Take a Trip Back to the Hundred-Acre Wood With Winnie the Pooh

When I first heard about Winnie the Pooh, Disney’s sequel to 1977’s The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, I immediately realized that it would come out the same weekend as Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. How could I choose between the bear I’ve loved all my life and the wizard who took me on a magical literary journey lasting nearly a decade?

I do question the wisdom of Disney releasing Winnie the Pooh on that particular weekend, when any box office revenue would be dwarfed by one of the most anticipated movies in recent memory, but perhaps the thought was that it would fill the niche of children too young for Harry Potter. I was only able to catch one of the movies opening weekend, and I couldn’t resist the allure of Harry, but I caught up with Pooh and his friends this weekend. His adventure is far shorter and simpler, but it’s just as enjoyable in its own breezy way, at least for a lifelong fan like me.

It surprised me to hear Winnie the Pooh described as Pooh’s first time on the big screen since the 1970s. Other Pooh movies have been released in theaters, featuring the same basic look and several of the same cast members as Pooh’s first Disney outing, so I’m not sure why this one is considered so fundamentally different. Then again, it does feel more closely tied with Many Adventures, given the strong presence of the narrator and the frequent interaction with the book in which the stories reside. One scene makes particularly clever use of some letters that tumble into the tale.

There’s nothing revolutionary about this movie. Life in the Hundred-Acre Wood is very simple, with just a few basic problems that plague its residents time and again. Hence, Eeyore losing his tail is familiar territory, as is Owl misreading a note from Christopher Robin and sending everyone into a panic, Piglet facing his fear and Pooh running out of honey. Because of the leisurely pace and the repetitive nature of the stories, my guess is that many adults will find it a bit on the snoozy side despite the mere 70-minute length, and some kids might as well. One family in my showing actually left halfway through. You have to go into this movie with a certain mindset, accepting that its driving events are not going to be very adrenaline-inducing.

The movie reprises a couple of established songs and introduces several others, though most are short and forgettable. The most memorable is a fearsome description of the Backson, the beast that has allegedly kidnapped Christopher Robin. This sequence, accompanied by chalkboard illustrations, has a trippy edge to it reminiscent of the Heffalumps and Woozles sequence in the original film. The characters’ imaginations run away with them as they dream up all the dreadful things this monster does, and the song seems to invite post-movie creativity from children in the audience.

All of the voice actors are expressive and fit into their roles well, but most of the cast is new for this movie, and the differences take some getting used to. Jim Cummings continues to inhabit the role of Pooh perfectly, and he does an admirable job with Tigger as well, but Travis Oates’ voice is distractingly high as Piglet. The tone is about right, but the pitch makes it sound like he’s on helium. He’s been playing Piglet on My Friends Tigger and Pooh and related specials since John Fiedler’s death in 2007, but this is my first encounter with the new Piglet, and he hasn’t quite won me over yet. Tom Kenny takes over for Ken Sansom as Rabbit for the first time, and his voice sounds decidedly off as well. Bud Luckey fares better as despondent Eeyore; aside from sounding a bit too Southern at times, he seems like a good match for Peter Cullen. Wyatt Dean Hall is fittingly spunky as Roo, while Jack Boulter is a more refined but still boyish Christopher Robin, Kristen Anderson-Lopez makes a very maternal Kanga and John Cleese is a predictably fine narrator.

The standout cast member for me, though, is Craig Ferguson, who seems to be having the time of his life as the grandiloquent Owl. Having often watched Ferguson’s rambling monologues on The Late Late Show, I would say that the character is an ideal fit with his style, and I can’t help wondering whether he had the same sort of free improvisational rein that Robin Williams did with Aladdin. Owl similarly steals the show, getting most of the best lines and generally making more of an impression than any other character, even Pooh himself. Ferguson nails the essence of the character, striking a perfect balance of sophistication and silliness whether he’s composing his extensive memoirs or delivering a rousing speech of encouragement to Piglet as he embarks on a rescue mission that Owl could much more easily undertake himself. His insistence on using complicated vocabulary is a running joke throughout the movie as poor muddled Pooh tries to puzzle out his meaning, and I found myself reminded of Trixie Belden scratching her head over the overly complex proclamations of her older brother Mart. I’d love to see those two try to talk each other under the table.

