Four stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.14.18
Even in a Hollywood environment driven by short-term greed, some films have managed to remain revered, thou-shalt-not-remake-or-sequelize classics (although that hasn’t stopped people from thinking about it).
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| Having magically entered the world painted on the outside of a Royal Doulton china bowl, Mary Poppins (Emily Blunt, center) encourages her companions — from left, Georgie (Joel Dawson), Anabel (Pixie Davis), Jack (Lin-Manuel Miranda) and John (Nathanael Saleh) — to join her for what surely will be a remarkable ride. |
Gone With the Wind, Casablanca, Some Like It Hot, Lawrence of Arabia and The Godfather come to mind. (The latter was OK, because Francis Ford Coppola handled the trilogy himself.)
It’s not merely a function of great cinema; such films also are a product of their time — where we were, as a country and as a people — which further complicates efforts to re-visit them.
Mary Poppins made that list, and deservedly so, for more than half a century … although Disney’s failure to capitalize on their 1964 hit likely had less to do with leaving well enough alone, and more to do with the fact that author P.L. Travers loathed the film, and — since she lived until 1996 — likely blocked any efforts to draw additional water from the well.
But tempus fugit, and a couple of decades further down the line, Disney decided to attempt the impossible — no doubt with fingers crossed and breath held — and thus we have Mary Poppins Returns.
The studio certainly took pains to assure success. Director Rob Marshall, a veteran of opulent stage-to-film translations of Chicago and Into the Woods, is an excellent choice as guiding hand. He shares scripting credit with David Magee (Finding Neverland, Life of Pi and the under-appreciated Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day) and John DeLuca. Truth be told, their shared vision hews much closer to the subversive edge present in Travers’ eight books, and which was missing from the 1964 film’s cotton candy tone.
The casting is equally choice. Emily Blunt steps primly, saucily and posture-perfectly into Julie Andrews’ immaculately polished shoes, and this saga’s three children — Anabel (Pixie Davies), John (Nathanael Saleh) and Georgie (Joel Dawson) — are every bit as precociously adorable, and talented, as the original’s Karen Dotrice and Matthew Garber.
Most crucially, Broadway phenom Lin-Manuel Miranda is bloomin’ terrific as Jack, the amiably optimistic lamplighter who stands in for Dick Van Dyke’s chimney sweep. The enthusiastic and athletic Miranda steals the show, and that’s no small feat; there’s much to admire in this ambitious and opulent musical fantasy.
Marshall & Co. deliver a fresh, richly entertaining bit of razzle-dazzle, while honoring — and slyly referencing — the original.
Two decades have passed since the first film’s events. Michael and Jane Banks (Ben Whishaw and Emily Mortimer) have grown into adults during tempestuous times; it’s 1930s London, in the midst of the “Great Slump” that mirrored our own Depression. Michael has become a single parent to his three children, having recently lost his wife — their mother — under tragic circumstances.
(Yep. In the true Disney tradition, we have yet another story that opens with a dead mother.)
Michael, having abandoned his desire to become an artist, has taken a low-level job at the Fidelity Fiduciary Bank: the same financial institution where his father and grandfather worked before him. Alas, current bank chairman William Weatherall Wilkins (Colin Firth) doesn’t share the Banks family’s altruism, and — horrors! — is in the process of foreclosing on their venerable home at 17 Cherry Tree Lane.
Jane, having inherited her mother’s enthusiasm for good causes, busies herself with progressive social welfare issues such as workers’ rights. Although she has her own flat, she spends most of her time at the family home, helping the despondent Michael cope with the rundown chaos into which the mansion has fallen, despite the best efforts of their warm-hearted — but hilariously absent-minded — housekeeper, Ellen (Julie Walters).
When two bank employees arrive with a three-day foreclosure notice — the officious Gooding (Jeremy Swift) and the more compassionate Frye (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith) — Michael sinks into utter despair.
