Tomorrow night I’m attending “The Ultimate Wonka Party,” at the Alamo Draft House. Lover Fo’ Life and I are big fans of the Candy Man, in our hearts Gene Wilder is THE ONLY WILLY WONKA.
In addition to getting to see the cinematic triumph on the BIG screen, we’re also going to be served candy as it coordinates with the proper scenes. But most importantly, we’ll get to watch the movie with/ have a Q&A session with Paris Themmen and Julie Dawn Cole the brilliant actors who played Mike Teevee and Veruca Salt.
As one would imagine, I’m a life-long “bad egg,” and getting to meet the woman who first sang, “I Want it Now,” is a dream come true. From Veruca’s course and frizz-addled hair to the unrelenting tantrums, we are soul mates.
As for Mike Teevee, he and I both possess a brain-muddling love of television, and a mother who enjoys Rachmaninoff.
True Story: Just last week, while on a shoddy cell connection, L4L asked me in his best Mike Teevee voice, “Am I coming in clear?”
Yes, between seeing Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka on the big screen and meeting the original inspiration for all of my greedy brat stunt-queen ways, my hopes for tomorrow’s party are lofty and scrumdidlyumptous. There’s just one problem…I’m going to actually have to sit through the number, “Cheer Up Charlie.”
“Cheer Up Charlie,” is the worst song not only in, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, it’s the most awful song in the history of cinema. The ode stars Charlie’s long-suffering mother and a caldron of boiling laundry. She sweats and warbles on about how poor they are and makes everyone want to f*cking slit their wrists.
I venture to guess that not ONE PERSON can sing the whole song, why? Because thanks to the power of fast forward, we’ve been spared this sweaty & sad mess for decades. Unfortunately, all that changes on Saturday, when I’ll be far away from my precious and beloved FWD option.
But don’t feel too sorry for me, I figure by the time Charlie’s mom starts her opus to being poor, I’ll have at least one Alamo Drafthouse Growler full of beer in my belly. And while most of the theatre will clear out for a bathroom break during the song, I’ll be drunk-heckling the dishwater blonde trying to make ends meet.
Of course now that I think of it, maybe I’ll just go hang out in the ladies’ room for a few minutes. Because let’s face it, piling into a public restroom and smelling strangers dooks is a welcome relief from suffering through, “Cheer Up Charlie,” in real-time.