is that the man's extraordinarily talented). If he's not quite Gene Wilder's sly loony Wonka, consider that this is a prequel when the character is just getting started and hasn't yet come to the point where the pressure of industrial food manufacturing will throw his gears off-slot. If such a movie is made, King might not be the best fit for it, maybe someone a bit more perverse would be in order.

But, for now, for this movie, King has done a masterful job, even finding lovely roles for such British institutions as Rowan Atkinson and Hugh Grant, who is cast as a perpetually vexing Oompa Loompa, named "Lofty," and does it with such an air of haughty superiority (and no Grant dithering) that he very nearly walks away with the picture. No small feat.

So, if one is putting off going to this one because of rumors on the cranky internet, turn it off and go. Go immediately. And take a child. Get permission, of course.
 

Where most movies skewing towards a younger audience are as disappointing as biting a hollow chocolate Easter bunny, this one is pleasingly solid.

 

Enjoy.

Downton Abbey: A New Era

The Very British Art of Pre-Crying

or

"Oh! How Musical You Make It Sound!"

Well, if it is to be my fate to be addicted to SOME soap-opera, it might as well be "Downton Abbey." After all, I'm of the age for it—elderly and impatient with commercials.

 

Plus, it always was impressively cast, performed, and smartly written (by creator Lord Julian Fellowes), with enough intrigues amid the family (while also negotiating historical events) to keep the considerable cast going for six seasons of episodes.* Yes, it's soapy, and far too nostalgic for the past while also acknowledging that the way of life is, without a doubt, past its sell-date and will be replaced with less familial trappings and a more (Lords help us!) egalitarian sense that would be self-evident if one didn't live in a huge estate with a peerage and a schedule that wasn't filled with breakfasts, lunches, dinners, tea, and high tea that one can barely squeeze in a cracking round of croquet. Why, it's so precious that one could even forgive Fellowes for writing The Tourist.

 

No. No. There are SOME things that just shouldn't be allowed...even in the most liberal of households.

So, as change is inevitable, one notices that things are quite a bit different in Downton Abbey: A New Era, since the first movie which was derived from the series a couple years ago. The first thing I noticed was that the film opens on a bloody hectic "drone" shot, not the quaintly hovering aerials taken from hot-air balloons as previously. I suppose there's so much plot in this one that one felt the need to rush into it a bit with a jarring anachronistic approach with a shot through a stained glass church window. We're attending the marriage of Tom Branson (Allen Leech) and Lucy Smith—née Bagshaw—(Tuppence Middleton). Once doesn't want to get too far into the weeds here (one can attest from looking at the lingering shots of lawns that Downtown Abbey doesn't HAVE weeds) but Tom is the Irish former Downton chauffeur who married the youngest Crawley daughter (who died, leaving him with a legitimate Crawley heir) and we left the last movie with him promising to write to Lucy—maid to Imelda Staunton's Maud Bagshaw (Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen), but actually Maud's illegitimate daughter. Those letters must have been some hot stuff as, in the time one can do pre-production of a sequel, they've gone from admiring flirtation to walking down the aisle.

Oh, dear me. We ARE in the weeds, aren't we? And so soon. This is what happens when one tries to explain soap-ish operas to any level of understanding. One is conflicted between trying to be informative while also employing brevity. One can't have one without the other without appearing devoid of either. Shall we move on? To the Cliff's Notes version?

There are two plot-threads in ...A New Era (a quite neat little title), one involving the revelation that the Dowager Countess of Grantham, Violet Grantham (Maggie Smith) has been bequeathed a villa in the French Riviera by an acquaintance from her past—a past that brings up many questions that go unanswered but much speculated on—and that comes with it an invitation to visit by many of the Grantham's to see what's what and why, while, at the same time, (in a move that surely seems "meta" to the Lord and Lady Carnarvon, who own Highclere Castle, which serves as Downton Abbey) the family has received a request to use Downton as a film location which, although on the surface feels distasteful, comes with it a generous sum that would aid in much needed repairs to the estate's leaky roof. So, while some members go off to the south of France, Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery), the Earl's oldest daughter, remains behind to oversee the prevention of chaos by the invading film production.

