I remember the first time I watched “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” The moment Gene Wilder appeared on screen, I was transfixed. I watched nervously as he walked through the door of the factory and slowly limped down the red carpet with his cane. A few steps before the gate, he leaned forward as if he was going to faint, then at the last second, ducked and performed a somersault. My mouth dropped open in surprise, wondering how he could execute the move so perfectly.
It was that sense of unexpectedness that drew me in. Whenever Wilder was on screen, I couldn’t help but watch to see what he was going to do next. He always seemed to be a little bit nutty, but I loved it and couldn’t get enough. As Charlie and the other golden ticket children tried to follow Willy Wonka around his crazy factory, I felt as though I was right there with them. We were all watching his every move, trying to predict what would come next (though we never could.)
Wilder had the ability to inspire and make people believe. For years after I watched “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” I kept imagining what would happen if I won a golden ticket. Of course, I knew deep down that it would never happen, but that didn’t stop me from pretending it would anyway. There was just a sense of magic attached to Wilder. With those sparkling blue eyes, I felt he knew things other people didn’t. He saw things that other people didn’t. And he didn’t let adulthood ruin his sense of imagination. He was kooky, loud and unpredictable. And that’s precisely what made him so great.