So, Mary Poppins returns, and I was, of course, primed to be spiteful, as is my nature. Not a patch on the original. Why did they bother? Why did they imagine it was necessary? Wasn’t the first film practically perfect in every way? Have someone play her who isn’t Julie Andrews? Are you right in the head? The original (1964) is one of the best-loved films ever. I love it, even though the fact that Mrs Banks was made to put away her suffragette nonsense to become a Proper Mother now makes me go: grrrr. So I had my spite at the ready. My spite was champing at the bit. But then I had to put most of it away, annoyingly, as this is not a travesty. It’s more a remake than a sequel, which was possibly the safest bet, but it does recapture some of the magic and — oh God, spite, look away — I was entertained.
The film is directed by Rob Marshall (Chicago, Into the Woods) with a screenplay by David McGee, and the first image you see is a flame flickering in an old-time street lamp, lit by Jack (played by the multi-multi-talented Lin-Manuel Miranda, who also wrote Hamilton). He is our new Bert, as Bert is no more. Bert was a pavement artist and a chimney sweep and a one-man band and a balloon-seller and a kite-seller, so Bert worked himself to death probably. Jack also has an appallingly unconvincing Cockney accent, which I’m personally choosing to take as a tribute to Dick Van Dyke (who later makes a cameo appearance, as does Angela Lansbury), but that’s up to you.
Bert cycles across London, passing the bird woman and the home of Admiral Boom, who is still firing cannons from his rooftop.
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