Charlie And The Chocolate Factory

It's hard to say just what Tim Burton was aiming for with Roald Dahl's beloved children's book, other than a fat pay cheque, and a free hand to make the movies that he wants to.

Early on, we see little motifs he keeps returning to. Stylistically, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory most resembles Edward Scissorhands. Its outcast hero, calculatedly interesting residential areas, machines with a flight of fancy (Compare Vincent Price's cookie machine in Scissorhands with the chocolate machines in the inventive credit sequence and you'll see what I mean.) And of course, Johnny Depp firing on all cylinders, being odd and creepy, childlike and prodigious in a delightfully overdressed package. Blasphemy it may be, but it works!

Charlie Bucket (Freddie Highmore) is a delightful child, empathetic, thoughtful and kind - every bit the child we wish we could have or were. Living with his parents and bedridden grandparents - David Kelly is a standout as his marvellously energetic Grandpa Joe - little Charlie does all he can to bring a little sunshine to their world. Nearby, there is a candy factory which makes the most amazing and delicious kinds of confectionery in the world. And it is Charlie's fondest wish to enter the factory and discover its secrets.

To Charlie's surprise, the owner - the reclusive Mr Willy Wonka - announces his factory will open to five lucky kids who find Golden Tickets wrapped inside the candy bars.

Four other vile children find these tickets, all with exaggerated, but everyday vices - and some droll updates for a modern audience. (The film transmutes Mike Teavee into a joystick-hammering sociopathic fiend - and uses his uber-nerd skills to crack Wonka's delivery system to get himself a ticket.) Grandpa George amusingly spares us nothing regarding how much he loathes the little brats.

Production designer Alex McDowell and Burton's flawless gift for visual delights give us a ball. The Bucket house is a marvel, every bit as false and magical as it can dare to be without collapsing, a living expressionistic story illustration, in a superbly contrived mid-European industrial town full of right-angles. Wonka's factory is another delicious confection, a place where our ordinary laws of science and chemistry barely apply. Startling designs enrapture the eyes while all hell breaks loose among the unruly and rotten kids who get their comuppance with barely contained maniacal glee.

Burton regular Danny Elfman has a gift for writing catchy and breezy music, and mixing Dahl's original lyrics with crossed-up sound effects gives him unparalleled opportunity for melodic silliness. Wonka's workers, the Oompa Loompas (all played by Deep Roy with CG trickery) - have found and seen far too many MGM Hollywood musicals. As noted "they all look rather rehearsed" - giving an inkling of Wonka's grand plan. Mike Teavee's adventure, demise and sing-song is creative and fun, diving from an inspired 2001 spoofery, to a hilarious channel-hopping song-and-dance routine.

It reminds us of Dahl's writing, we remember that he did not spare his readers horror just because they were young. Complaining about the darkness of the adaptation merely sidelines Dahl's vicious sense of humour in the text. The second half of the film lacks the story drive of prior events, leaving the well-drawn Bucket family characters to be bystanders in their own story. It's often imaginative, but the choppy and pedestrian delivery strongly stunts the acidic flavour.

Indeed, Dahl rarely falls into the trap of family sentimentality in his work, but Burton dives headlong into it. Screenwriter John August pens a back-story for Wonka, and the great Christopher Lee perfectly and devilishly cast as Wonka's father, a sugar-loathing dentist. As amusing as it may be at times - there's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to Dahl's own experiences as a chocolate critic in school from "Boy" - it's ham-fistedly forced into the story. This sub-plot folds together into a saccharine ending that tastes as terrible as all the Augustus-flavoured-chocolate-coated-Gloop you can eat.

I prefer the 1971 version - but Burton adds an easygoing sheen to his beautifully crafted, but occasionally seriously flawed tale.