The Descendants begins with the brief glimpse of a laughing, happy woman water skiing. The next minute we’re thrown into the world of her husband who is having to deal with a wife in a coma from which she is not expected to awake. Matt King is a busy lawyer who also has the responsibility of settling the future of the last of his family’s great land inheritance. Looking at his wife Elizabeth on her sickbed, he realises that he knows his wife almost as little as he knows his rebellious and troubled daughters Scottie aged 10 (Amara Miller) and Alex aged 17 (Shailene Woodley). He soon learns from Alex that his wife was having an affair and was about to leave him. As he tries to cope with this blow and meet the other man, it’s his daughters – and Alex’s surfing dude friend Sid (Nick Krause) – who rally around him and hold him together.

However, far from being sentimental or mawkish or melodramatic, The Descendants is a strong and confident tale told from Matt’s point of view. Matt is a loving man but he is a man who believes that a family’s troubles are private. He is surrounded by a circle of friends and cousins on every island but he keeps the truth from them, only permitting himself brief moments of rage and grief. As a result, they are all the more poignant and moving for it. As are the efforts of Alex to grow up and care for her dad and little sister. Even Sid has his uses (if only as a willing punchbag).

George Clooney is excellent but, to be honest, I didn’t think his name in this film was Matt King. It was George Clooney. Clooney is a fine actor but, for me, it’s more that he places George Clooney in different situations (and, in this case, in bright shirts). Here is George Clooney, the grieving and betrayed husband and the loving but flawed father. He does it brilliantly. Possibly this familiarity makes it all the more real and moving when he lets the feelings through.

Clooney isn’t alone in doing a great job. Amara Miller and Shailene Woodley as his two daughters are likewise good and it’s a jolt to the heart watching them come to terms with their situation. It’s also a pleasure to see Judy Greer and Beau Bridges (doesn’t he sound like his brother?).

It’s not all doom and gloom. Despite the subject matter, their are moments of real levity in the script and I was surprised how much I laughed. The scenery helps, as does the music which complements the story and setting perfectly.

I would argue that it’s not just George Clooney who merits a best actor nomination. The islands of Hawaii do a good job themselves of winning over the viewer, with their skies, stormy and sunny by turn, those white beaches and palm trees, the proud and strong local Hawaiians, the blue rough seas, its mixed cultural history, the ancestors, the descendants and the sounds of surf and song.

Two sets of parents meet in the Longstreet’s New York City apartment to discuss the incident between their sons as civilised and decent human beings. Tulips have been bought, something called a cobbler has been baked and reason itself reigns as they decide by mutual agreement that Zachary was not ‘armed’ with a stick, he was simply ‘carrying’ a stick. And then all hell breaks loose.

The problem is that all four people hate each other, not just the opposing set of parents but also the opposing partners. Africa-loving, art-hugging Penelope Longstreet (Jodie Foster) has married a pots and pans salesman, Michael (John C Reilly) whom, we learn, has just murdered his kids’ pet hamster. The reason being that ‘he hates those things’. Meanwhile polished and preened Nancy Cowan (Kate Winslet) is wed to lawyer Alan (Christoph Waltz), a complete smartarse whose ear is hermetically sealed to his Blackberry. As the parents discuss the possible reasons for the fight between their sons, the repercussions and the ways to resolve the animosity between the boys, it soon becomes painfully apparent that if these four adults had sticks they’d be swinging them at each others’ heads in a jiffy.

All the situation needs is a catalyst for the God of Carnage to be let loose and peaceful serenity battered to death. This catalyst is provided by the cobbler which makes Nancy throw up all over Penelope’s beloved artbooks in a scene that also breaks the ice in the cinema. The shock and laughter that the audience feels at this spectacular scene means that from then on we are cheering along each of the four protagonists as they take it in turns to triumph with insults. It doesn’t help that Michael produces an 18-year-old single malt. With all four stroppy and now drunk as well, not even the tulips imported directly from Holland are safe, as we see man vs man, woman vs woman, husband vs wife and man vs woman in a succession of bloody and hilarious bouts. At times, Nancy and Alan almost leave the apartment but they just can’t manage it.

The film, based on the play God of Carnage by Yasmina Reza and directed by Roman Polanski, entirely takes place within the apartment (bar the opening and closing scenes) and the film depends solely on the talent and chemistry of its four actors, two of whom also have to pull off believable American accents. Christoph Waltz has by far the best one-liners but it would be difficult to choose a winner from amongst these four. The to-and-fro of the arguments, interlaced with niceties (John C Reilly spends a considerable amount of the film trying to dry things with a hairdryer) and hysteria, allows each to shine but my money would be on Jodie Foster. However much she tries to hang on to the veneer of culture, once she’s had a drink or two, you know she’s not too many steps away from killing her hamster-hating husband.

