PADDINGTON 2

Writer/director Paul King, best known for helming the surreal series ‘The Mighty Boosh’, brings a truly beautiful sincerity to proceedings, never undercutting the defiantly naff tone with sarcasm or snark, and never feeling the need to apologise to the audience for making a film that is exactly what it wants to be. With co-writer Simon Farnaby, King has crafted a storytelling feat, as the film’s screenplay may just be the most tightly plotted and impressively structured piece of writing I’ve ever encountered in a family film. Where in the first film the comic set pieces were equally impressive, if a tad tangential to the actual plot, here everything is cosily interconnected. Every stray gag finds a payoff, every bit of buffoonery is necessary, and every stray reference to Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton or Wes Anderson brings a vibrant flavour of invention and charm.

The cast, naturally, are terrific, with Hawkins’ cannily compassionate and wonderfully goofy work a particular standout (and invaluably necessary to the film’s emotional through line), not to mention Brendan Gleeson’s hilarious hardened criminal, or Julie Walters’ enjoyably ridiculous Scottish brogue. But really, if you’ve seen the first film, then the question you’re asking right now is undoubtedly a simple one: how does Hugh Grant stack up against the deliciously camp Nicole Kidman and her scenery-chomping power-bob of a performance as the first film’s villain? The answer is spectacularly well; Grant’s self-lampooning work as the nefarious, idiotic, egotistical thespian responsible for Paddington’s imprisonment is the kind of comedic tour de force that hasn’t been witnessed this year since Tiffany Haddish reimagined the humble grapefruit in ‘Girls Trip’. He primps, he preens, he has conversations with himself as Hamlet, Macbeth and Scrooge, and he commits crimes while dressed as a nun – not to mention the crazy-eyed commitment he brings to the Busby Berkley-style musical number that we never knew we all wanted from the ‘Love Actually’ star. Honestly, what else must he do for you people before he gets his Oscar nomination?

However, throughout all of this absurdity, what makes it all come together is the film’s heart, an element that is ever-present yet never cloying or false. The sense of genial whimsy that permeates the film has a mild undercurrent of sadness, as Paddington’s separation from his aunt and ensuing desperation to show her his love and appreciation is the spine of the whole endeavour. His status as a migrant with multiple homes and families goes from being implicit in its insinuations to expressly political, as Peter Capaldi’s anti-immigration, fear-mongering neighbourhood watchman strikes an all too timely chord, making his eventual comeuppance all the more satisfying for its rousing call-to-arms.

The film is an openhearted ode to acceptance and kindness, at a time where those qualities seem to be sorely undervalued. At multiple points as the film sped towards its note-perfect final image, the grass of the Moonlight Cinema (where I saw the film this past weekend) was apparently wreaking havoc with my non-existent allergies. That must be it, because the idea that I was moved to tears by a film about an adorable talking bear is patently absurd.

Then again, maybe that’s the exact kind of absurdity we all need right now.