Poppins sequel fails to recapture the magic
The sequel to the 1964 classic does not get off to the best start. The original began with one of the world’s worst Cockney accents, via the jack-of-all-trades played by Dick Van Dyke and, rather than rectify this error, Mary Poppins
Returns simply repeats it. This time, Puerto Rican-American Lin-Manuel Miranda is cast as a London lamplighter – that is, the ridiculously talented playwright behind Hamilton, a bookish, thinking man who (let’s be honest) really can’t sing, let alone master a British accent.
Then comes Mary. Cor blimey, she is the worst. Imagine your snootiest friend, cross her with the most conceited person you’ve ever met, and then add on an accent so unfeasibly posh that even the Queen would cower in her presence: that’s your “lovable” Mary Poppins.
While Julie Andrews was strict but caring in the original film, Emily Blunt enforces rules for no discernible reason in the follow-up, like a caricature of, well, an English governess. While Andrews was surprising, Blunt’s Poppins has Attention Deficit Disorder, with a new spectacle thrown our way every other scene. And when she’s not awash in CGI, she’s displaying a strange tic of a thinking-person’s gesture – one hand floating on her face, the other arm resting in the air, as if she is balancing on an imaginary table.
I rewatched the 1964 version recently and was blown away by its contents: a bit of anticapitalism, spiced up by some post-colonial critique, feminist sufferage, and general belief in creativity and feelings over reserve and order. In the climactic scene, the young George Banks refuses to give his tuppence to the bank; he wants to give it to a poor beggar woman instead. The scuffle between the antediluvian bankers, who sing out the various overseas projects his money could fuel, and the young boy leads to an actual run on the bank – the film is talking about undermining the capitalist system! Pretty deep for a Disney flick.
But, in this version, George – now a father – seems to have invested those tuppence after all, and those tuppence save the day. In other words, the bankers were right, with their song about colonialism and compound interest. The banking system has won! Hooray?
Once you swallow that little recognition of how far our horizons have closed in fifty-odd years, you’re still stuck watching a movie that won’t end. Song after song tries to match the original joy, but blends softly into oblivion.
Don’t waste your time on this one. As the soundtrack itself acknowledges, after this film, the only way is up.