Nanny McPhee Returns (1:47, PG) — fantasy: fairy tales; 3rd string; sequel; OSIT romantics
"We're in the Land of Poo" says snotty little Cyril Gray, he of the golden Little Lord Fauntleroy tresses, as he gazes from the back of his chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce at his Aunt Isabel's farm, which, truthfully, is probably the biggest shithole in the history of the British Empire. Yes, it appears that the primary product of Deep Valley Farms is indeed manure. Despite this, its 3 cherubic urchins — Vincent, Norman, and Megsie Green — are improbably clean. They are the resentful hosts to Cyril and his even snottier, more spoiled sister Celia, sent to the English countryside during WW2 ostensibly for their own safety but, as we eventually see, mainly because their parents didn't want anything to do with them. The city and country cousins take 1 look at each other, and it's hate at 1st sight.
Isabel (Maggie Gyllenhaal, sporting quite a credible British accent) is overwhelmed — not least by even more icky, sticky substances everywhere she turns — and completely unable to cope. What she needs, the talking teapots assure her, is Nanny McPhee. Fortunately, that worthy (doughtily played by Emma Thompson, who also wrote the screenplay) materializes that night, in time to find the kids in the middle of a screaming rampage. She proceeds to administer the 1st of 5 valuable life lessons. For the incurably curious, let me spare you the need to see the movie: (1) no fighting, (2) share nicely, (3) help each other, (4) be brave, and (5) have faith.
These being typical children, of course they learn each of these trite platitudes as soon as it's uttered, internalize it, and thereafter behave accordingly. In less than 24 hours they're all BFFs. Calloo, callay!
In the other half of the plot, Isabel's hubby (flitful cameo by Ewan McGregor) is off to war, and his brother Phil (Rhys Ifans), deep in gambling debt, wants Isabel to sell the farm so he can get his half of the proceeds. Isabel isn't budging until Phil shows up with the fateful telegram from the War Office.
There's more along these lines. Tree-climbing pigs, a time-freezing crow named Mr. Edelweiss, a bomber helpfully labelled "Enemy Plane", Ralph Fiennes warming up for his future as Lord Voldemort by playing Cyril and Celia's cold and distant father, and a sad appearance by the wonderful Maggie Smith as a senile old storekeeper. Plus more manure.
Director Susanna White evidently told the entire cast that nobody over the age of 7 would ever see this movie, and so it would be necessary to ACT! ACT! ACT! PROJECT! Don't merely say, DEMONSTRATE! Let not mild surprise cross your visage when ASTOUNDED WONDERMENT is at your beck and call. Leave nuance at the door and go for VISIBILITY! Don't merely suggest, WHACK them over the head at every opportunity.
Composer James Newton Howard was evidently an enthusiastic participant in this monument to excessive obviousness, as well, since his score tried to tell the entire story even if you subtracted the pictures and dialog. For the most part, it's relentlessly perky, until we get to the sad scenes, when you can practically hear the violins whimpering and the oboes sobbing. And it never lets up.
Cynics will speculate on what horrible crime Nanny McPhee must have committed to have earned that über-homely visage, since she loses an ugly, hairy mole after the children learn each of Lessons 1 and 2, implying that she's working off some karmic debt doing penance with these whiny little brats. But then Lesson 3 comes along, and nothing happens to her face, giving idle minds (as possessed by anyone over age 8) something else to speculate about. (This is, believe me, more intellectual depth than the film itself provides.)
There is only 1 reason to see this film, and I'm going to give it away for free. It's the one piece of advice from Nanny McPhee that couldn't have been found in Reader's Digest: broccoli — try it with cheese.
Fortunately, there's lots of it in this movie — yet another icky, sticky substance available in abundance from one of the nation's leading sources of child abuse.
"We're in the Land of Poo" says snotty little Cyril Gray, he of the golden Little Lord Fauntleroy tresses, as he gazes from the back of his chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce at his Aunt Isabel's farm, which, truthfully, is probably the biggest shithole in the history of the British Empire. Yes, it appears that the primary product of Deep Valley Farms is indeed manure. Despite this, its 3 cherubic urchins — Vincent, Norman, and Megsie Green — are improbably clean. They are the resentful hosts to Cyril and his even snottier, more spoiled sister Celia, sent to the English countryside during WW2 ostensibly for their own safety but, as we eventually see, mainly because their parents didn't want anything to do with them. The city and country cousins take 1 look at each other, and it's hate at 1st sight.
Isabel (Maggie Gyllenhaal, sporting quite a credible British accent) is overwhelmed — not least by even more icky, sticky substances everywhere she turns — and completely unable to cope. What she needs, the talking teapots assure her, is Nanny McPhee. Fortunately, that worthy (doughtily played by Emma Thompson, who also wrote the screenplay) materializes that night, in time to find the kids in the middle of a screaming rampage. She proceeds to administer the 1st of 5 valuable life lessons. For the incurably curious, let me spare you the need to see the movie: (1) no fighting, (2) share nicely, (3) help each other, (4) be brave, and (5) have faith.
These being typical children, of course they learn each of these trite platitudes as soon as it's uttered, internalize it, and thereafter behave accordingly. In less than 24 hours they're all BFFs. Calloo, callay!
In the other half of the plot, Isabel's hubby (flitful cameo by Ewan McGregor) is off to war, and his brother Phil (Rhys Ifans), deep in gambling debt, wants Isabel to sell the farm so he can get his half of the proceeds. Isabel isn't budging until Phil shows up with the fateful telegram from the War Office.
There's more along these lines. Tree-climbing pigs, a time-freezing crow named Mr. Edelweiss, a bomber helpfully labelled "Enemy Plane", Ralph Fiennes warming up for his future as Lord Voldemort by playing Cyril and Celia's cold and distant father, and a sad appearance by the wonderful Maggie Smith as a senile old storekeeper. Plus more manure.
Director Susanna White evidently told the entire cast that nobody over the age of 7 would ever see this movie, and so it would be necessary to ACT! ACT! ACT! PROJECT! Don't merely say, DEMONSTRATE! Let not mild surprise cross your visage when ASTOUNDED WONDERMENT is at your beck and call. Leave nuance at the door and go for VISIBILITY! Don't merely suggest, WHACK them over the head at every opportunity.
Composer James Newton Howard was evidently an enthusiastic participant in this monument to excessive obviousness, as well, since his score tried to tell the entire story even if you subtracted the pictures and dialog. For the most part, it's relentlessly perky, until we get to the sad scenes, when you can practically hear the violins whimpering and the oboes sobbing. And it never lets up.
Cynics will speculate on what horrible crime Nanny McPhee must have committed to have earned that über-homely visage, since she loses an ugly, hairy mole after the children learn each of Lessons 1 and 2, implying that she's working off some karmic debt doing penance with these whiny little brats. But then Lesson 3 comes along, and nothing happens to her face, giving idle minds (as possessed by anyone over age 8) something else to speculate about. (This is, believe me, more intellectual depth than the film itself provides.)
There is only 1 reason to see this film, and I'm going to give it away for free. It's the one piece of advice from Nanny McPhee that couldn't have been found in Reader's Digest: broccoli — try it with cheese.
Fortunately, there's lots of it in this movie — yet another icky, sticky substance available in abundance from one of the nation's leading sources of child abuse.