Neither "Blazing Saddles" nor "Young Frankenstein" belong to me, nor even Willy Wonka, or Charlie Bucket. As far as that goes, neither does Gene Wilder; he belongs to all who loved him. The following is a tribute to Mr. Wilder's memory. My recollection of lines from those two movies are quoted in italics. The quote that ends the piece is from "Hiawatha" by Ernest Thompson Seton.
Willy's delighted cackle filled the room.
Charlie, passing, poked his head in. There was no need for goggles; the lights were down, as they always were now. Television Chocolate was history, an idea shelved with the enormity of the enormous amounts of chocolate it would take, but the television room had survived. Willy was enthroned in the observer's chair, glued to the tube.
"I thought you didn't like television," said Charlie, crossing the room. Two men, dressed in the manner of the American Old West, flickered on the screen.
"Who says that?" said Mr. Wonka. "Now, shush, this is a good part!"
Charlie held his peace. He knew better than to not. The man with the tin star on his shirt was exclaiming: "Steady as a rock!"
"Yes," said a soft-spoken voice, with complete sincerity. The gunslinger's blond hair, as curly as it was unruly, framed a gentle face made alive with the glint of his sparkling blue eyes. They fairly danced with what he knew was coming next. "But this is my gun hand." The hand he lifted was shaking like a paint-mixing machine.
"That's his gun hand!" Willy was shaking with mirth. "I love this actor! He's as subtle as he's funny. He's sooo subtle, he's flamboyant. I love that."
The scene progressed, and Willy twisted to see if Charlie agreed with him. What he saw in Charlie's face had him groping for the remote. Finding it, Willy turned low the sound.
"What?"
"Willy, that actor died today."
Willy shook his head. "Gosh, Charlie, of course he doesn't die. He rides off into the sunset. Sit down. Watch. You'll see. Well, actually, he drives off into the sunset, in a stretch limousine—"
"Willy." Charlie reached for the remote, but Willy kept it from him. "I just heard it on the news. He's gone."
"You're fooling. He couldn't be. That's not very nice of you, Charlie."
"I'm not fooling. I love his movies, too. My favorite is the one about the Frankenstein monster."
"Nice grouping," said Mr. Wonka, staring into space. His eyes returned. "I like that one, too. Especially the violin music. And he wears a top hat in that one."
"He died of complications of a terrible disease, but he kept it secret."
"Life is complicated," said Mr. Wonka, after a pause. He believed Charlie now. But he didn't want to. He turned back to the screen. The movie was moving on, as it always would, this wonderful actor moving with it. Mr. Wonka raised the remote and pointed it at the screen. His gloved finger found the mute button, and he pressed it.
In silence, he and Charlie watched the rest of the movie to its end. And Mr. Wonka was right. Mr. Wilder rode off into the sunset, and into eternity, in the comfort of a stretch limousine, with the two admirers in this room, and countless others everywhere, wishing him godspeed.
Gene Wilder
1933 - 2016
"May stars shine on thy journey."