In Defence of Rooney Mara's Sensitive Salander

The following contains spoilers relating to the ending of the recent David Fincher adaptation of 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo'.

I'm unable to sleep and - in lieu of any new films to review in the first few weeks of January (call me closed minded but I have no desire to sit through 'The Iron Lady' unless I have to) - I thought I'd spitball here about something that's rattling around inside my head. It relates to the very end of the David Fincher/Steve Zaillian version of 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' - which I found far more interesting and exciting than the glorified TV movie that came out of Sweden a couple of years back. In fact I'm listening to the Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross soundtrack as I type this.

At the end of this new version - and I've no idea whether this is accurate to Stieg Larsson's original novel or not - punk, computer hacker, motorcyclist, bisexual, tattoo-loving Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara), unseen and from a distance, looks lovingly at male protagonist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig). She seems to want a future with him or at the very least some affection. However she sees he's leaving his office with a female colleague and rides off into the night, her hopes dashed - feeling betrayed and, we suspect, with any residual faith in men she might have had shattered.

I bring this up because a friend of mine took to Twitter tonight feeling "betrayed" that the "antihero succumbs to the Hollywood hunk" and I think that's a gross simplification. I get where she's coming from but I think she's wrong. And rather than explain why over a series of aggressive, timeline-hogging 140 character bursts I thought I'd do so here. This post is for you Abi.

I get why you might feel betrayed by the sight of a strong female character - whose raison d'etre is, pretty much, to give men the finger - seemingly smitten by Daniel "007" Craig at the end of the movie. Even those with the mildest sensitivity to gender politics will hear alarm bells ringing during that moment if viewed in those terms. But the more I've pondered this scene the more impressed I've become with the film - to the point where I feel driven to defend it at length and at 2am.

My defence of the offending scene can be divided into two neat categories. Firstly, to lead with the more dispassionate rebuttal, I find this climax to be a tidy piece of screenwriting from Steve Zaillian. Basically he creates an ending where none truly exists (at least in the Swedish version). This is our hero at the culmination of her arc: will she find a last shot at redemption in Craig? Can she live a "normal" life now? Or will she always be a damaged, untrusting outsider? The answers are "no", "no" and "yes" respectively.

The open-ended Swedish film (below) seems far more cynical to me. It ended in a way which suggested (and indeed yielded) further episodes of a grim detective serial. It acted as a pilot for a formula TV series, making us wonder "what ever will the mismatched duo solve next week?" Zaillian gives his version a pleasing sense of dramatic resolution, even if the ending itself is not exactly heart-warming. It also ensures the film isn't totally nihilistic and totally black hearted, which I think is a good thing.

This rather sombre, hopeless climax sees Lisbeth potentially doomed to play this avenging angel character for the rest of her life. That she rides off into the darkness alone, and further embittered, is not, to my mind at least, a typical "Hollywood" ending.

Secondly, and more to the point, this ending absolutely satisfied me in terms of what it said about the character. This is not the blank psychopath - that walking revenge fantasy with spikey hair - as played (to perfection) by Noomi Rapace. Her only visible emotions were barely concealed fury and contempt for humankind. In Fincher and Zaillian's version Lisbeth is a genuine and troubled person. She is allowed to show fear and distress. She is even allowed to smile. She is tough, for sure, but she is also vulnerable and in need of salvation. You never had any doubt Rapace would kick everbody's asses, whilst you worry about Rooney Mara even though she is super-smart and (as evidenced by the attempted mugging scene) not exactly helpless.

Crucially, it does not escape her own notice that she is increasingly as depraved as those who've wronged her and this is the film's single biggest strength.

In the Swedish version (my only other frame of reference for the character) she is a sexual predator when she - out of nowhere - decides to sleep with Blomkvist. In the "American" version (a tricky term in itself, with the film shot in  Sweden with a predominantly Swedish crew under the stewardship of the same Swedish production company) this scene plays differently. Here is an undercurrent that this is another manifestation of her own history, as a victim of sexual violence. She gives up her body very casually, not in the manner of one who is free and liberated but as one who has been desensitised against the act.

I think an extra layer of depth is revealed if we consider her backstory too: Lisbeth has spent most of her life in the custody of the state because she once set fire to her abusive father (a history hinted at in the opening credits, which run like an S&M enthusiasts version of a Bond title sequence). In a creepy kind of way she comes to see Blomkvist as a surrogate father - further complicating that ending, I think.

