Christopher Robin (2018)
Directed by Marc
Foster
Walt Disney Pictures,
104 minutes, PG.
★★★ ½
Britain's best-loved bear returns to the screen with his
best friend Christopher Robin, the latter all grown up and acting like a human
of very little brain. This update of A. A. Milne's classic tale of a boy and
his stuffed animals is uttering charming—and totally Disney.
It needs to be said from the outset that if Disney makes you
gag, this film will be like force-fed honey. If, on the other hand, you are such
a Disney fan that you think the sun rises and sets over Disney World, you
probably don't need to read this review. From where I sit—somewhere in the
middle—I'd call Christopher Robin an
uplifting film that you should see if you're at all in touch with your Inner
Child. But I think there are also moments in which your Outward Adult can
provide critical balance.
This sequel-of-sorts opens with a bittersweet tea party
between pubescent Robin and his boyhood friends Winnie the Pooh (voiced by Jim Cummings), Piglet,
Tigger, Kanga, Roo, Owlet, Rabbit, and that pessimistic old grump, Eeyore
(voiced by Brad Garrett, though you'll swear it's Sam Elliott). Robin is
"going away," which we are to interpret as both heading off to
boarding school and checking out emotionally, as he's on the verge of being too
old for the world of make-believe. The story then rushes forth in vignette
snapshots: Robin (Ewan McGregor) as a young man, Robin acquiring a sweetheart,
and Robin fighting in World War II, before settling in with a wife named Evelyn
(Hayley Atwell), and a young daughter, Madeline (Bronte Carmichael). Alas,
Robin is an all-work-and-no-play middle management drone for the Winslow
Luggage Company. His long days get even longer when efficiency expert Giles
Winslow (Mark Gatiss, whom you know for his role as Mycroft Holmes) tells Robin
he must cut costs by 20%. Just what the already-too-serious Robin doesn't need.
He's already just about out of goodwill credits from Evelyn, and his Madeline
is well on her way to becoming as colorless, unimaginative, disconnected, and
sad as her father. Then, back in the Hundred Acre Wood of Sussex, a lonely Pooh
can't find any of his friends. He walks through a door in a tree and exits in
Christopher's London backyard.
You can probably take it from here. It will be, of course, a
tale of how a reluctant Christopher finds his mojo, saves himself, discovers
what's really valuable in life, and sets free his daughter's imagination. I say
"of course" because this is pretty much the arc of all Disney family
fare. One reason I stand in the middle when it comes to Disney is that, for the
most part, all of the imagination of their films lies on the visual surface;
Disney has been recycling the same basic story since the early days of Mickey
Mouse. The film's action is a zany caper that begins in Sussex, travels to
London, and ends up back in Sussex.
The good news, though, is that Winnie is far more charming
and interesting than Mickey. He is a bumbling bear who's not the brightest
bruin in the honey pot, but he's kind, soft-spoken, and simple in all the right
ways. In fact, it dawned on me that Winnie calms a bit the same way as Mister
Rogers used to do so. Who can resist sentiment such as this? When asked,"
"What day is it?" Pooh replies, "It's today. My favorite
day." Is that simplistic, or the highest expression of Zen? (Some older
folks may remember a book from 1982 titled The
Tao of Pooh, which actually is a
series of Eastern-style meditations on Winnie the Pooh!)
When the adventure begins, the best thing to do is chuck
your logic in an old log somewhere and just go with it. As was the trick in
Bill Watterson's comic Calvin and Hobbes,
the Pooh crew is sometimes anthropomorphic, sometimes just a collection of
stuffed animals, and sometimes something in between whenever the plot demands
some grownup befuddlement. McGregor helps us suspend belief. He is deft and
believable within the film's internal logic—a sort of boy man trying his
hardest (and failing) to exude gravitas. I was reminded a bit of how Michael
Palin took on similar roles in Monty Python—sometimes wearing a serious mask,
but always with a twinkle in the eye that heralded an imp waiting for release.
I suspect also we will be hearing from young Bronte Carmichael, whose
performance suggests she is adaptive in her emotional range.
It would be too much to declare Christopher Robin any sort of movie masterpiece. Really, the only
question you need to ask is whether you think all movies need to be profound? Is there a place for something that makes us
revert to childhood? In the film, Christopher Robin concludes there is. I
agree. Now I hope I can remember under which log I stowed my logic.
Rob Weir
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