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I've noticed for years and years that critics love to say that Roald Dahl is "spinning in his grave" over some such filmic adaptation of his works. I'm a curious type person so I had to look up what the hell was in his grave, anyway. He was buried with pool cues, his typewriter and pencils (backup?). Guess he'd need to hustle his way past the pearly gates? I'm kidding! Don't dance on my grave. (Gosh, real critics are so harsh.) If he's spinning I guess there's plenty in there to make lots of racket.
The movie wasn't that bad. Okay, the American kid was a weanie and the special effects were cheesey. But Anjelica Huston was scary and oversexed. That was kinda awesome.
I was a Dahl fanatic as a kid. We read most of them as school assignments, but not The Witches for some reason. Maybe 'cause they want to do bad things to children. (Hold up, Trunchbull of Matilda did nasty things to kids! Ah, but she had administrative permission, which fooled yet more administrative permissors into permitting their administrative permissions for further kid terrorizing. Only the ones who read, mind, like Matilda. Reading Matilda.) Anyway, it was funny and gruesome and nasty and I loved it. It still holds up to adult nasty senses of humor.


Dance, dance, dance!