The relationship between Salander and Blomkvist is pleasingly nuanced. She is hostile when she first meets him, so I don't think Craig's "hunkiness" has much to do with anything. What she seems to respond to is (obviously) his desire to bring a killer of women to justice, but equally the fact that he is a loving, gentle father. There are several scenes which show us Blomkvist's teenage daughter and these seemingly exist solely to form this link in our mind. He is paternal and she craves a daddy. When she asks his permission before racing off to kill the baddie near the climax, is this a sign of weakness on her part? Perhaps. Perhaps there's even a trace of sadism. But I don't think it's as simple as a woman supplicating herself to a man.

It's also relevant to mention three key details in passing. Firstly, Lisbeth solves the central crime story faster than Craig (who is pretty lost without her). Secondly she saves him from certain death after he sheepishly blunders into the murderers house. It is then Lisbeth who pursues the villain to his end, having the final say. Thirdly, it's even Lisbeth that does Blomkvist's regular job for him: clearing his name (he's a journalist who's been falsely accused to making his stories up) and putting a major corporate criminal in prison. Lisbeth Salander three, Mikael Blomkvist nil.

This brings me back to that ending. When Mara looks at Craig she isn't seeing that rippling torso from the 'Casino Royale' promotional stills. Or even a great man who saved the world (he isn't). She sees the one person who hasn't let her down. The guy who's been nice to her and the guy who, in many ways, offers a shot at the father she never had. Again: this is creepy. But whatever you can say about it, it's not exactly what one would term a typical, cop-out, "sentimental" Hollywood ending even if she ended up with the guy. Which let's remember: she doesn't.

But let's brush all that to one side. Let's dismiss all of the above and take the text at face value, ignoring for a second all the themes and the arc of the character. Let's say she is in love with hunky Craig and is simply crestfallen when he doesn't seem to return her affections. I leave you with these questions: How is that ending either phony or anti-feminist or "Hollywood"? Doesn't heartbreak really happen to people? Doesn't love? Don't women get their feelings hurt? Speaking from personal experience, I know men do. Now I'm off to bed.

'Mission: Impossible 4' vs 'The Bourne Supremacy' - Solving the Relationship Problem

The following contains *SPOILERS* for the new Mission: Impossible as well as some older action series, notably the Bourne films.

It's a no-brainer, but action movie protagonists exist predominately as vessels for wish fulfilment and escapism. James Bond, to give one enduring example, is sexy, smart, strong, competent in almost every discipline, fluent in every language, capable of piloting any vehicle and firing every kind of weapon. He also always gets the girl(s); a different girl every episode. Christ, Connery starts 'Goldfinger' in bed with one woman (who soon becomes a literal object) and later beds the lesbian Pussy Galore (Honor Blackman). When they end the film together at some island retreat we know that we will never see her again. She has already served her purpose: she has been conquered by Bond.

It's a habit 007 shares with most of his action hero brethren, but this constant bed hopping, from sequel to sequel, doesn't exist only in the name of misogyny or even in the appeal of sexual promiscuity. It's commonplace for two much more practical reasons. Firstly, studios are understandably reluctant to change a winning formula. Bond was single in the last ten films? Why write him as in a relationship now? (In fact why change him at all?) The second reason, I believe, is because writers don't know how to write stable relationships within this kind of story.

It's for these reasons that the romantic prize in one action flick is then killed off or, more commonly, ignored in the follow-up - undermining the previous film's pretence that their encounter was any more than an erotic frisson.

This is not a phenomena restricted to straight macho action stuff - or indeed to motion pictures - with screen and comic book/TV versions of superheroes existing in various states of "will they, won't they?" relationship stasis. Tim Burton notably didn't retain Kim Basinger's services for 'Batman Returns' - an absence dismissed with a passing line delivered by the hero's butler. It's a perfect example of my previous point: why is Vicki Vale the fabled "one" in the first movie - even trusted with Batman's secret identity - yet so easily dismissed by the time of the second? She's a non-character: the writers didn't know what to do with her and the fans didn't miss her. She had been conquered.

If on rare occasions an action hero is shown to be in a stable, long-term relationship, it is either to derive comedy from the incongruity of mixing marriage (boring domesticity) with a life of excitement (see 'Mr & Mrs Smith') or to give him (or her, but usually him) someone to rescue. When a relationship survives into a sequel, one of the few options considered by writers is to give the couple a child to freshen up the dynamic (see 'The Mummy Returns').

