The Secret Garden. (PG.)
Directed by Marc Munden
Starring Dixie Egerickx, Julie Walters, Colin Firth, Edan Hayhurst, Isis Davis, Maeve Dermody. In cinemas or available to watch on Sky Cinema. 100 mins.
I've never read Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic children novel, nor seen any of the previous adaptations but what immediately struck me about this version is that it is faithful; mercilessly, brutally, unflinchingly faithful. Because if it is wasn't, why would they change it to this?
(Actually, a skim through the Wikipedia synopsis reveals considerable changes, but I'm going to stick to the belief that it is faithful in spirit.)
It starts in India just before the partition, where a young English girl Mary (Egerickx) is struggling to survive in a deserted villa after her parents die of cholera. After this Empire of the Sun opening, we are whisked back to post-war Yorkshire, where she is deposited at a big gloomy mansion. Here, she's left more or less on her own by her cold, distant uncle (Firth) and his cold but-slightly-closer-proximity housekeeper (Walters.) With nothing to do and nobody to talk to she tries to find something to fill the time by exploring the grounds. Your heart would break for poor, lonely Mary if it wasn't for her being a proper little madam: spoilt and entitled and obnoxious.
Back in early March, when this was still destined solely for the big screen rather than the poky confines of Sky telly, I slumped down in a Soho screening room after a long day at work (ah, work remember that) expecting to see a nice little children's film. Instead, I got this meditation on grief and loss, featuring a shot of an amputee soldier and a dog getting its paw caught in a mantrap.
Of course, all this takes one back to an age when children's entertainment was often bracing; when the young were given instructive narratives that weren't going to doll out any more fun than was absolutely necessary. There's not a namby-pamby moment in The Secret Garden. Visually there's a lot to recommend in its restraint: it's magical without splurging lots of CGI gloop all over the place and gothic without being Tim Burton. But the story seems incredibly quaint and the performances, both from the unknown children and the well-known grown-ups, fail to compel.
Directed by Marc Munden
Starring Dixie Egerickx, Julie Walters, Colin Firth, Edan Hayhurst, Isis Davis, Maeve Dermody. In cinemas or available to watch on Sky Cinema. 100 mins.
I've never read Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic children novel, nor seen any of the previous adaptations but what immediately struck me about this version is that it is faithful; mercilessly, brutally, unflinchingly faithful. Because if it is wasn't, why would they change it to this?
(Actually, a skim through the Wikipedia synopsis reveals considerable changes, but I'm going to stick to the belief that it is faithful in spirit.)
It starts in India just before the partition, where a young English girl Mary (Egerickx) is struggling to survive in a deserted villa after her parents die of cholera. After this Empire of the Sun opening, we are whisked back to post-war Yorkshire, where she is deposited at a big gloomy mansion. Here, she's left more or less on her own by her cold, distant uncle (Firth) and his cold but-slightly-closer-proximity housekeeper (Walters.) With nothing to do and nobody to talk to she tries to find something to fill the time by exploring the grounds. Your heart would break for poor, lonely Mary if it wasn't for her being a proper little madam: spoilt and entitled and obnoxious.
Back in early March, when this was still destined solely for the big screen rather than the poky confines of Sky telly, I slumped down in a Soho screening room after a long day at work (ah, work remember that) expecting to see a nice little children's film. Instead, I got this meditation on grief and loss, featuring a shot of an amputee soldier and a dog getting its paw caught in a mantrap.
Of course, all this takes one back to an age when children's entertainment was often bracing; when the young were given instructive narratives that weren't going to doll out any more fun than was absolutely necessary. There's not a namby-pamby moment in The Secret Garden. Visually there's a lot to recommend in its restraint: it's magical without splurging lots of CGI gloop all over the place and gothic without being Tim Burton. But the story seems incredibly quaint and the performances, both from the unknown children and the well-known grown-ups, fail to compel.
