Matilda (1996)

One of my earliest memories of reading is discovering the book “How the Trollusk got his Hat” by Mercer Mayer. Mayer’s jaw-droppingly detailed drawings, with tiny jokes seemingly hidden everywhere, were enthralling and made repeat reads a must. Since then, I’ve always enjoyed a good book, although nowadays I lean toward Hollywood and theatre biographies rather than fiction. During seventh grade English, we all had to go up front and present to the class books we loved reading. An asshole kid named Cory went up and said he didn’t like reading. Did I mention Cory was an asshole? He was something of a light bully. Not your typical “tough guy stealing lunches and beating people up after school bully,” but more of a harasser and all-around prick. Well, for some stupid reason, I went up and said the following: “Well, unlike Cory, I do like reading...” First off, NERD! Seriously, someone really needed to explain to me how to be cool in school. More importantly, why the fuck would I namecheck a kid who fucks with me?! Now, Cory was a little shit, and to this very day I don’t believe he was actually offended, but a day later my English teacher pulls me aside and says Cory got upset because of my comment. I should’ve said, “Good! The little shit deserves it!” Of course, I didn’t. I fortunately didn’t have to apologize to him, for some reason, but the fact that he squealed like a bitch about the smallest of slights proves a point about how insecure and pathetic bullies are. Seeing them get their comeuppance is a staple of movies, particularly children’s films where the tormented individual finally defeats their wretched tormentor. Actor-Director Danny DeVito’s kinetic shooting-style matches up quite well with Roald Dahl’s expectedly dark little tale of an extraordinary child surrounded by typically mean and arrogant adults in Matilda (1996). 

I’ve forgotten many things from my childhood, as one tends to do, but there’s a very simple moment in time that’s continued to stick with me. It’s nothing particularly special, which is why it’s surprising that I’d remember it so vividly. I was reading “Matilda” on my bed and I got to the infamous Bruce Bogtrotter/Chocolate Cake chapter. I literally couldn’t stop laughing for at least 20 minutes the first time. I think it was Dahl’s descriptions that did it for me. This poor fat child, who ironically did indeed steal the cake, is forced to eat a gigantic chocolate cake until he'll presumably throw up, burst, and/or die. It’s an exciting read too; the way Roald Dahl compares Bruce to an athlete getting his rhythm is so amusing considering the task at hand. The line: “You could’ve hit him with a sledgehammer,” made me double over with laughter. In a film adaptation which transplants the action from the UK-based Buckinghamshire to an unnamed American town, the script (by Oscar-nominees Nicholas Kazan, Reversal of Fortune, Patty Hearst, At Close Range, and Robin Swicord, Little Women, Benjamin Button, and my sister’s personal favorite, Shag) is quite faithful, particularly in this scene. It plays out much like the book, with the only major change being Matilda’s rambunctious cheer which spurs the rest of the school to support Bruce and to finish the cake. 

When you really step back and take a good, long look at the work of Roald Dahl, there’s a surprising amount of evidence that the iconic writer had it in for children just as much as adults. In books like “The Witches,” “James and the Giant Peach,” and “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” the awful qualities of human (or witch) nature are spread out amongst both children and adults. The darkness of Dahl’s work, which made him something of a badass among children’s book authors, feels perfectly in tone with a filmmaker whose predilections toward black humor has always been prevalent throughout his work. Of course, thanks to his superior talent and diminutive stature, Danny DeVito is a beloved comedic icon, whose work in Twins, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Batman Returns, TV’s Taxi, Hercules, L.A. Confidential, and particularly Ruthless People has delighted audiences the world over. And that’s just a small sample of his acting work. I had to restrain myself from listing more. He’s that good. The idea that this weird-looking little tough guy was interested in directing almost seemed adorable since, come on. This tiny dude is going to be helming a major motion picture? Yet, when it came to his feature debut, he certainly went for unique and genuinely tricky material. 

Throw Momma from the Train (1987) not only garnered Goonies actress Anne Ramsey an Oscar nomination, but it introduced audiences to a surprisingly visual filmmaker. DeVito has a particular fondness for extreme closeups and lively camera work. It’s not exactly Scorsesian. His dynamism is often portrayed through a rapid-paced editing style and sped-up camera work. It may even be more influenced by early Coen Brothers. Regardless, while Train wasn’t a huge hit, the acid-tongued The War of the Roses (1989) very much was, grossing over 100 million, allowing DeVito to have a brief run as a big-time director, helming the underrated Hoffa (1992), Death to Smoochy (2002, which I initially loved, but later realized is far from perfect), and finishing off with Duplex (2003). He continued his mean-spirited tone, leading to lackluster results. He’s continued directing shorts, but his feature St. Sebastian (shot in 2011), continues to languish, unreleased. His work as a producer has been impressive: Pulp Fiction, Gattaca, Out of Sight, The Pentagon Wars (an underrated gem), and Reno 911!. As is often the case with children’s book adaptations, DeVito’s kids were fans of the book, and while other attempts had been made by filmmakers like Richard Donner and Robert Zemeckis, DeVito brings his signature wacky style and a bittersweet attitude which meshes well with one of Dahl’s final novels before he passed away in 1990. 