The other common option, as explored in 'Romancing the Stone' sequel 'The Jewel of the Nile', is to pull the lovebirds apart and make them do that same crazy love dance all over again (the equilibrium being disrupted and restored in the great movie tradition). This is the preferred solution in instances where the franchise is dependant on the continued presence of two stars. It's what would have happened if anybody had cared enough for them to make a 'Knight and Day 2'.

Sometimes these hero-heroine relationships are handled a bit better. Lawrence Kasdan still provides the best written example of a decent romantic relationship working within a major studio blockbuster sequel: as evidenced in the great chemistry between Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) in 'The Empire Strikes Back'. However, the next 'Star Wars' film, 'Return of the Jedi' is less successful, half-heartedly disrupting this relationship via the world's worst plot device: frustratingly easily explained misunderstanding. Here Han strops off because he becomes convinced Leia is more interested in Luke (unbeknownst to him, her brother) before they kiss and make up at the end.

It's worth mentioning that women aren't the only victims of this imagination vacuum when it comes to on-screen relationships. Michael Biehn's Corporal Hicks is established as a love interest for Signourney Weaver's Ripley in 'Aliens' only to be killed off within the opening credits of 'Alien 3'. Incumbent Bond Daniel Craig also suffered this ignominy, being excluded from the 'Tomb Raider' sequel after serving as Angelina Jolie's piece of hunk-candy in the original video game adaptation.

I bring this issue up because of similarities between two films I saw just this last week: 'Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol' and 2004's 'The Bourne Supremacy' - two action sequels which carry over relationships from previous instalments with mixed success/integrity. Neither buck the trends of the action genre wholly, with both partner's effectively written out of the story so as to keep our hero mobile, yet it's nevertheless interesting how they both go about overcoming the "problem" of the hero relationship.

In 'The Bourne Identity' Matt Damon's Jason Bourne takes a familiar action hero route - bumping into Franka Potente's Marie by chance, inadvertently drawing her into his dangerous life (where she is often literally a passenger) and, naturally, forming a romantic attachment. The film ends with the characters a couple - apparently living together in Greece. Writer Tony Gilroy has Franka Potente killed off within twenty minutes of the first sequel, 'The Bourne Supremacy' - shot in the head and left at the bottom of a river.

This serves a dual purpose: it gives Bourne a clear motive to come out of hiding and resume his feud (just as Craig's Bond did at the tail-end of 'Casino Royale') and also frees him up for more globe-trotting, wish fulfilment action. In this way it's routine, but it's elevated above the convention by Gilroy, who ensures Marie is present throughout 'Supremacy' and even the trilogy's concluding chapter, 'The Bourne Ultimatum'. For one thing he doesn't put Bourne anywhere near a romantic situation in either sequel, with the hero's grief lasting and tangible. Bourne pointedly keeps a photo of Marie even as he burns everything else. In this way Gilroy ensures Potente's memorable, capable and intensely likable character did not exist for nothing.

Killing her off is still an undeniably cynical move, but he does it smartly and with no small amount of class. For instance, Marie is shot whilst driving during a high-speed car chase, which is a fitting climax to her arc seeing as how she entered Bourne's story as a driver in the first place. It is also thrilling that she is given such a great action sequence (to me the best in by far the strongest Bourne film) prior to her demise. Throughout these early scenes we also feel that time has passed and that both characters have grown in each other's company, becoming a functioning unit dependant on one another.

The same can not be said for the equivalent bit of 'Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol'. The fourth 'Mission' movie breaks franchise tradition by taking a stab at something like overarching continuity and character development by retaining Ethan Hunt's (Tom Cruise) wife Julia (Michelle Monaghan) from 'Mission: Impossible 3'. But, in contrast to 'The Bourne Supremacy', this continuation feels strained and disingenuous (however much I enjoyed the film overall). Basically writers André Nemec and Josh Appelbaum were written into a corner by the third movie, which ended with Ethan and Julia a happily married couple. This could not be outright ignored in the traditional way, as it might have been were the characters merely getting it on (as with Thandie Newton's heroine in 'Mission: Impossible 2').

Remember: Monaghan, as a supporting cast member, is not essential to the franchise so, by law, she has to go. Their solution to the relationship problem? Ignore Julia until the very end of the movie - in a scene so tacked on it could be deleted without even slight damage to preceding two hours (in fact it might improve the film). Sure, they talk about her a few times in the body of the movie, saying that she died between films, but her "death" mostly serves as a convenient hook to connect Hunt with new buddy Brandt (Jeremy Renner) - who blames himself for reasons that are too convoluted to explain.

