Where you stand on Paddington Bear can be discerned by the early stages of Paddington in Peru, last year’s flat sequel to the critically acclaimed Paddington 2. We glimpse the bear curled up in the window of his Notting Hill abode, writing a letter to his elderly aunt, near a carefully positioned photograph of him and the late Queen Elizabeth II. The subtext is now text, the film posits: Paddington is an establishment ursidae, a cosy symbol of all that is British, and so much so that he’s drinking tea with royalty. A delight, you may say. Bleurgh, if you’re more cynical.
Before I go any further, I should preface this by saying I once adored Paddington, and everything that he stood for. He’s an undeniable rascal, drawn as a bashful, bemused bumpkin in Michael Bond’s original stories by illustrators including Peggy Fortnum and RW Alley, while the first two Paddington films – which propelled the bear back into cultural dominance in 2014 and 2017, respectively – are modern classics. Twee, yes, but in that elegantly posh-core way of a Richard Curtis movie, and stocked with creative slapstick, gentle humour and brilliantly moustache-twirling performances from Nicole Kidman and Hugh Grant as bear-hunting supervillains.
