My favourite story about Gene Wilder ends on the concourse outside Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. As its proprietor, Willy Wonka, in Mel Stuart’s 1971 film adaptation of Roald Dahl’s novel, Wilder staggers out of the door, leaning heavily on a cane, then limps forward down a red carpet while the formerly buzzing crowd falls silent.
We hear the hollow click of his stick on the cobblestones until suddenly it becomes lodged in a gap: Wilder takes one more step without it, stops, grasps at where the cane should be, and rocks treacherously forward.
That move – the entire sequence, in fact – was Wilder’s idea. He’d explained the scene to Stuart when he was originally offered the part, down to the last detail – which, as you’ll know if you’ve seen the film, which you obviously have, involves the capsizing Wonka suddenly tucking his body into a forward roll and springing to his feet with a flourish.
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Gene Wilder: a latter-day Chaplin whose neuroses and eccentricities brought the house down
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