Though ultimately it's revealed that Ethan has faked her death in order to protect her from the harm that comes from a life on the edge with the Cruiser (begging the obvious question: why did he marry her in the first place?). This device enables Hunt to remain blemish free as a character (he hasn't betrayed his marriage or failed to protect his wife), whilst freeing him up for future hijinks in which (I guarantee) Julia will play no part. The film's concluding moments, and with them Ethan Hunt's entire marriage up to this point, feel false.

I joined Bourne in mourning for Marie who I hoped would stick around a bit longer, however much I knew she had to go. I wanted Jason Bourne to be happy and to live a life with her because I believed that's what he genuinely wanted. I believed it's what Marie wanted too. By comparison, I couldn't care less about Julia and I only imagine Ethan does because we're told this is the case. Julia was invented to be a kidnap victim in the third film: to make things "personal" for our Tom in the most hackneyed possible way. At the end of that entry she suddenly, from nowhere, exhibits major gun skills, offing two trained killers. She just as suddenly disappears from her husband's life in time for the sequel and her absence is hardly felt.

It's no reflection on Monaghan at all, but Julia isn't a character: she's a plot catalyst who stopped being necessary the moment she was rescued. Her continued existence at the end of the fourth film is simply a means to an end - a way of filling in a gaping continuity hole. And that's all. And we feel it. Marie and Julia are written out of their respective movies for the same basic storytelling reasons. Yet Gilroy's resolution (or lack thereof, with Bourne still alone, lost and grieving) is far more interesting and emotional.

'Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol' review:

Within twenty minutes of Brian De Palma's original 1996 'Mission: Impossible' it is clear that any relationship with the original 60s TV show doesn't extend too far beyond the title, the theme music and those improbable latex masks that enable our hero to convincingly pose as other people. De Palma almost immediately kills off every member of his initial team bar producer-star Tom Cruise, whose IMF agent Ethan Hunt then carries a pretty routine espionage thriller.

John Woo's follow-up, 2000's 'Mission: Impossible II', was just as individualistic if tonally entirely different - ditching any pretence of subtlety or teamwork during a brainless orgy of slow-mo gunfire, bright orange explosions and even oranger fake tan. Whilst the third entry, directed by J. J. Abrams in 2006, is pitched somewhere between the two: a straight action picture, with some vague, convoluted secret agent stuff (that makes almost no sense) amid the shooting. It did however feature, at last, a clearly defined team working with Cruise.

The fourth entry, 'Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol', is closest to the third in the balance between action and espionage, with Abrams remaining involved as a producer. Unlike the first three, it also enjoys some degree of continuity, with Ethan's wife from the last film (Michelle Monaghan) referenced throughout and Simon Pegg's nebbish computer expert promoted to the field team, which now includes Paula Patton and Hollywood's new favourite everyman Jeremy Renner.

Under animation legend Brad Bird's direction, each of the four players (including Pegg's comedy sidekick) are allowed to get in on the action meaningfully, receiving ample screentime and combing together well. Though Cruise is undoubtedly still the star and steals all the most heroic moments, this is the most egalitarian of the series by far and also (not coincidentally) the most fun.

Though 'Ghost Protocol' is tighter and more coherent than either Woo or Abram's efforts, it manages to move at an even faster pace, rarely pausing between consistently inventive and exciting action. But even if the excitement never stops, there is far less emphasis on guns than in previous entries, with much more scope and imagination.

Most of the thrills come courtesy of superb choreography rather than carnage. For instance, there are plenty of remarkable stunts - the highlight of which sees Cruise scaling one of the world's tallest buildings - set against an impressive number of backdrops (sand storms, lavish parties, the Kremlin), involving gadgets which provide the coolest vision of the future since 'Minority Report'. Lost amongst all of this is a wafer thin plot (Mikael Nyqvist's extremist wants to start a nuclear war and is in possession of several MacGuffins that must be pursued around the globe) but it honestly doesn't matter.

The pleasures of 'Ghost Protocol' are right up there on the screen and easy to explain. It's a film where ultra attractive people (this time even the villains look like Léa Seydoux) travel effortlessly between varied exotic locations (Budapest, Moscow, Dubai, Mumbai and San Francisco) and take part in thrilling escapades, as captured with great dynamism by Bird.

The team are, together and individually, the best in the world, utilising the coolest gadgets (even if they don't always work) and with access to the most glamorous vehicles (I didn't realise it was still possible for a car to look "futuristic" in 2011). What's more, the characters are easy to get along with. They seem to genuinely enjoy each other's company in a film that - save a creaky concluding ten minutes - takes itself exactly the right amount of seriously.

'Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol' is out now, rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2011)' review:

Having hated the Swedish film adaptations of Stieg Larsson's "Millennium Trilogy" - a series of unspeakably nasty TV movies - I wasn't looking forward to spending another 2 1/2 hours in that disturbing world courtesy of David Fincher's new English language version of 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo'. I never doubted Fincher's take would be slicker, more artful and, as a consequence, a more gripping experience than its European forbear, but I couldn't imagine taking any pleasure in the company of vengeful, anti-social computer hacker Lisbeth Salander (now played by Rooney Mara) and her boring investigative journalist friend Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig).

The 2009 film played like a boring sub-Agartha Christie detective story with bagfuls of added sadism, as we watch see our heroine subjected to every kind of injustice, and are afterwards expected to relish her "eye for an eye" take on brutal sexual violence. Yet this version at least understands that two rapes don't make a right.

Despite Fincher's reputation as a cold hearted bastard behind the movie camera, his version of the story (as scripted by Steven Zaillian) is a little more humane and, as a result, infinitely more enjoyable even if it retains all of the original's most unpalatable moments. It helps that this Lisbeth doesn't spend the entire film looking either indifferent or angry at the world, as Noomi Rapace's did. She is every bit as cold, sullen, bad-ass and capable (in a fight and as an ace investigator) when she needs to be, living in an equally gritty version of modern Sweden, but Mara brings out more of the character's vulnerability and fear, playing her as a tragic figure - a lifelong victim of violence at the hands of sadistic men.

With Mara's nuanced Salander even showing some affection and warmth, as well as contempt for manfolk, we can see her as more than just a leather clad angel of vengeance, every bit as "evil" as those she despises. She is a person who we feel for: whose triumphs we enjoy and whose relationships we can invest in. She is in fact a much more interesting character than the story she inhabits - a motorcycle riding punk with a photographic memory and a past she'd rather forget.

Whilst there are stomach turningly nasty sequences, mostly of a sexual nature, less emphasis is placed on violence in this version and, when Salander is transgressive, we relate that more to her troubled back-story and precarious mental health, instead of being encouraged to view her as an anti-hero and potential outlet for fantasies of "fuck you" nihilism. Mara enjoys good on-screen chemistry with Craig - who makes for an almost equally engaging Blomkvist - whilst the presence of Christopher Plummer, Stellan Skarsgård, Joely Richardson and Steven Berkoff, in the ranks of the nefarious family of aristocratic former Nazis, gives the dialogue some heft.

The book's tired murder mystery storyline - with Blomkvist invited to a remote island by an old patriarch in order to investigate the 40 year-old disappearance of a young girl - retains some crippling structural problems: Blomkvist and Salander don't meet until halfway through, whilst three separate plot threads never really connect satisfactorily. Yet this rote whodunit benefits from the overall improvement in cast, atmosphere and some typically inventive directorial choices. Sound is especially key to its success, as aided by a score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (fresh from Fincher's 'The Social Network'), this is consistently tense where the other film was just boring.

'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' is out now in the UK, rated '18' by the BBFC.

'Moneyball' review:

"How can you not be romantic about baseball?" asks Brad Pitt's jaded team manager Billy Beane of himself, somewhere near the end of 'Capote' director Bennett Miller's engaging sporting biopic 'Moneyball'. Billy's relationship with the game is bitter-sweet, having given up a college scholarship on the advice of talent scouts only to come up short as a professional athlete, before moving upstairs into the frustrating and thankless world of sports administration. His love affair with the game may be in jeopardy but, as co-written by 'The West Wing' and 'The Social Network' scribe Aaron Sorkin, you suspect he'll come to bask in that romance again - and that we'll bask right along with him whether we care about the sport of not.

'Moneyball' is the intelligent, talky film you'd expect from Sorkin, who balances rapid-fire sporting jargon between top-end professionals with pithy, memorable one-liners. It's a drama with deft comic touches and populated by earnest, well-meaning characters for whom the proper running of a baseball team is a sacred vocation.

It begins with Beane's (relatively) modestly budgeted Oakland Athletics suffering a heartbreaking, but expected, end of season loss against the titanic force of the New York Yankees - a much better funded team, who compound the Athletics' misery by poaching their star player. Fed up with trying to compete against much wealthier teams using the same player recruitment strategy, Beane enlists the help of a Yale economics graduate played by Jonah Hill, who has come up with a whole new way of putting together a winning team based on a new set of principles founded in dry statistical analysis.