While most of the movie is more likely to elicit a nostalgic smile than a hearty laugh, some scenes are quite funny, and most involve words in some way. Pooh and Eeyore’s misunderstanding of Owl’s use of the word “issue” and a discussion of knots that reminds me of Abbott and Costello’s Who’s On First? routine are a hoot, as is the way everyone’s speech becomes absurdly littered with the word “honey” when the rumbly in Pooh’s tumbly gets to be too much for him to bear. This movie paints Kanga as being easily annoyed by loud noises, which adds to the humor and makes her more prominent than usual. It also seems like a sly nod to the parents in the audience who can probably relate all too well with her desire for a little peace and quiet.

The movie also emphasizes the consideration the characters have for each other. When they believe Christopher Robin to be in danger, everyone steps up to the plate to help. When Eeyore gets left out of the main contingent’s plan to rescue him, Tigger takes him under his wing. Piglet braves the spooky forest and Pooh puts his craving for honey aside for the sake of their friends. That pervasive spirit of camaraderie, even more than the idyllic scenery and the lackadaisical lifestyle, is what makes the thought of a sojourn in the Hundred-Acre Wood so appealing.

Disney tends to reward viewers patient enough to sit through the credits, and that’s certainly the case here. To the tune of a charming new song by Zooey Deschanel, the credits roll, complete with animated tidbits as Pooh and his pals interact with the names scrolling down the screen. There’s even a final funny scene at the very end of the credits that is well worth the short wait.

Before the movie, meanwhile, we’re treated to The Ballad of Nessie, an old-school-style short warmly narrated in rhyme by Billy Connolly. Given Ferguson’s prominence in the movie – albeit with an upper crust British accent rather than his natural Glaswegian accent – I wonder if he was a factor in deciding to pair the film up with this short, which is largely a celebration of stereotypical Scotland. With a rustic, bagpipe-laced score reminiscent of Ashokan Farewell and nods to everything from thistles and tartans to golf and Braveheart, it has great appeal for those who love that country as much as I do. Nessie, with her rosy cheeks, long eyelashes and vaguely Wookiee-like voice, is adorable, as is her rubber duck companion, and the takeaway message is a worthwhile one.

My showing of Winnie the Pooh had an audience of about a dozen, and I doubt that was too atypical. It doesn’t have the same sort of blockbuster draw that Harry Potter or even a typical animated Disney feature does; despite the popularity of Pooh products, most consider the movies themselves to be the realm of the very young. However, if you’re still young at heart and if you ever wished you could blink yourself to the Hundred-Acre Wood for a day, I suspect you will find this outing with Pooh and his friends a pleasant return to beloved company.

Not Too Unfortunate of an Adaptation

The end of 2004 marked the first holiday movie season after Lord of the Rings, which meant that there couldn’t possibly be a film that would create the same level of anticipation in me. Still, there were several movies in which I had at least a moderate interest, and so far I’ve managed to see most of them. A glaring exception is Finding Neverland, which never even made it to a theater in Erie. For shame.

A couple weeks ago, my dad noticed that A Series of Unfortunate Events had hit the dollar theater, and he offered to take me to see it that weekend. We went, though Dad didn’t have a very clear idea of what he was in for. He certainly didn’t expect the first unfortunate event, a glitch that resulted in his seeing a trailer for Pooh’s Heffalump Movie upside-down and backwards. I was getting popcorn at the time and was spared the opportunity to search for Satanic messages in the trailer that was so benign the right way around.