I was surprised to find that these eighty minutes of four people arguing and trying not to argue all at the same time were extremely entertaining, not least because here are four actors who know exactly what they’re doing. It is hugely enjoyable to watch such talented actors working with a funny, clever and generous script. Certainly, by the end of the eighty minutes, the stick incident seems like a piece of cake by comparison with what their parents would like to do to one another.

My plan was to do a tear count but I’m afraid to say that this was completely unnecessary. Not a tear fell from my eyes. As someone who cries at more films than films I don’t cry at, this was a surprise, especially considering the state of some of the people around me, but there it is. I was worried I would be immune to War Horse and I was. The problem was apparent from the very first minute of the film. Idyllic Devon countryside, blurry edges, pretty cottages with a bit of muck, nasty landlords, put upon drinking yokels, supportive wife, ageing before her time, and a boy with dreams feeding apples to a foal in a field. It felt like I was back in Shire and if a hobbit or two had walked across the screen I wouldn’t have been surprised.

War Horse is the story of Joey, a young thoroughbred horse with the heart of a lion. Unsuited to life as a farm workhorse, Joey works with Albert (Jeremy Irvine) to save the farm from seizure but when the harvest fails at the moment when the Great War breaks out, Albert’s father (Peter Mullan) has no option but to sell the horse into the cavalry as the mount of Captain Nichols (Tom Hidddleston). From then on, we follow Joey through his war years, as he moves from owner to owner, English, German and French, and through each act we see the increasing horror of this war. And it really is horrific, just as Spielberg can do so starkly and brilliantly (Saving Private Ryan, Schindler’s List).

The presentation of the war, notably the scenes on the Somme, are hard to get out of the mind. The small child in front of me in the cinema was distressed and her mother tried to shield her eyes. What looked like an episode of Black Beauty at the beginning had turned into the stuff of nightmares and I wondered if the two went together. But I found the message too laboured – English and German soldiers working together in No Man’s Land to save a horse. I also found the characters all too two dimensional. Their purpose was to show how wonderful the horse was and for this end my interest in their stories was sacrificed.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that I am clearly and sadly immune to films about horses, there was a lot here that I enjoyed and for a film that was well over two hours long the time passed very quickly. If I hadn’t have had a roll of kitchen towel in my bag and hadn’t have been so conscious that it was unneeded, I would have put more heart into it. War Horse is beautifully put together and there are moments of staggering heroism only matched by the sheer stupidity of what these men faced. Horses and swords against tanks, machine guns and gas. War has changed since the one fought by Albert’s father. Bravery, courage, pride, honour, these are all themes as people run headlong into the bullets.

The photography was matched by some excellent acting – Tom Hiddleston, Niels Arelstrup, Benedict Cumberbatch, Emily Watson to name just four.

I was affected by War Horse more in retrospect and I think it could be one of those growers as time passes. I think if it had lost a good half hour and had cut some of the sepia-tinged linear tale of the the early years of the horse, right from the moment of its birth, I would have been more susceptible to its sentiment and less inclined to separate the war story from the horse story. Those scenes on the Somme are going to stay with me for quite a while, although not for the horse caught in the middle but for the men in the rat-filled trenches.

Could it be that the grittiness and reality of the Daniel Craig Bonds has allowed space for a cheeky usurper?

The plot of MI4 is not important. Something to do with the Mission Impossible team having to clear its name for the bombing of the Kremlin and discovering the reasons for the murder of its agent. The crime against the Kremlin is so large that all support for the secret agency that likes to blow up phones is lost and the Ghost Protocol takes effect. Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) and his crew (Paula Patton, Simon Pegg, Jeremy Renner) are on their own.

At the heart of MI4 is Tom Cruise and from start to finish Cruise excels in a role that he revels in. He has become Ethan Hunt. There isn’t a stunt here – not even scaling the outside of tallest building in the world – that Cruise can’t make you feel he would do. There isn’t a jump he couldn’t make, not a fight he couldn’t win and not a disguise you wouldn’t believe in. Wrap that up with ridiculously brilliant gadgets, masks, sensational locations, edge of the seat infiltration of hostile establishments, handsome actors, beautiful actresses, diamonds, cocktail parties and trains, and you have the recipe for a fantastic couple of hours of entertainment.

