Diversions, great and small

I went and saw March of the Penguins last night. It’s one of those movies that’s so endearing it’s almost nauseating at times. The movie traces the breeding ritual of Emperor Penguins in the inhospitable ice-world of Antarctica. Among the wacky things of note are a treacherous march to the interior ice fields, riotous mating dances, the absurdity of monogamous breeding, penguin chicks sticking their little beaks up their parents’ throats to ingest regurgitated food and the single-minded obsession with protecting a fragile life in -80F temperatures with winds topping 100mph. It’s almost impossible to keep anthropomorphic projections out of your psyche and remember that your watching birds. Some don’t make it, and you feel human emotions course through in response. It’s crazy. The thing is that anybody can tell you about this, but it only really hits home when you take in the visual feast yourself. If nothing else, the alien Antarctic landscape and the thought of filming under such punishing circumstances should be enough to captivate your attention for 90 minutes. I highly recommend anyone with a pulsating heart and the ability to imagine the unlikelihood of a polar bird’s existence to see this movie.

Also, I checked out Charlie and the Chocolate Factory last week. Stop reading if you don’t want to hear what I have to say. Okay, for those still on board. I was disappointed with the movie. I fully expected Tim Burton to take his usual artistic liberties and play with the original, but I expected him to do it successfully. He didn’t, in my opinion. The imagery that captivated in the original was still there, but in many cases it was almost exactly reproduced, not very developed or evolved. What irked me most, though, was Burton’s treatment of Willy Wonka himself. I find it hard to imagine a character more befitting of Tim Burton’s treatment than Willy Wonka. The complexity, depth, and idiosyncrasy of Wonka (brilliantly played by Gene Wilder in the original) practically begs for Burton to let his fingers dance with those puppet strings and create something beautifully weird. In truth, Burton could have cut the strings and let Johnny Depp take over. Unfortunately, Depp didn’t even get a chance because the script wouldn’t allow it. Instead, Wonka hardly even materialized as a multi-dimensional character and emanated disturbing hints of Michael Jackson in a purple suit. I’m far from ideologically opposed to remakes, especially when the new breath has a touch of mischief/ bizarreness. Burton’s Wonka, however, doesn’t even come close to the original that included an epic score, a much better ending, and an unforgettable Wonka.