Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl, has always had a special status in our house. I loved the Gene Wilder film adaptation when I was a kid, and vaguely recall reading the book.In recent years I’ve read the book aloud three times: about twelve years ago to my oldest daughter, three or four years ago to my two sons, and I finished reading it to my youngest daughter about a month ago.I love that book.My three oldest kids have all seen both the Gene Wilder and the Johnny Depp film adaptations, and since my youngest daughter is now familiar with the book, I figured it was a good time to introduce her to the movie.I wavered as to whether begin with the Wilder version or the Depp version. Everyone of my generation has an affinity for the Wilder version. It’s spectacularly kookie, and Gene Wilder somehow pulls off the trick of being a likeable, friendly psychopath.But the Depp version is actually more true to the book. Wilder’s version takes countless liberties in its adaptation. And although I don’t think that film adaptations need to remain true to the book—film is film, books are books, they’re different—there’s something authentic in the Depp film.Ultimately, I decided to show her the Wilder version. I’ll never forget how magical the film seemed when I was kid. I wanted her to experience that.But as I watched the film (for the first time in a few years, and definitely the first time since I began thinking and writing about the films I watch), quite a few questions presented themselves.First, it’s interesting that Wilder’s version is called Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The book and the Depp film are both Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Both characters are interesting in their own way, but I think the fantastical visuals, and Wilder’s performance, helped put the spotlight on Willy Wonka rather than Charlie.There’s a scene in the book where the four grandparents are telling Charlie about how no one ever goes in or out of Wonka’s factory. In the Wilder film, some madman riding a bike that has cleavers and knives hanging off of it tells Charlie that tidbit while he’s peering through the gates of Wonka’s factory. A chop-chop here, a shank in the back there, and all of a sudden it’s a completely different movie.The grandparents just don’t look old enough. The book portrays them as much older. However, many kids who watch the film probably can’t tell the difference between a guy who’s sixty-four (as the film actor was) and one who’s ninety-three (as Grandpa Joe is portrayed in the book). To kids, old is old, so I’m obviously looking at that through my thirty-eight-year-old eyes.Charlie’s sort of an asshole at the beginning of the film. He whines when he doesn’t find the golden ticket. He seems a bit entitled. He was talking to his mom about it, and I wanted her to shake him and say, “We’re feeding seven people in this house with cabbage water and you’re worried about a stupid golden ticket!”Speaking of Charlie’s mom, there’s a scene where he goes to visit her at her job, washing clothes. They talk and he’s down about not having a golden ticket. But when he leaves, his mother sings a song. She’s got a great voice. Why the hell doesn’t she try to make it as a singer? She’s got nothing to lose!Charlie redeems himself a little bit when he has what he thinks is a last chance at getting a golden ticket. He’s opening the bar with Grandpa Joe, all excited, really expecting to get a ticket. And when no ticket appears he says, “Ya know, I bet those golden tickets make the chocolate taste terrible.” That was sad and made me forgive Charlie for being such a whiner minutes before.The dude who shows up and whispers into the ears of all of the kids as soon as they win a golden ticket is one creepy dude. He would have never made it to the second kid these days, because anyone who saw him whispering to Augustus Gloop like that would have reported him and he’d be starring in Al Capone and the License Plate Factory.As they’re entering the chocolate room, the first room of the factory, Willy Wonka says, “Inside this door, all of my dreams become reality, and all of my realities become dreams.” Wouldn’t we all love a door like that?When the Oompa Loompas make their first appearance, one of the parents say, “I’ve never seen anyone with an orange face before.” There will be an orange-faced cretin at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in about two months.Willy Wonka has a dark side. As August Gloop is getting sucked into the chocolate pipe, he says, “The suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.” Wonka’s mostly good, but he likes magical more than good. If he could only use his imagination for bad things, I think he would.When my four kids were young, their mother would always play a game with them where she would tickle their belly button and say, “Button, button, who’s got the button?” I didn’t realize until tonight that she got that line from this film. It made both those memories and the film even sweeter, more special.“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.” Willy Wonka says this when Veruca Salt insists that snozzberries don’t exist. Someone should put that quote on a T-shirt. I’d buy it.All of the kids in the movie do things they’re not supposed to. Even Charlie. He and Grandpa Joe drink fizzy lifting drinks, and almost get decapitated. In the book, these events occur to Oompa Loompas, and Willy Wonka is just relaying the story. I was sorry to see that part changed because Wonka’s command to the Oompa Loompa to lower himself when he kept rising provided my daughter’s favorite line of the book, “Burp you silly ass, burp!”Whenever I want to get a chuckle from my daughter I can say, “Burp you silly ass, burp,” and she rewards me with the sweetest laugh on earth.When the film ended, my daughter stood up in front of me, turned around, and said, “That was a good movie!” and then clapped.A good movie, indeed.Click here to receive an e-mail each time I write a new post! Guaranteed spam-free, unsubscribe any time IF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: The Electoral College is Voter Fraud, American StylePREVIOUS POST: The 939 Saturdays of Childhood