I’ll miss Gene Wilder. And my five year old daughter, whether she knows it or not, will miss him as well. To her, he’s Willy Wonka, the star of a movie she watched for the first time at the beginning of summer and about a hundred times since.
As everyone who’s seen the movie – and who hasn’t? – knows, Charlie is a poor, fatherless child desperate to win a golden ticket that would grant him a tour of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, and a lifetime supply of chocolate. It’s a million to one shot.
At home, Charlie’s saintly mother works to support him and his four invalid grandparents. Mom slaves all day as a laundress, then comes home at night to wait hand-and-foot on her parents and her in-laws, feeding them and presumably helping them with their daily ablutions. Each of the two sets of ageds share a bed they haven’t moved from in twenty years. What a life.
One of these invalids is Grandpa Joe, Charlie’s favorite. For twenty years – twenty – he hasn’t moved. His daughter (-in-law) has done everything for him. Everything. He hasn’t moved from the bed. Not during the day, not during the night. He’s an invalid, too old and decrepit to move.
All of that changes when Charlie’s million to one shot comes through. He wins the golden ticket! And this old faker, this con man, this pretender gets out of bed and stands up! Not only does he stand up, he dances around the living room like he’s never had a care!
“Free tour of the chocolate factory? Sure, I can go, Charlie. Let’s not give our servant, uh, I mean your Mom, a chance to go. After all, someone has to take care of these three.”
I can see them all winking at each other when Mom turns her back. What a bunch of freeloaders! What a kettle of connivers! The one breath of fresh air, the one respite from her daily toil the mother could have had, her father (-in-law) rips out of her hands.
“Hey, I feel like a million bucks again, and you won the golden ticket. What a coincidence!”
If I were Charlie’s mom, I would have taken a frying pan to his head. “So, you’re okay to dance around and go to the chocolate factory? I guess you’re okay to do a little work around the house now, eh? Time to end this invalid scam.”
What a scam. Forget, “Cheer up, Charlie.” How about “Cheer up, Mommy.” Those Oompa Loompas need to pay a visit to Grandpa Joe and his three accomplices. I can hear them now:
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do
I have another puzzle for you
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-da-dee
If you are wise, you’ll listen to me.
What do you get when you lie on your ass?
Pull up the covers and smell your own gas.
Bedbugs and bedsores and bedpans to clean.
Aren’t you ashamed of your personal hygiene?
I don’t like the smell of that.
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-da
If you’re not lazy, you will go far
You will live in happiness too
Like the Oompa Loompa doom-pa-dee-do.
Then the bottom would fall out of their beds and off they’d go to Willy Wonka’s mattress room, where a giant mattress recycling machine would turn them into a box spring. What do you think? Too harsh, or not harsh enough?
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