Christopher Robin Charms, but It's a Disney Film

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