It occurred to me about two weeks ago that I have no memory of seeing the original Mary Poppins. I know I saw some of it when I was a kid because I distinctly remember trying to spell out “Supercalifragilistickexpealidocious” and having the song stuck in my head.
But as for the story I didn’t remember a thing about it. So, I bought a copy of it and watched it with my wife and daughter last week because I knew, for some ineffable reason, that I wanted to see Mary Poppins Returns.
Most likely that came from my faith in Emily Blunt whose taste in projects is as impeccable as her performances. Or maybe it was something else, something I needed.
And watching Mary Poppins for the first time as the clock strikes down on my fiftieth year I was awed by how much it resonated still.
I found my mind wandering during the long musical sequences which didn’t feel germane to the story as much as they should have been.
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There’s nothing wrong with that, it was a different age of film-making. The spectacle was part of the point. But because the story of Mary Poppins is so strong — Disney does know its archetypes after all — its length can be forgiven.
None of that occurs in the new film. This narrative is tight as a drum and the songs, sets, choreography and imagery all serve multiple purposes, propelling the story while deepening the meaning.
The 1964 Mary Poppins purports to be a story about saving the wayward Banks children. By the end it becomes a timeless story about parents who regain their balance and no longer need the assistance of Mary’s magic to find it in the world they live in.
Like all great films that say the right things in the right way,…