This philosophy sees the duo - who enjoy a surprising on-screen chemistry - recruit a roster of misfit, imperfect players long since overlooked by Major League scouts, our inherit love of the underdog being skilfully exploited to offset any reticence we might have at seeing the rules of this traditional game rewritten (with seasoned scouts being overruled by a young maths-whizz with no history in the game). All of baseball, including the team's taciturn head coach played by the always brilliant Philip Seymour Hoffman, think Billy has gone insane. The stakes therefore go beyond simple sport: if this bold new strategy doesn't succeed Billy will find himself out of a job - an unemployable laughing stock.

Pitt, who looks increasing like Robert Redford, is a force of understated charisma even as this serial loser (at baseball if not in life) who obsessively wants to compete but, at the end of one terrific sequence (that sees the Athletics break a hundred year old record), finds mere winning hollow. Billy doesn't just want his team to win: he wants his team to change the world. Anything less will plunge him into a depressive coma lessened only by the love of his precocious daughter (Kerris Dorsey).

If 'The Social Network' made computer coding and the founding of a social media website play as cinematic, then 'Moneyball' does the same for contract disputes, statistical analysis and the economics of sports management. We spend more time in the offices of the Athletics then we do on the field of play - though the film still has its share of lovably cliché fist-pumping sports movie moments.

'Moneyball' is rated '12A' by the BBFC and on limited release in the UK now.

José Padilha interview at The Telegraph

An interview I did with Brazilian director José Padilha, to coincide with the DVD release of his gritty, violent police thriller 'Elite Squad: The Enemy Within' (released December 26th), has gone up on The Daily Telegaph website. I mainly spoke to him about his plans for the upcoming 'RoboCop' remake, which sounds like it should be, at the very least, interesting. Read the interview here.

I'm pretty excited about this interview, from a personal point of view, because it's the first freelance thing I've written and then pitched to a newspaper subsequently. It's exciting because the story - having gone up on the site of a major paper - has been quoted elsewhere, meaning my work is also (kind of) up on NME and The Metro, which is quite fun!

'Arthur Christmas' review:

The second computer animated feature from beloved British stop motion specialists Aardman, 'Arthur Christmas' is a thoroughly enjoyable family movie which, in the tradition of festive films, sees an enthusiastic youngster try to save the holiday against all odds. Our Christmas-loving hero of the hour is the titular Arthur (voiced by James McAvoy) - the youngest son of the incumbent Santa (Jim Broadbent), himself the latest of a hereditary line of jolly, present-giving fat men dating back to the original Saint Nick.

Something of an overlooked, accident-prone outcast on the North Pole, Arthur customarily spends this time of year replying to children's letters in the shadow of his older brother Steve (Hugh Laurie): the brains behind the family business, groomed as their father's successor. But in Steve's increasingly soulless, mechanised version of Christmas - where presents are delivered via a spaceship manned by teams of high-tech elves - one child has been accidentally overlooked due to technical error. Arthur is horrified when told that Steve - who swears the evening has been a statistical success - won't be going back to deliver little Gwen's (Ramona Marquez) bicycle and takes it upon himself to ensure she wakes up to a gift from Santa, lest her fragile heart be broken.

This daring, covert mission involves pairing up with a former Santa - Arthur's cranky, old fashioned 136 year old grandfather (Bill Nighy) - to pilot a forgotten reindeer-powered sleigh and make the hazardous journey to the girl's Cornwall home before sunrise. But without the benefits of Sat Nav they end up rocketing across several continents facing danger and petty inconvenience along the way - evading everything from hungry African lions to British military fighter jets whilst careening between city streets and mountain ranges in set pieces of effective 3D spectacle.

Aside from the guileless, faultlessly good-natured Arthur, each member of the Christmas clan is written with a touching degree of subtly, with none overtly heroic or particularly villainous. The grandfather is the most fun, constantly coming out with opinions and anecdotes which are well observed, if exaggerated, versions of the sorts of (often offensive) things people of "the greatest generation" say. Meanwhile Broadbent gives his slightly rubbish Santa a touching air of vulnerability. The whole thing benefits from a cynicism free spirit of fun, with action scenes, earnest character development business and everything in between peppered with inspired visual gags, deftly written one-liners and delightfully daft concepts. The result is something that's surprisingly laugh out loud funny, as co-written by long-time Armando Iannucci collaborators Peter Baynham and director Sarah Smith.

'Arthur Christmas' is rated 'U' by the BBFC and is out now in the UK.