Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka,
the amazing chocolatier.
Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka,
everybody give a cheer!
He’s modest, clever, and so smart,
he really can’t restrain it.
With so much generosity,
there is no way to contain it.

Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka,
he’s the one that you’re about to meet.
Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka,
he’s the genius who just can’t be beat.
A magician and a chocolate whiz,
he’s the best darn guy who ever lived,
Willy Wonka, here he is!

I enjoy the experience of going to the cinema.  We tend to go late on Wednesday evenings, on two counts.  Firstly, The Blokey is with Orange and so we get two tickets for the price of one.  And secondly, at around 9.30 in the pm there aren’t that many people wanting to see a film.  This usually results in us either having the cinema to ourselves or being surrounded by very few people in a mainly empty cinema.  This suits me tremendously because if I hear even a murmur, see just a glimpse of a mobile phone or have to listen to the people in front/behind crunching their way through crunchy things [whose idea was it to sell crunchy things that crunch at the cinema?] then I get extremely angsty and almost panic.  I did once turn around and tell the people behind me that I had come to watch the film not listen to them nattering away in loud voices.  Cabin Fever I think it was.  It was my proudest moment.

*chuffed*

Last night the 9.30 in the pm showing was absolutely packed.  But no kids in sight.  And everybody was silent [apart from when they laughed].  Phew!  I had my reservations about seeing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  I love the sixties version.  I adore Gene Wilder as Willy.  He fits the bill perfectly, bless him.  I had nothing to worry about.  The film is so much darker, and subsequently so different, that it’s like watching a different story unfold in front of you. 

And couldn’t you just pick up the Oompa-Loompa and smother him in passion and fun? 

My only problem with the film was being unable to reconcile the English accents of most of the cast with the American terminology they spoke [candy instead of sweets, band-aid instead of plaster, vacation instead of holiday, pants instead of trousers (how do you get mud on your pants?)] but then I’m a sucker for moaning about things like that.  It’s like reading a Xanga entry written by an English person who has never been to America, never even met anyone American, and yet they still write mom.  It’s mum damnhellnation!  Sorcerer’s stone?  Noooo ….

I’m so proud of my English-English language.

*so spank me*

And then I remembered that it was a fantasy, a story, a wholesome couple of hours of good fun … it wasn’t serious.

I’ve always been pinikiny like that.  For years I couldn’t understand musicals because I couldn’t contemplate a life where people suddenly started singing and dancing in time with each other.  And then they’d just stop and go about their daily lives, as though nothing had happened.  I loved watching Summer Holiday [seemingly on every single Christmas Eve] but I loved it because of the romantic storyline.  I loved Mary Poppins because I wanted her to be my nanny and I wanted to live in the time of suffragettes and chimney sweeps.  I adored The Sound of Music because I wanted to be the littlest kid.  Could you get a better nanny than Julie Andrews?  Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?  My all-time favourite.  The one I desperately want to see in the West End.  The Childcatcher.  Oh gosh.  Weak knees.  See the pattern I developed in early childhood?  It’s always the greasy haired evil ones …

*chuckle*

I was always blessed with a vivid imagination.  I could make books come alive in my head.  I was able to write stories.  I held tea-parties for my dolls, and later I treated my Sindy to erotic sex scenes with Action Man [not that I knew much about sex at the age of ten and besides, it didn’t help that Action Man didn’t even have a hint of a bulge in his plastic pants].  I believed in fairies.  I had at least two [known] imaginary friends.  I played schools, alone.  I made up stories in the playground at school based on  The Dukes of Hazzard or CHiPs.  I could play alone for hours.  I could enter the world of Enid Blyton’s Brownies and giants and princesses with no problem – but I couldn’t grasp the concept of musicals.  It was years before I was able to enjoy them fully, without worrying about the things that seemed wrong in my little head. 

It’s like having a blocked brain.

I can cope with only five songs in a film.  Especially when one child asks why the Oompa-Loompas can sing so well together, so well that it seems planned … that’s me thinking, that is. 

And if you haven’t seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory yet?  Go, go now!  Before it’s too late and the magic has worn off …

please God bless childhood films xxx Elsabeth