A man of wild imagination

How sad to hear of the death of Gene Wilder this week. Growing up in the 60s and 70s, I loved his films and the wideeyed, innocent yet witty demeanour that endeared him to children as well as adults, as his star turn in the original big-screen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory attests.

I yield to no man (or woman) in my admiration of Johnny Depp’s talent – the creation of Captain Jack Sparrow was an inspired piece of inventiveness and camp comic style, even if it has outstayed its welcome somewhat with all those slightly ponderous sequels.

However, his take on Willy Wonka was just creepy and cartoonish – not a patch on the Wilder version, child-like without being childish which is why, I suppose, it appeals so strongly across the generations and has stood the test of time so well. Pure imagination indeed. I thought Wilder was also simply brilliant opposite the magnificently manic Zero Mostel in the first screen version of The Producers, where his perpetually terrified yet wonderfully wacky, mild-mannered accountant Leo Bloom came close to stealing the show.

You forget, until you see it again, just how outrageous and outrageously clever the whole concept of that classic Mel Brooks movie was and how the zany yet literate script was so perfectly played by all concerned.

Then there was Wilder’s further foray into Brooks’ mad cinematic world as the spaced, failed gunfighter in Blazing Saddles.

“Well, my name is Jim but most people call me – Jim…” was delivered completely seriously, with an absolutely straight face and a twinkle in his eye as only he could.

In my sixth year at school, a group of us stealthily commandeered the funds of the literary and dramatic society to take ourselves off to see Young Frankenstein, justifying it to ourselves and others as viewing a new angle on a classic text. Aye, right.

Girls just wanted to have fun after a couple of terms of debating the merits of Jacobean tragedy, reviving deservedly long-dead Victorian melodramas and writing (plagiarising – nothing changes, as you may observe here) pantomime sketches full of bad, derivative jokes.

We were always a lot more dramatic than literary but we knew quality when we saw it.

Actors have perhaps given more significant and deeper portrayals than Gene Wilder did.

But few will stay in the memory longer.

Remakes

Now, while we’re on the subject of remakes, which we were, somewhat obliquely, what is going on there?

On the big screen, auteurs and such like might argue that they can redo tales like True Grit, The Jungle Book and Ben-Hur because they are returning to the original book and are mining it for truer (and in the 21st century, always “darker”) significance.

Rubbish! They’re out to make a buck on the back of previous success without troubling their own imaginations, pure (with apologies to the wonderful Mr Wilder) or otherwise.

There is now talk of regurgitating Jumanji, Police Academy (the first one only, I fervently hope), Porky’s and Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.

Not so much a question there of: “Why are they remaking THAT?” as: “Why did they make THAT in the first place?”

I hear the unmistakable sound of barrels being well and truly scraped.

But then there is mention, in the same breath, of Hitchcock’s The Birds? No, no no! Remember what they did with the remake of Psycho? No, I thought not. You take my point. On good, old (aptly) British telly, we’ve already suffered retreaded Reggie Perrin.

There are also threats of a “new” Till Death Us Do Part.

Outrage

So take (please!) this week’s limp and limping presentation of Are You Being Served? According to those who have perpetrated this outrage, it’s not simply a revamp, a revisit, a reboot or even a reimagining.

It’s an “homage”, pronounced with a pretentious French drawl and a complete lack of self-awareness.

Which basically means they can copy it word for word and scene for scene without lifting a quizzical eyebrow or a quill pen.

Obviously, nobody told them that if you do it again and don’t do it so well, people might notice.

If ever there was a show that didn’t need any more quizzical eyebrows or over-emphasised delivery, it was Are You Being Served?

But like the much-maligned Carry Ons, the original was populated by topclass character actors and wonderful old pros who knew exactly what they were doing and could make: “I’m free!”, “There will have to be accommodation for my pussy,” and “Me Yorkshires wouldn’t rise,” sound like Oscar Wilde.

My argument is that good actors like Sherrie Hewson and Jason Watkins, rather than playing Mrs Slocombe and Mr Humphreys, were actually playing Mollie Sugden and John Inman. You’ve all done very well? I think not. Watch the reruns of the original on Yesterday or buy a boxed set.

Ah, but how about Yes, Prime Minister for a new generation? We’ve already got it all going on – jokes, irony and all in real life.

The perfect case, in the current political climate, of life imitating art.

I loved his wide-eyed, innocent yet witty demeanour that endeared him to children as well as adults

Picture: Getty Images. Gene Wilder, seen here signing his book The Woman Who Wouldn’t, was an actor who captured Helen’s imagination on many occasions.