Ah, but we know there’s magic “(Underneath the) Lovely London Sky,” having already clocked the lyrics in the song of that title, as performed by Miranda during the charming prologue that sets the London stage. One stiff wind later, during the underweight Georgie’s near-disastrous attempt to fly a kite, the Banks family suddenly has an enigmatic, stiff-upper-lipped visitor.
Those who remember the original film will smile at this figure, who arrives wearing a familiar-but-spiffed-up white blouse, red bow tie, blue wool skirt and blue wool coat with cape. The silhouette is equally unmistakable.
In a droll touch, Michael and Jane barely remember their first experience with Mary Poppins. “Adults always forget,” the latter sighs more than once, lamenting that magic is appreciated only by impressionable children.
And goodness, what magic.
Two of the production numbers are smashing, most particularly the animated adventure that takes place within a slightly damaged Royal Doulton china bowl (an update of the first film’s escapade with the park carousel and subsequent horse race). It’s dominated by a terrific song-and-dance number performed by Blunt and Miranda — “A Cover Is Not the Book” — and highlighted by some interplay with the original film’s dancing penguins.
A later sequence choreographed to “Trip the Light Fantastic” eschews animation for eye-popping gymnastics and dance moves by Miranda’s Jack and dozens of his athletic fellow lamplighters, involving ladders, bicycles and a delightful patter routine that features Cockney rhyming slang.
Which highlights one of this sequel’s significant distinctions. Most of the original film’s Richard M. Sherman/Robert B. Sherman songs are larkish, cheerful and designed to be memorably hummable. Although the Shermans included a few mildly serious numbers — “Sister Suffragette” and “The Life I Lead” come to mind — people left the theater chanting “A Spoonful of Sugar,” “Jolly Holiday,” “Chim-Chim-Cheree” and (of course) “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”
In notable contrast, almost all the Marc Shaiman/ScottWittman tunes in this new film are “message” numbers, sometimes spoken rather than sung, as with Whishaw’s wistful delivery of “A Conversation,” or Blunt’s equally poignant handling of “The Place Where Lost Things Go.” This is more in keeping with the 21st century stage musical approach; the downside is that you’re less likely to leave with any of these melodies in your head (except perhaps “Lovely London Sky”).
Blunt makes a splendid Mary Poppins. Her disapproving sideways glance is to die for, particularly since it’s always laced with the barest trace of a smile. Mary’s stiff formality is strictly a façade, of course, which makes it even more fun when Blunt abruptly cuts loose — usually with Jack’s encouragement — and dives into a production number with the enthusiasm of a bawdy dancehall gal.
Whishaw is devastating as the heartbroken Michael, so persuasively overwhelmed by everything that has gone wrong; his stricken, forlorn expressions — his very stance — bespeak hopeless misery. Mortimer thus goes the other way with Jane, making her a plucky, cheerful spirit who tries to put the best possible spin on events, while remaining pragmatic.
Firth is a properly condescending villain, and Walters is hilariously ditzy. David Warner pops up as Cherry Tree Lane’s nautically minded Admiral Boom, who lives up to his name; Meryl Streep has a lot of fun as Mary Poppins’ rather unusual Cousin Topsy (based on a character from Travers’ 1935 book, Mary Poppins Comes Back).
And there’s a surprise or two — or three — the details of which shall remain undisclosed.
Dion Beebe’s lush cinematography swoops and swirls, juxtaposing warm tones (interior sets) with “cool” colors and lots of blues (exterior sequences). John Myhre’s production design is as fabulous as Sandy Powell’s costumes, and — in the china bowl sequence — the latter are augmented by some captivating animation effects, which make it appear as if Blunt, Miranda and the three children are wearing shimmery paper clothes.
Shaiman and Wittman’s orchestral underscore includes well-placed nods to familiar themes from the first film, most notably — and lovingly — with “Let’s Go Fly a Kite.”
There’s much to love, admire and enjoy in Mary Poppins Returns. And if it’s not as memorably supercalifragilisticexpialidocious as its predecessor, well, it sure doesn’t miss by much.
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