To achieve child stardom, the metaphorical iron must be struck while it’s hot, and Mara Wilson’s career certainly flourished thanks to some excellent timing. Her devastatingly cute and natural performance in her debut feature, the massively successful Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), while also doing a guest stint on one of the biggest shows of the 90’s, Melrose Place, caused Hollywood to stand up and take notice. Suddenly, she was the little ‘it girl’ everyone wanted a piece of. While it felt like she was everywhere, she actually only made a few films during her brief time as a mega-famous child star. It’s fascinating that while she escaped most of the critical barbs lobbed at her films, none of her star-vehicles were successful, not even the superior Matilda, which couldn’t even recover its budget, despite positive reviews. Miracle on 34th Street was regarded as classy, but boring compared to the surprisingly fun The Santa Clause. A Simple Wish, yet another attempt to make the brilliant but acquired taste Martin Short a movie star, was a box office flop as well, although she did receive a Young Artists Award. Thomas and the Magic Railroad (2000) ended her big-screen career, which was fine with her as she’d grown tired of the movie industry and retired for over ten years, resurfacing to either poke fun at her previous work or do mainly voiceover work. It would be easy to call her Hollywood’s “Flavor of the Month” and that her starring role as Matilda merely came about due to excellent timing. That would be unfair since she was a naturally gifted performer and displayed a surprisingly mature understanding of filmmaking. In a video diary she shot while on set, she throws out set lingo like a pro, such as “rolling,” “speed,” and most amazing of all, “Dutch angle!”

While the movie revolves around Mara Wilson’s Matilda, it doesn’t ask a lot from her. Book Matilda was a kind, gentle, and equally simple and brilliant person with a playfully vengeful streak. Movie Matilda shares these traits but also has a bit more spunk and even a sharper wit, likely due to the need to make Mara Wilson’s character more proactive and less reactionary and cipher-like. Children’s movies have to walk a swinging, dangerous tightrope when it comes to tone and performances. The world is a frightening place, but it can’t be too frightening; unless the film was made in the 80’s, in which case, all bets are off. The actors should either be outsized and cartoon-like or regular enough to relate to but not stick out like a sore thumb in a world filled with fantastical elements. In this regard, DeVito’s casting choices are spot-on.

DeVito plays a dual role as both the offscreen narrator as well as the crooked Harry Wormwood, owner/operator of the nefarious and under surveillance Wormwood Motors. As evidenced in many interviews he gave for the Matilda behind-the-scenes featurette, he’s a supportive director who believes in the magic of illusion. He runs a fun set, particularly during the famous telekinetic dancing scene which later inspired the #MatildaChallenge trend. Stories from both Wilson and DeVito differ; DeVito claims Wilson was embarrassed and shy about dancing by herself in front of the crew, so he made the entire crew dance; while Wilson stated that she told DeVito that if she dances, everybody has to dance. Either story could check out since Wilson is quite precocious and could conceivably have requested this, while DeVito likely made sure the on-set atmosphere remained light. As Harry Wormwood, he’s physically perfect and his unremittingly mean attitude works wonders for a character that isn’t supposed to be liked. My only real gripe is his decision to perform the narration himself. While I do think DeVito’s distinctive style makes any of his movies “A Danny DeVito Film,” his gentle narration feels as though he’s trying to have it both ways by playing a bastard onscreen and a wise sage offscreen, allowing him to garner some audience sympathy, which isn’t necessary. It’s likely the film was meant as a personal gift to his children, but DeVito already possesses that rare gift for being a likeable asshole onscreen. 

The brazen and immense comedic gifts of Rhea Perlman, aka Mrs. Danny DeVito, are on full display here as Harry’s superficial and grotesquely garish wife, Zinnia Wormwood. The tacky production design beautifully compliments her peroxide-blond hair and harsh neon and leopard-print wardrobe. In fact, her portrayal may be richer than the mother from the book, who is clearly uncaring, but at least occasionally gives her daughter the time of day. Perlman, who's continued a strong, if fairly unremarkable career since her Cheers-heyday, has the right mix of vapid, faux-class and is the spitting image of a trashy housewife. Her pet names for her curmudgeon of a husband are priceless, “snickerdoodle” being a personal favorite. 

