Paddington 2
(2017)
(SPOILERS) Paddington
2 is every bit as upbeat and well-meaning as its predecessor. It also has more
money thrown at it, a much better villain (an infinitely better villain) and, in terms of plotting, is more
developed, offering greater variety and a more satisfying structure. Additionally,
crucially, it succeeds in offering continued emotional heft and heart to the
Peruvian bear’s further adventures. It isn’t, however, quite as funny.
Even suggesting such a thing sounds curmudgeonly, given the
universal applause greeting the movie, but I say that having revisited the
original a couple of days prior and found myself enjoying it even more than on
first viewing. Writer-director Paul King and co-writer Simon Farnaby introduce
a highly impressive array of set-ups with huge potential to milk their absurdity
to comic ends, but don’t so much squander as frequently leave them undertapped.
Paddington’s succession of odd jobs don’t quite escalate as
uproariously as they might, his messy encounter with the fearsome Knuckles (Brendan
Gleeson) isn’t drawn out quite long enough before the latter becomes his
protector (albeit Knuckles remains pleasingly gruff for longer), an incident
with Buchanan dressed as a nun (featuring the returning Farnaby, running with a
classic British comedy riff as he is once again infatuated by a man in drag: “Stop the stunning sister!”) speeds by
too quickly, and the sequence in which Buchanan discovers Mr and Mrs Brown in
his house needed an ever so slightly more outlandish explanation for their
presence to knock it out of the park. Compared to the Brown household mishaps
in the first movie, the inspired chase involving a skateboard and a policeman’s
helmet, Mr Brown (Hugh Bonneville) dressed as a cleaning lady, or the marvellous
use of the over-used Mission: Impossible
theme (or even just the burst of Hello
when Peter Capaldi’s Mr Curry first claps eyes on Nicole Kidman), and the
sequel is more jackdaw but less sustained in its hilarity.
This time round, rather than a dedicated taxidermist, a
pop-up book holding a treasure map fuels the plot, although really, it’s simply
about the little bear spreading his values of openness, honesty, politeness, inclusivity
and marmalade to all he meets, and touching even the hardest of hearts with his
uncommon genuineness. This aspect can’t be faulted, unless you take objection
to the Harry Potter-by-way-of-Richard
Curtis presentation (or, as King puts it “Mary
Poppins-like”): the tourist’s dream of a cosy, beatific, perpetually cheery
London.
There are a few
teething issues, truth be told; the first quarter of an hour is content to
amble in the otherwise risky manner of a picture that knows it has a captive
sequel audience, and the flashback detailing how it was Paddington came to be
adopted by his aunt and uncle is only necessary to those who assume people go
to follow-ups without first seeing the original.
But once King gets underway, he keeps us thoroughly diverted
until the final act, at which point he ratchets the pace – and tension – up a
gear for an all-out duelling train chase. His greatest achievement is how much
we care for the CGI bear, though. Indeed, the chase culminates in a sequence rivalling
any tearjerker for pathos, whereby Paddington looks set to succumb to a watery
grave. Ben Wishaw’s contribution to the success of these movies can’t be
understated either, giving voice to a gentle, unaffected bear who always puts
others first, but it’s in the supporting players that these pictures flourish
their colour. And top of the pack is Hugh Grant.
The only disappointment of Grant’s performance is that his
best scene is left until the closing credits (a show-stopping, behind-bars musical
performance that goes down a storm). He’s reminding us throughout, for any who
refused to pay attention over the last two decades, what a talented comedic
actor he is. Buchanan, a vain, washed-up thesp reduced to doing dog food
commercials (dressed as a dog, eating dog food), sees the chance to produce a frightful-sounding
one-man show (“An evening of monologue
and song”) with the loot the pop-up book leads to, and pulls out every dastardly
stop to achieve his goal, and a succession of goofy disguises and accents.
Grant switches from ingratiating charm to gleeful villainy
with utmost ease, and also does a better ham Poirot than Sir Ken (and let’s
face it, ham Poirot is the way you want your Poirot), as well as walking atop a (moving) train more convincingly than Sir Ken. There’s great enjoyment
to be had from his hack actor dropping in of references to theatrical
luminaries (“Larry”) and a succession
of Shakespeare quotes (“Screw your
courage to the sticking place”) and misquotes (“Exit bear, pursued by actor”. Well, mis-stage directions).
