I wish I could provide you, dear readership, with an articulate and critical review of “Christopher Robin.” I really do. But I can’t, because my eyes were way too sweaty the whole time.
It didn’t take long. As soon as the music started it was hard for me to see. The familiar melody from the cartoon I grew up on reared back and headbutted me right in the heart.
But it didn’t stop there. The sight of each one of my old friend’s faces, in turn, felt like someone ran my tear ducts through a hand wringer. When Pooh shows up? Sob. Piglet? Sob. Eeyore? Oh, my Eeyore, the animate stuffed animal I identified with most as a child, for you I wept.
There was a scene shortly after Christopher Robin and Pooh return to the Hundred Acre Wood in which they track a Heffalump, but are actually following their own footprints in a circle. That’s straight from one of A.A. Milne’s original stories. The scene also showed that Christopher Robin had become his worst fear, an adult, and remained so in the face of Pooh’s unbridled childhood.
Seeing Christopher Robin as a jaded adult was heartbreaking, even after the brief montage that explained how that came to be. Witnessing his return to mirth via his daughter and all of his friends was triumphant. That is as deep as I can dig.
My childhood was steeped in Winnie the Pooh, and this film grabbed all the emotions I had about it and tossed them out through my eyes and I loved every minute of it.