Review by
Benjamin Poole
Directed by: Patrick Dickinson
Starring: Lily Franky, Ryo Nishikido, Tae Kimura, Rin Takanashi, Ciarán Hinds, Aoife Hinds
Like devotees of The Moomins (i.e., me: Scandinavia, the weirdness, the
centrality of food and blended family within the stories), fans of Beatrix
Potter and her anthropomorphic creatures are a particular breed. As ever
when people respond to narratives wherein animals are given human
characteristics (Animal Farm, Bluey) the personified remove is an insight
into how we wish to see and understand ourselves, and in the case of
Potter, with her beautifully realised illustrations of woodland creatures
and their pictorial surroundings demonstrating narratives which predicate
a (usually conservative) moral, it's a nostalgic longing for a chocolate
box world where a pastoral society interacted with cordial formality and
everybody just knew their ruddy place (voiced by James Corden). Research
informs that Potter was one of the first authors to recognise the
potential for marketing, and my childhood recollections of Benjamin Bunny,
Jemima Puddle-Duck et al. are duly not informed by the stories, but by
crockery we had from somewhere; egg cups and saucers etc which featured
those irresistibly detailed line drawings. Doing some reading of the
original texts this morning for context, the tableware turns out to be a
fitting metaphor for the stories themselves: both are pretty and genteel,
but all a bit precious.
Still, the stories, the brand and the ideologies, are phenomena which
people identify with deeply. In Patrick Dickinson's impressive
feature length debut, Cottontail, the plot centres on a Japanese widower and his son travelling to the
Lake District to honour his wife's dying wish, which is to have her ashes
scattered where Beatrix Potter lived and worked (my equivalent would be
Klovharu: it's in writing now, surviving friends and family...).
The narrative dynamic intrigues... Do the woods of Brockhole, and its
furry Edwardian inhabitants provide a representation of Britain (or, let's
face it, England, even though The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies is set in
Wales, and Potter generously referred to the Welsh as "seeming a pleasant
intelligent race" 👍) to the rest of the world? Certainly,
Cottontail draws thematic meaning from the juxtaposition of
two cultures. The opening urgency of beleaguered Kenzaburo (Lily Franky) bursting out on the roof of his apartment block to chug a beer in the
Tokyo morning soon settles into a sedate pace where non-linear flashbacks
fill out both early romance and Akiko's encroaching illness, while in the
central narrative the stubborn protagonist reconciles with his distanced
son, all set to a backdrop of an England made alien by Kenzaburo's
unfamiliarity with the country.
When the family (including son and daughter in law, Koshi Uehara
Satsuki and Rin Takanashi) get to London, they do the bus
tour, replete with phatic touristy details such as the flag politic of
Buckingham Palace (the most boring looking palace in the world), and
attempt to make sense of electric orange walls of train timetables. Our
characters are in perpetual motion, either running away from or towards
third act destiny. There is no surer way to really experience a country
than to travel across it, and thus, reliant on rail service to get to Lake
Windemere, Kenzaburo is accosted by a carriage hen party, led by Dobby off
Peep Show, who steal his hat and attempt to get him drunk (heterosexual people are
so entitled and dull, with the stag and hen party the epitome of their
sprawling and self-important absurdity. Only the subsequent wedding is a
more objectionable display). The relatable unpleasantness of the above is
countered when a lost Kenzburo knocks on a farmhouse door and is met by
the lovely kind face of Ciarán Hinds and his daughter (who is
played in a moment of pleasing authenticity by his real-life daughter
Aoife Hinds), who provide care and characteristic country
hospitality. A motif of the film is food and drink, the sharing of which
(Mary, Hinds Jnr, offers Kenzaburo a cup of tea, an early Akiko date
features one of the prettiest slices of cake I've ever seen) proposes a
human connection which excels language barriers, and indicates
Cottontail's winsome heart.
It is very pleasant, and comfortingly sad, but, a bit like its emotionally
concussed hero and his circumlocutionary quest,
Cottontail does meander towards its reassuringly probable
ending. To stretch the narrative, the plot relies on Kenzburo getting lost
more than once (for stakes I would have had him accidentally leave the
ashes, kept in a tea caddy, on the train, with an ensuing cross county
race to get them back, perhaps), which does trouble credulity, as Kenzburo
is a foreigner, not a simpleton. Nonetheless, there is a bromide charm in
the manner of which the pieces slide together into a bittersweet finale.
Like my aforementioned Potter-y, Cottontail is certainly
pretty and genteel, yet a little bland in its tastefulness.
Cottontail is in UK cinemas from
February 14th.