Possibly even surpassing Grant is Gleeson, who fits the
cartoonishly foreboding prison like a big hairy glove. It’s with Knuckles that
the picture’s redemption arc resides; he’s effectively required to accept
Paddington and ultimately be his champion and rescuer much in the manner of Mr
Brown in the original, a change of heart you can see half an hour off but which
is no less satisfying for that when it comes. King is clearly having the most
fun in this setting, transforming stir into a pleasant, pink-fatigued,
plant-strewn patisserie off the back of Paddington’s mood-alerting menu for
marmalade.
The New Statesman would have you believe Paddington 2 forwards a “welcome anti-Brexit message” (it must be
a terrible burden to get your jollies from enthusing over the perceived
politicisation of family movies – provided they fit your own political
perspective, naturally) on the basis of Buchanan hating working with others, so
it’s gratifying that King and Farnaby nursed no such intent, instead namechecking
Capra – suitably as the picture feels like it comes from a different era –
while getting in a dig at Star Wars
along the way (“The need for kindness
transcends all political debates…. I think Paddington is about seeing the good in everyone, and trying to break any of those
deadlocks”).
It’s actually only Mr Curry who’s offered no redeeming
aspects, although Capaldi makes the part a dishevelled delight – he’s much better
in this than as the Doctor, although he can’t really be blamed for the latter,
except perhaps for taking the part knowing what Steven Moffat inflicted on Matt
Smith – and if they ever remake Steptoe and Son (they’ve done Porridge, after all), he’s a shoe-in for
a dirty, lecherous old Steptoe Sr (with a mutton-chopped Smith as his Alfred?)
In expanding the cast and canvas, the regulars aren’t quite enabled
to make the most of plot threads introduced and subsequently resolved with
nothing in between. The kids are now difficult teenagers and not quite as
effective (J-Dog, indeed), while Bonneville continues to tap his flair for
comedy as Mr Brown, just not quite as productively this time; occasionally, a recurring
gag is on the lazy side (Henry’s biker days). Occasionally, even when it’s lazy,
it’s still very funny (his meditation practice coming in handy while stretched
amid two speeding trains).
Sally Hawkins is ever adorable as Mary Brown, but
where before she was Paddington’s empathically ardent supporter, now the whole
family are. Julie Waters is a national treasure at this point, so immune to
criticism, obviously, but as I mentioned in my review of the original, I much preferred
her in slightly mental mode as Harry Hill’s nan. She does deliver of the best
lines, however, warning, without winking, that “Actors are the most evil people on the planet”.
Other notables in the cast include Tom Conti as a
cantankerous judge – understandably so, given what Paddington did to his hair –
put in his place by an exasperated wife, Joanna Lumley as Buchanan’s agent,
required to deliver an old (but amusing) “Nice
buns” riff, and Richard Ayoade offering expert testimony on marmalade. Wolfie,
the dog Paddington initially gives chase to Buchanan on also turns in a fine
performance, although it did set me wondering, in Pluto and Odie fashion, why
some of the animal kingdom can speak and not others.
Dario Marianelli’s score wallows in poignancy more than Nick
Urata’s original, reflecting the slightly less irreverent tone. Erik Wilson
ensures the visuals pop (his distinctive lensing was also brought to bear on
Ayoade’s directorial efforts), but most of all, King shows himself to be one of
those rare TV directors – and even rarer TV comedy
directors, step forward also Edgar Wright – with genuine cinematic flair. Paddington
2 looks great, a step up even on the impressive original, and King’s as
comfortable staging an elaborate, expertly-martialled train chase as a flamboyant
musical number. I’ve seen him compared to Wes Anderson, but much as I love
Anderson’s work, that really only applies to his talent for the tableau; King’s
otherwise for more kinetic in sensibility. Indeed, I’d love to see him take a
crack at a more faithful Fantastic Mr Fox;
I’m sure he’d do it justice. Perhaps after Paddington
3.
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.