While I admit that I was wondering how Embeth Davidtz could’ve gotten out of Ralph Fiennes’ concentration camp and get separated from Ash Williams and his boomstick, her performance as the lovely Miss Honey is just that, lovely. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her work here and the first scene between her and Matilda, where she discovers the girl’s extraordinary gifts, is beautifully acted by both Davidtz and Wilson. If the role of the kind-hearted teacher Jennifer Honey in both the book and film act as more of an exposition machine and less a fully-rounded character, the pivotal role of the cruel and fearsome school headmistress Agatha Trunchbull must be played by an actress of both immense physical power and an absolute commitment to the sheer evil of Dahl’s creation. 

Fortunately, German-born actress Pam Ferris is more than up to the challenge. Thanks to her no-holds-barred, full throttle performance (aided by Ve Neill’s subtle, but important makeup work), this may be one of the most realistic portrayals of an unfilmable literary character ever captured on film. Her acting is gloriously unhinged. The best decision DeVito and co. could ever have made was retaining The Trunchbull’s very British demeanor. As Eddie Izzard astutely noted, British people play the villains in movies because of the Revolutionary War. Whether or not we’ve been conditioned over so many years to fully accept a character’s evil nature based solely on a British accent is a tricky conundrum, but the vicious barbs she flings somehow come off as palatably mean but never uncomfortably malicious. She physicalizes the character so completely that there are scenes in which she appears more animal than human. It’s a performance of zero vanity and her first reveal, shot in DeVito’s frame-filling closeup style, is jarringly brilliant. Ultimately, you actually believe her character exists in a rare instance of accurate literary adaptation. 

This is highly important due to the extremes she goes to by torturing the students at Crunchem Hall. The “fresh meat” scene features a bespectacled little moppet with pigtails named Amanda Thripp (Jacqueline Steiger), whose last name Ferris pronounces with venomous relish. Informing her that she doesn’t allow pigs in her school, the former Olympian (javelin, shot-put, hammer throw) calls Amanda’s mother a “twit” before swinging her around by her pigtails and launching her into the sky. The scene veers dangerously close to unpleasant, but the score (David Newman, DeVito’s regular composer, Heathers, The Sandlot, Tommy Boy) and the visuals, particularly a Trunchbull POV where Thripp looks as though she’s on a G-force machine at NASA, make the scene feel whimsical. Still, she’s very nearly impaled on the rusty spikes of an iron gate like goddamn Dracula in The Monster Squad, so it’s not all peaches and cream. Behind-the-scenes footage reveals Steiger’s actual flight was quite real; achieved with fake hair braids and CGI-removed wires. By the way, DeVito is adorable in one interview where he explains what the acronym CGI means. Let’s not forget this was made in the mid-90's.

The first half of the film impressively stays quite faithful to the book. Considering Dahl’s disdain for adaptations of his work, it’s doubtful whether he’d’ve approved of the supplanting of his characters or the liberties taken later, but if there’s one thing I absolutely adore, it’s a montage-heavy opening sequence. Featuring gorgeously fluid cinematography by Stefan Czapsky, whose stunning resume includes Ed Wood, The Thin Blue Line, Last Exit to Brooklyn, and even goddamn Vampire’s Kiss, Matilda’s journey from neglected baby to even more neglected six-and-a-half-year-old is sweeping and expertly crafted. Credit editing veteran and Oscar-nominee Lynzee Klingman (Ali, Man on the Moon) and the younger Brent White, who’d go on to cut many Judd Apatow productions. Everything is here: the negligence of the Wormwoods; leaving Matilda completely alone to fend for herself; the little girl venturing out to the library and befriending the librarian; her longing for friendship; the used car mathematics problem; and Mr. Wormwood unintentionally rousing Matilda to seek revenge by saying “when a person is bad, that person has to be taught a lesson.”

The more inspired “lessons” Matilda dishes out remain, like the switching of Mr. Wormwood’s hair tonic and hat-gluing, which is cleverly done in public so there’s a real scene at a swanky restaurant. A dessert tray flipping over and making several tasty treats airborne was achieved by using small catapults, described by DeVito as an enormously fun day. There’s a running theme involving marshmallows, both in a sad scene where her cruel older brother calls her “dip face” and lobs them at a fleeing Matilda as well as a seemingly random moment where the Wormwood’s appear to be enjoying plain marshmallows on a stick. It’s very possible that DeVito is not-so subtly implying that the Wormwoods are nothing but artificial mush. 

