Nobody ever goes in. And nobody ever comes out.

I've just been to see the new Willy Wonka. Of course, they gave it the proper name of the film, but I didn't go to see it for the little boy, nor to see the wonders of the Chocolate Factory. Although it was delightful, it was not Mr. Wonka, and that is what I went to see.

Odd, isn't it, how Hollywood can have wonderful rolls for mildly mad men, but there are no similar rolls for women possibly slightly round the bend? Angie would have been great if it were so. She had all sorts of extraordinary vices and little quirks that would suit such a mood. Perhaps that is why I found her so charming.

I went while Frank was at work, of course. It is not the sort of thing of which he would approve. Piffle. I'd like him better if he learned to laugh a little more. Fortunately, there were not many of the younger set in the theater- but this film was not as frightening as I found the older version with Gene Wilder. And yet, I fell in love with Gene Wilder. I still sometimes have odd dreams... but I digress.

The unusual twist and annoying moral revolved around Mr. Wonka's inability to say "Parents." Funny, I can manage that word all right. I have parents and I can understand Mr. Wonka's dread of them. It's just that nasty C-word with which I have difficulty.

I think I will pretend I mean cake. I think I will bake a double chocolate fudge with raspberry filling. Lovingly frosted with glucose. :)  ¶ 6:38 PM