Paddington
(2014)
(SPOILERS) There’s good reason to be surprised at the pedigree
of Paddington. Aardman aside, British
animations are often less than auspicious, and the history of CGI-character-led
live action adaptations of children’s favourites have generally met with tepid
results (Yogi Bear, Scooby Doo). Nothing in the pre-release
material, not least the generically cute design of Paddington himself, led me
to think any differently. Then there was the loss of Colin Firth as the titular
bear. If even Firth was quitting surely it must
stink? And yet Paddington is a hugely
enjoyable family movie, stylishly made, witty, sweet without being mawkish, and
updated without offending defenders of the novels. It also manages to be very
English, in a way that plays on Hollywood concepts of Englishness but also
because it actually is.
Firth left the project because Paddington “does not have the voice of a very handsome
older man, who has the most beautiful voice on the planet”. As someone used
to Michael Horden’s mature tones, it took a while to get used to the wispy Ben
Wishaw’s youthful bear, as much as the endearing stop-motion Paddington of the
BBC TV version had a sense of character and poise this fully mobile, gymnastic
type lacks. That aside, however, this Paddington comes complete with duffle
coat, marmalade-sandwich concealing hat, brief case, and an unerring politeness
that transcends his ability to make a hash of things (which all turn out fine
in the end).
Director Paul King co-wrote the screenplay with Hamish
McColl (of Mr Bean’s Holiday and Johnny English Reborn; if not for those,
I might have said it gives hope for McColl’s Dad’s Army script but Emma Thompson also did a pass on this). King
was responsible for the inspired visual disturbia of The Mighty Boosh, which goes a long way to explain the
inventiveness on display here. The script shows significant fidelity to the
books, albeit with the winning embellishment of explorer Montgomery Clyde (Tim
Downie, wonderfully British Empire) discovering the bears and teaching them
English.
This sequence, playing as sepia newsreel footage, is chock
full of sight gags (one of which includes mild innuendo over which the BBFC twisted
its knickers) and introduces us to Aunt Lucy and Uncle Pastuzo (Imelda Staunton
and Michael Gambon). No kid’s movie is complete without a slice of tragedy, and
it’s after this that Paddington is packed off to England. He arrives,
eventually, at the station that lends him his name, where the kindly Browns discover,
and christen. They also take him in, at their home of 32 Winsor Gardens,
Notting Hill. Of course, this all needs a skullduggerous plot to hinge his
mishaps on, so a nefarious taxidermist (Nicole Kidman’s Millicent) is bent on
stuffing him to boot.
I say they welcome
him. Mrs (Mary) Brown is instrumental in whisking Paddington home, wearing nowt
but a hat and luggage tag (that’s Paddington, not Mrs Brown). Mr (Henry) Brown
is a safety-obsessed sourpuss who wants the bear to move on at the first
opportunity. Sally Hawkins is utterly beguiling as the dappy hippy mum, and
Hugh Bonneville’s grumpy boots dad equally and oppositely matches her.
I don’t
really know Bonneville’s work (I studiously avoid Downton Abbey), but his hugely game performance takes in a carefree
pre-parent persona and a hilarious manifestation as a cleaning lady (who then
proceeds to flirt with a lusty security guard – BBFC ahoy!) There’s an odd
moment at the end where, having stood firm in defence of Paddington as a member
of the family, dad bitches out and leaves him to the mercy of Millicent, but
generally he turns out to be a good sort (his reference to Paddington’s
“worrying marmalade habit” is up there with Dougal’s resistance to his sugar
lump addiction in Dougal and the Blue Cat).
Before long Paddington is getting up to unintended mischief,
flooding the bathroom (again, King’s visual panache is in full effect), using
toothbrushes as ear syringes (a deliriously bloik-worthy sequence that has the
expectedly bleugh-gusting pay-off) and pursuing a pickpocket, The latter chase becomes
ever-more unhinged, as Paddington accumulates various items that cross his path
(a skateboard, a policeman’s hat, a whistle), before launching skywards, Mary
Poppins-like, with an open umbrella.
Other inventive sequences see him
embroiled in sellotape while Millicent does a Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible to bearnap him (the
theme tune is used for a later scene of Paddington derring-do). An extended set
piece in the Geographer’s Society is a Gilliam-esque maze of postage tubes and
BBC Micros, where one misplaced marmalade baguette can gum up the entire works.
Elsewhere King gives us a gaggle of marmalade-fixated
pigeons, a dollhouse presentation of the Brown’s own house, Paddington giving
his “hard stare”, an encounter with an escalator, an interlude with a Beefeater’s
TARDIS-like hat (this when Paddington believes he is no longer welcome at the
Brown’s and is seeking out the Clyde), and a calypso band performing on any
given street corner. The creativity here puts most family movies to shame,
particularly in its easy idiosyncrasy.
Of the remaining performers, Madeleine Harris and Samuel
Joslin manage not to be the annoying kids, and King wisely doesn’t turn this
into a picture that is all about their relationship with the bear. Julie
Walters is rather tiresome, wheeling out her old woman Walters routine as Mrs
Bird. It’s one we’ve seen a million times before (Walters was much better in The Harry Hill Movie).
Peter Capaldi
plays neighbour Mr Curry as a seedy-eyed masturbator (as Doctor Who actors showing a different side go, it compares to Patrick
Troughton in that Morse episode) who
is, most amusingly, instantly smitten with “honeypot” Millicent.
It’s Kidman who is the real weak link in this picture,
preventing it from climbing to the heights of instant classic. We’ve seen
before that she has no facility for comedy (The Stepford Wives). Bless her for
giving her kids something age-appropriate to see, but mum’s comic timing will
not be visible. Glenn Close was the kind of big performance needed (or, better
still, Miranda Richardson). Kidman fully embraces an array of tight costumes
but is otherwise utterly unmemorable.
Paddington is, as
I’m sure Michael Bond would agree of his source material, a consummately white middle
class depiction of Englishness. And yet it’s impossible to miss the theme of
inclusiveness and acceptance of (illegal) immigrants running through the
picture, set against London’s cultural melting pot and more particularly that
of Notting Hill. The movie will probably do more for a moderate position –
certainly for young malleable minds – than
any heated debate.
Paddington will
doubtless earn sequels irrespective of its Stateside performance. Yes, the PG
rating is ridiculous (illustrated by the BBFC subsequently moderating its own guidance),
but it’s done nothing to quell the universality of its appeal. It isn’t
perfect, and there’s definite room for improvement next time out (but one
actually gets the impression they will improve
things rather than stir-and-repeat), but this is a genuinely smart family
movie, and an endearingly goofy one that never speaks down to its target audience
and doesn’t fall back on shameless cutesiness.