“I’m smart, you’re dumb” is another recurring motif and even a piece of dialogue that’s constantly shouted in Matilda’s young face. This mistreatment hurts, along with a particularly nasty sequence in which Harry destroys a library copy of “Moby Dick” (whose title he finds offensive) out of pure spite, then forces her to watch a program that wouldn’t feel out of place on Tim & Eric: Million Dollar Sticky. Hosted by an uncredited Jon Lovitz (The Critic, Happiness), we get our first taste of Matilda’s telekinetic powers when she destroys the stolen TV set with her mind. To its credit, the film introduces this plot thread but then wisely ignores it in favor of more character development, only committing to it full-force in the wackier second-half.

While she took her “talent” for a miracle in the book, here it’s more like a mutant super power. DeVito’s decision to lean into her telekinetic capabilities makes for cute floating object scenes, though it does feel a bit like Carrie: The Prequel at times. The joyous “Little Bitty Pretty One” scene where Matilda has mastered her abilities and dances as various items swirl around her is infectious. I still find Dahl’s concept: her brain is so powerful she can move objects because she hasn’t been mentally challenged, a more intriguing idea. 

More shenanigans ensue, some lifted directly from the book (Lavendar placing the newt in the Trunchbull’s glass) and a suspenseful but unnecessary fabrication where Miss Honey and Matilda sneak into the Trunchbull’s house (which should be Miss Honey’s house) to retrieve her childhood doll. It features great physical comedy by Ferris and some real tension, but it drags on, much like the exhausting ending.

While the book climaxes in Miss Honey’s classroom, Matilda first uses her powers to make the Trunchbull believe the spirit of her deceased brother-in law, Magnus (whom she murdered), is haunting her house. It’s good stuff, but the Trunchbull is portrayed here as not being entirely convinced, despite some seriously freaky shit happening right before her eyes. She takes her aggression out on the children in Matilda’s class and we get the classic bit where a floating piece of chalk issues a written warning against the Trunchbull, telling her to give Miss Honey back her house and money and leave town. An added bit of hilarity is the children reading the chalkboard in unison. More psychic tomfoolery follows, including a poorly-rendered flying scene with a thrown boy and Matilda lifting her friend Lavendar (Kiami Davael) out of the way of an oncoming Trunchbull. It looks like a fun scene to have filmed as the children fling their lunches at their beleaguered headmistress,  but it’s all a bit much, I’m afraid. Satisfying, yes. Essential to the plot? Not all of it.

Another major change is that Matilda retains her abilities, while book Matilda basically shoots her load by using all of her energy to draw on the chalkboard, exhausting her power. I can’t blame the filmmakers for going with the psychic power angle. It adds a level of visual magic that at least feels justified. 

The film is full of goodies, including an excellent pair of FBI agents played by Paul Reubens (Pee-Wee!) and Tracey ‘Plate o’ Shrimp’ Walter (Batman, Conan the Destroyer (ugh)), who pose as speed boat salesmen and charm Zinnia into giving them vital information that could lead to her husband’s arrest. When they encounter Matilda, who sees them for what they really are, Walter hilariously deadpans, “It’s the female minor.” Lovingly detailed and effortlessly playful, DeVito pokes fun at his own height by showing his and the Trunchbull’s gigantic silhouette as he sells her a car. The chokey, a very Dahl-esque creation, is appropriately horrific to behold, and the murmuring of “poison” among the children during the cake-eating scene was a surprisingly macabre ingredient retained from the book. A flashback to Miss Honey’s childhood is appreciated and the attention to detail regarding the Trunchbull’s superstitious nature is well-regarded as she clearly has two rabbit’s feet attached to her car keys. 

Luckily, the final scene attempts to be as realistic as possible yet remain faithful to the book. The Wormwood’s are fleeing the country, although ironically Guam is a U.S. territory, but we have to assume Harry and Zinnia don’t know that. Matilda conveniently busts out adoption papers she “xeroxed” from the library and they effectively allow Miss Honey to adopt her. Rhea Perlman has a brief moment with her only daughter that’s quickly dissipated. It would feel slap-dash if it weren’t exactly what happens in the book. In fact, the book literally ends as they drive away, leaving Matilda and Miss Honey hugging in the driveway. Of course, we get a reprise of Rusted Roots’ “Send Me On My Way,” so you know that everything’s going to be all right and that’s it’s definitely the 90’s.

“Matilda” was one of the first full-length chapter books I ever read my daughter. Although I’m open to reading her just about anything, I do still subscribe to the very simplistic notion that books featuring strong female role models will strengthen her own personal resolve. She does tend to be a bit forgetful, but watching DeVito’s adaptation, she immediately knew characters and situations like the back of her hand. This proves the power of both Roald Dahl’s work and the amount of care and attention Danny DeVito lavished on his own unique vision of a late-period piece by arguably one of the finest children’s book authors to ever live.