The Dowager Countess herself is too frail to travel, but is resigned to stay at home, leaving the past in the past, and the villa in the future hands of her great grand-daughter, both of whose parents are now not of her blood. It's a legacy to a family member who would otherwise receive nothing.

Her son, Robert (Hugh Bonneville) is curious to learn what the story is and begins to worry about his actual parentage, all the while being soothed by his American wife Cora (Elizabeth McGovern), who may have medical issues of her own.

Back at the Abbey, the staff is all agog at meeting the stars of the film, a silent pot-boiler called "The Gambler," primarily dashing Guy Dexter (Dominic West) and the porcelain Myrna Dalgleish (Laura Haddock)—who, it must be said, is something of a diva. Her manner is in stark contrast with her background, for though she is, indeed, a beauty, her accent reveals her to be a Cockney. This causes complications as the film is canceled mid-shooting as the studio is no longer interested in making silent pictures, as the market is now demanding "talkies."

Yes, they use the Singin' in the Rain gambit, where the starlet has a voice completely unsuitable to her image and post-production "dubbing" is used to temporarily solve "the problem." This is such a minor plot-point in the movie that I don't think I'm spoiling anything by mentioning it. Certainly, there are other bombshells that I won't reveal as mentioning them would surely rankle.

There is one little thing that popped into my head hours after the film, stemming from this film showing Bonneville's Lord Grantham breaking down into tears, not once but twice. It is always done in private and always in anticipation of some heart-wrenching event. And then it occurred to me—"Ah! That's how he does it!" With all the vagaries that life bestows upon him, Robert has always been something of a rock, although able to appreciate humor and irony, and quite capable of taking umbrage. But, he gets his weeping done out of the public eye, so that when disaster strikes and he must be the "7th Earl of Grantham," he can keep a stiff upper lip and present a stoic facade to the public. Jolly good show, Earl!

And Downton Abbey: A New Era is a jolly good show. It all goes down like comfort food, with just enough spice to make it memorable, but not too much to make it unpalatable. And it provides a good repertoire of memorable "catty" lines that one can use to sound snarky while appearing high-toned. There may be some continuity jumps a couple times—I think that is due to cramming so much material into a little over two hours that some connective tissue hit the cutting room floor—but, all in all, the Empire of Downton Abbey remains strong and may the sun never set on it.

* Just to show how well-cast—and inhabited—these roles are, I always find it a shock to see pictures of the actors on the red carpet in contemporary fashions. So many of them seem unrecognizable out of period clothes.

Downton Abbey

You're Gonna Have To Serve Somebody
or
"Will You Have Enough Cliches To Get You Through the Visit?"

There has always been a dramatic tension about "Downton Abbey". Not the tensions between upstairs and downstairs, the privileged and the privileging, that's been done before. 

No, what makes "DA" different is its acknowledgment that the very life its depicting is going to go away, there is a built-in tension of time, that maybe these old ways are unrealistic and "we" should sell the place and get on with our lives, after all, who are we doing this for, if not ourselves. It makes all the fussing and fustiness precious—in the valuable way, not the sarcastic way.

At the same time that writer Julian Fellowes (whose conceit this is) is celebrating the old ways of the past, he is also focusing on the "becoming." Things are changing, there is the usual hesitancy, a bit of grousing (usually from matriarch Violet Crawley played by Dame Maggie Smith), but no filibuster, no stonewalling, the future is welcomed, not feared, and, who knows, something good may come of it. Carry on.

Pip. Pip. I'm not sure there HAD to be a Downton Abbey The Movie, but it's nice to see it's there and be able to partake of it, rather like observing the hoity-toityness of the British upper-class. Nice to see SOME-body's doing it, even if we don't have to participate. Sounds like a lot of work. As Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael) laments: "If I know one thing about Royal visits, we will never stop changing clothes!"

What all the fuss is about...

