Published: 12 January, 2012
by DAN CARRIER

Directed by Steven Spielberg
Certificate PG

Rating: 3 Out Of 5 Stars

The Memoirs of George Sherston was not just a wonderful anti-war polemic. Siegfried Sassoon’s three-part autobiographical novel, which takes his hero from the gentle hills of the Sussex Downs to the horror of the trenches, does something similar to Laurie Lee’s Cider With Rosie.

He reflects on a world that disappeared beneath the wheels of mechanised death on the fields of Flanders, a society that was further consumed by the social changes, and the boom of mass production, that came about in the aftermath of the war.

This film is a soppy tribute to the horses Sherston/Sassoon was so attached to, and wrote so brilliantly about.

Michael Morpurgo’s original novel was superb, and transferred to the stage well. However, its adaptation worked because of the brilliance of the set design – the use of puppets for the horses created some spectacle.

It may not be fashionable to suggest this, as it was given rave reviews, but frankly, it was all a bit trite.

So you can imagine what levels of deep cheese it has reached when you get a film version produced by Disney, directed by Steven Spielberg, with a screenplay written by Richard Curtis.

We meet farm lad Albert (Jeremy Irvine) who has a crush on a horse his drunk dad Ted Narracott (Peter Mullan) has bought on a whim.

He falls for Joey big time, and so faces some serious distress when the horse is bought by an officer to take to war.

We then follow Joey on a series of adventures as he avoids being blown up, shot, or simply worked to death as the mindless slaughter of war drags this innocent beast into all sorts of nasty situations.

Curtis’s Devon peasants are not far removed from Hobbits.

All are horny-handed straw-chewers, their rural stubbornness exacerbated by the pints of ale they sup. Bright moments are provided by Spielberg partnering Peter Mulland and Emily Watson, though this is as far from their wonderful performances in Tyrannosaur as you can possibly imagine.

There are too many irritants to make this the epic it wants to be: twee incidental music aims to create an atmosphere throughout, but there are only so many lingering vistas of Devon hills with strings accompanying I can handle. It is also far too long at two and half hours for the younger film-goers who would enjoy this most.

This has Curtis’s Anglo-American hand all over it.

The bloke should be employed by the UK Tourist Board to hoodwink those who have never travelled to our country.

His vision of Britain is forged by Notting Hill Cameron-ians who have second homes in the country.

This is a Disney film at its shyster best, and as long as you know that is what you are letting yourself in for, it won’t disappoint.  

Spielberg creates great picture-postcard settings, and the colours are wonderful, as is the ability to get a performance from a horse.

The four-legged hero is, of course, the star – how it was trained and handled to put in such a performance is a mystery to me.

Perhaps we are all really Yahoos after all, as Joey commands every scene he appears in.