But to the film. I applaud the creativity of the opening and closing. The animated bits that persist through the end of the credits reward those few who actually bother to stick around until the screen switches back to its intermediary line-up of trivia and Coke ads. Meanwhile, the beginning sequence, presenting in an obnoxiously bright and cheerful manner the adventures of a happy little elf, calls to mind the fake cover so graciously provided to readers of Lemony Snicket’s Unauthorized Autobiography.

These are potentially the most self-referential stories I’ve ever read, and the film goes to just as much trouble as the books to warn us of impending danger and offer a more palatable alternative. Jude Law, hunched over an antiquated typewriter, provides the doleful, sympathetic voice of Lemony Snicket himself. That narratorial presence is my favorite part of the books, and Law inhabits the role naturally, his vocal timbre a perfect match for Snicket’s warnings and foreshadowing.

The other most impressive on-screen presence is, of course, Jim Carrey. As the film was
promoted, Count Olaf was about the only part of the movie anyone seemed to care about. Carrey camps it up as much as he can, making Olaf a little less sinister and a little more ludicrous. I saw Carrey promoting the movie on Letterman, and he explained that his take on Olaf was a wannabe actor who is very bad at what he does. All of his characterizations are over-the-top and easy to see through; though he reappears in several different guises, the unfortunate Baudelaire orphans recognize him immediately each time (though their incompetent legal representative, Mr. Poe (Timothy Spall) can never see it until it is too late). As in the Austin Powers films, the villain is the most comical character. Of his later incarnations, I find Stefano, the man who comes to assist the reptile-loving Uncle Monty (Billy Connolly), quite irritating, but I love his role as the crusty old sea captain who woos paranoid Aunt Josephine (Meryl Streep). This is fortunate for me, since I adore Uncle Monty but find Aunt Josephine extremely grating.

The orphans, particularly Violet (Emily Browning) and Klaus (Liam Aiken), spend most of the film looking quite somber. Infant Sunny (Kara and Shelby Hoffman) seems to take a brighter view of things, adopting a disposition to match her name. Violet and Klaus are fine, but Sunny gets on my nerves, mainly because of her sarcastic comments (which appear in subtitles as she can only make a series of babyish sounds). The younger members of the audience found this very amusing, but I thought the remarks were stupid and very out of keeping with the style of the book. Snicket does frequently provide possible translations for Sunny’s gurgling, but these speculative bits of dialogue are droll and worth a chuckle. In the film, they’re just going for cheap laughs, and it degrades the integrity of Snicket’s idiosyncratic linguistic usage.

As I mentioned before, Uncle Monty, the affectionate, eccentric snake collector, is a character I hold in high regard. When I read the book, I fell in love with him after some trepidation, initially fearing that he might be as untrustworthy as Count Olaf. He soon became my favorite character in the series up to that point, so I was pleased to see him make the transition to film so well. I did not pick up on his being Scottish in the book, so that was a nice surprise as well. The lilting melody he sings to the orphans with the aid of one of his favorite snakes was one of the film’s high points for me.

Several high-profile actors put in an appearance in the film, most oddly Dustin Hoffman in a very brief role as a theater critic and Gilbert Gottfried uttering just one squawk as a very familiar-looking duck. It’s not so much the actors, though, as the set design that captures the attention. The film is gorgeously grotesque, and every set piece (with the exception of those used in the opening sequence) has a bit of a gothic feel to it.

The film combines the first three books and takes considerable liberties with the material. We still wind up with the ending from the first book, though it is considerably altered to make for a more acceptably dramatic movie climax. While the conclusion is rather dreary and certainly open-ended enough to allow for a sequel, Law’s narration prevents it from seeming like a true unhappy ending. In fact, the film’s last words are “In that sense, they were very fortunate indeed.” Well, I guess a little thread of warm and fuzzy running through all that darkness can’t hurt.

The movie is not as good as the books, but it’s a pretty good adaptation, especially in visual terms. Fans of the books should check it out. And if they can get past the inherent oddity of the movie, as my dad eventually did, the unindoctrinated may just be inspired to pick up one of Mr. Snicket’s books themselves.