And that is the hub of Downton Abbey the Movie: King George V and Queen Mary are visiting Downton Abbey and everyone is atwitter. It is 1927,and the King and Queen are visiting folk, and it throws the family into a position where they must serve someone, just as their staff must serve them. It is an honor, of course, but a grave responsibility and nobody is immune to the pressure. Thank goodness, the Crawley daughters, Mary (Michelle Dockery) and Edith are finally married off, so they can focus on the disruptions without dithering about their suitors.

Sure, the visit just entails a lunch and dinner (with a parade and a crowning ball), but it still throws things into a lather: everything must be cleaned and polished, the kitchen staff must be at the top of their game, despite being Royal-struck and time is short. So, of course, there must be complications. Lady Mary Crawley Talbot thinks things aren't as ship-shape as they could be, and so she recruits retired butler, Mr. Carson (the incomparable Jim Carter) to return, which puts new butler Thomas Barrows (Robert James-Collier) into a passive-aggressive snit; the cooking staff learns that meals will be prepared by the King's chef (Phillipe Spall), which turns them rebellious; the matriarch Violet Crawley is miffed that her son, Robert, the Earl of Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) is being left out of the will of her sister, Maud Bagshaw (Imelda Staunton), the Queen's lady-in-waiting, and is intending to have it out with her, which puts her—again—in conflict with distant cousin Isobel Crawley Merton (Penelope Wilton) who urges peace.

Then, there's the little business of an assassination attempt on the King by Irish Republicans, that involves Crawley son-in-law and former footman Tom Branson (Allen Leech), a little bother of missing pieces of finery, a conspiracy formed by the husband-wife team of Bates and Anna (Brendan Coyle and Joanne Froggatt), a potential scandal involving Barrows; and some personal problems involving specific members that does and does not threaten the future of Downton Abbey. 

And chairs. Are there going to be enough chairs?

Now, I managed to miss the entire of the final Season 6 of the series, but, as with any good soap opera, things don't move so fast that you don't pick up on the missing transitions between visits. One is merely comforted that the characters are acting just the way you left them; no matter what's happened since, they have not matured past their failings or been corrupted out of their better natures. They are constants in their tendencies and the small little bumps in the road have not altered them too much.

The presentation has changed, and changed quite a bit. The widescreen format of the film allows for more cast-members to crowd into the frame, which is always nice in an ensemble piece. The movie run-time of slightly over two hours allows for such luxuries as held reaction shots after frame-exits, and a slightly more leisurely pace. This, however, is compensated for by something that was somewhat implied in the series, but a bit limited by its format. That is something called "sweep." 

One notices this early on, as a gentler version of the series theme plays over the theater credits and one is given to rather amazing aerial shots of "the" Abbey, accomplished (if one judges by the credits) not by helicopter and not by drone, but by aerial balloon. How thoroughly precious is that? They're not even betraying the time-frame behind the scenes. And it gives those shots a serenely bold feeling as hover over the estate, presaging a camera that is constantly in motion, constantly wheeling for fear that if it stopped the whole thing might fall apart.

It gives the movie a marvelous rondeau-esque quality, reminding one that it is in the grand movie tradition of manner dramas that show the clash or new and old and the sacrifices those clashes demand. In this, we're dealing with three tiers of Class structure and the demands that each set upon the other, and how, if we all mind our manners, each supported by the other, lest the whole things collapse. And, if weakness or temerity is shown, well...there is always some one out of frame who might see things from another angle off-stage to lend assistance.

The conspiracy of support extends even farther it seems. At one point after a torrential rain soaks the Abbey at an inopportune time—the chairs!—on the eve of the grand parade, the clear skies evoke the comment "The day has dawned and the weather proves conclusively that God is a monarchist." Make that four tiers of support. God save the King, indeed.

Precious it is. But, in a world where one looks at History and one can see the inevitable march to reality where everything that can go wrong does so, the world of Downton Abbey—where everything goes right—is a comfort, a fine re-past where everything is just so...and everything is just so right. Where people of good intention have their intentions fulfilled. 

It is a fine soufflé that does not fall, a tea that is not bitter, comfort food that warms the soul and raises the spirit.

And more importantly, it isn't followed by someone asking for your support for your local PBS station.

Thank you.