Briefly, let me express my opinion on the primary criticisms I have seen leveled against Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. First, to A.O. Scott's critique that the subplot involving Willy's father simply isn't sufficiently interesting to merit inclusion, let me point out that in this way, Charlie forms a pair with the director's previous picture, Big Fish (2003): both pictures take a father-son reconciliation as their subject. Indeed this is the auteur theory at its most elemental -- the subject matter of the original text is adapted to fit the preoccupations of the author(s) (in this case Burton and screenwriter John August, who also penned Big Fish). In other words, the inclusion of this theme is a sort of authorial signature, which in deference to Scott, I find to be a good thing. In dismissing this subject by repeating one of the better lines in the film -- "candy doesn't have to have a point, that's why it's candy" -- Scott suggests that a film of this sort doesn't need to have a point beyond its magical set pieces, which to me seems patently absurd, and above all, stifling to the very idea of good art. If art is pointless, why create. The answer of course is that it isn't, which thankfully Burton understands. Surely Burton incorporates this meta-theme quite adroitly into the narrative as such: ultimately, this is a film that elevates the importance of family above all else, leveraging the father-son subplot to make this point, which in turn reveals the director's authorial hand.
As to Depp's performance, Roger Ebert, in an otherwise positive review makes an unflattering comparison between Depp and Michael Jackson. If you've actually seen the film, my guess is that the thought may have entered your mind at some point, but that it departed just as quickly. Ebert's obstinacy in this respect reminds me of his hard-headedness in a review of Taste of Cherry (1997) a few years back. At the time, he criticized the film's construction on the basis of the initial ambiguity surrounding the character, claiming that because he thought its protagonist may have been soliciting a sexual favor from a passenger, then somehow the director erred. To me, his criticism was quite hollow indeed -- Ebert may have wanted a different movie, but this is the one that the director gave his audience. And if he had been willing to wait another five minutes all uncertainty would have quickly dissipated.
So too with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Sure, he invites children into his factory, but as a friend pointed out to me, he does have the parents come along. And you know what, this is a story for children, so children going to the oddball Wonka's factory with their parents really isn't so unseemly.
As to his specific criticism, Depp's performance is strange, but there is nothing as exceptionally perverse about it as Ebert infers. Actually the kookiness of the performance -- and by implication the strangeness of Wonka in the original text -- is underlined throughout the film, providing the work with an added dimension of interpretive insight. Put differently, Depp's odd concoction, in its dissonance, reveals more than it may obscure. It makes the film better because it helps us to understand its source material better. Sure this could have been accomplished in a different way, but it wasn't and Burton accomplishes it anyways. The moral is that certain critics need to stop critiquing the film they wanted to see and take a look at what's on the screen in front of them. If that's not good enough, A.O. and Roger, make the films you want to see. I have no doubt that you could secure the financing.
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