There are too many moments to pick out but the scenes in Dubai, with its spacescrapers and sandstorms, are so memorable that I want to see the film again to appreciate them for the second time. Even more miraculously, the plot and action don’t play second fiddle to the set pieces or locations. There are twists and turns of the tongue and camera that amaze and make the characters and story worthy of the fantastic stunts and the wonderful scenery. What with the glamorous locations and non-American actors such as Simon Pegg, there is a multinational appeal to MI4 and it has its tongue firmly in cheek while doing its very best to entertain its audiences.

MI4 achieves just what it sets out to do and, as a result, I think Skyfall, the next Bond film, is going to have to try much harder.

While a gimmick will generally entertain for no longer than a comedy sketch, The Artist succeeds and more because it uses what is unusual to our modern senses – black and white moving images, silent talking lips, exaggerated gestures, emotive music, grand drama – to complement a wonderful story, bringing it sharply into focus and instilling it with the radiance and grandeur of a bygone age. The Artist is above all else a love story.

Beginning in Hollywood in 1927, The Artist introduces silent movie star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) to Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), a young, vibrant, exciting dancer who is about to make her big break in the world of the talkies. It’s not too long before Valentin, along with his dog, finds himself obsolete. ‘No-one wants to see me speak’, he mouths. Yet as his star dips and he declines, Valentin’s guardian angel is never too far away. That is the beauty and charm of The Artist – Valentin and Peppy are such sympathetic and vibrant characters, full of life and humour, whatever the fates throw at them, that they are impossible not to love. Of course, the credit for this belongs to the charismatic and attractive actors who light up the silent, black and white screen with their smiles. Without the distraction of colour or words, the focus is on the faces.

The film may be silent but a principal theme is sound. Encapsulating that perfectly is a dream sequence that took my breath away and that of much of the audience I saw this film with. There were audible intakes of breath, shocked smiles and wonder. I don’t want to describe it any more. You must see it for yourself on the screen or on the DVD. But it did bring home to me the intimacy almost of this film screening. Without the ‘noise’, our senses were keen. All credit indeed to director Michel Hazanavicius for directing our attention and our sympathies with such skill.

The Artist is visually a stunner. It looks tremendous, especially evocative of a past age because we see it in the same way that movies of its time portrayed it. The leads are hugely charismatic and beautiful and the supporting actors (notably John Goodman and James Cromwell) are superb – expert. It was also a pleasure to spot the familiar faces of Beth Grant and Malcolm McDowell.

As a lover of cinema, it’s very difficult to find anything to dislike or fault about The Artist. It has the old wonder of silver Hollywood about it but it also feels new and clever with what looks like little effort. The film is French but it is borderless, with no audible language or language barrier.

I left the cinema with a smile on my lips and with my aversion to tapdancing greatly reduced, very ready to head back in and enjoy The Artist all over again.

The emphasis throughout The Iron Lady is on the older Thatcher as she may be today, struggling behind closed doors to retain her clarity of mind and talking to a husband who died eight years before. It is possible that director Phyllida Lloyd believes that the only way to get an audience is to make Thatcher a sympathetic character and to do that she needs to focus on speculative frailty and weaknesses, as if that somehow excuses those eleven long years. It doesn’t work. The film reminds us throughout that Thatcher constantly kept her husband and children at bay and was as unable to relate to them as she was to her colleagues in the Cabinet and to the ordinary man and woman on the street. She might have known the price of Lurpak in the shops but she never grasped the human cost of her unilateral decisions or why such a slice of the population rallied and held her personally responsible for the Poll Tax.

Through a series of flashbacks, we see snippets of Thatcher’s progression to power and little glimpses of her life with businessman Denis (Jim Broadbent) and her young twins Carol and Mark. While the former is a personal success story, the latter is not. One scene shows her small children running after her car, in a last attempt to claim some attention. She sweeps their toys from the passenger seat into the glovebox. There are moments of wit in the script, largely at the expense of Thatcher’s colleagues, but these are let down by the drudgery and the monotony of the tedious scenes with the phantom, bumbling Denis. The consequences of Thatcher’s political career and the major events of the day are shown in news film clips from the time – riots, strikes, IRA atrocities, the Falklands. This makes it much easier for Lloyd to brush over the politics while the scenes with Denis makes The Iron Lady dull.

Throughout the film, Thatcher reminds us that she has had to fight every single day of her life and, indeed, one can’t underestimate the misogyny and bullying that she endured. However, once she was in power she surrounded herself with a notoriously weak Cabinet that she herself bullied until it finally snapped. It’s interesting trying to recognise Howe, Hurd, Heseltine and others (I failed to spot Thatcher’s rottweiler Tebbit) but you’d be hardpressed to find anyone remotely likeable in this film. Those honours are reserved for Airey Neave (Nicholas Farrell), who is here shown trying to mould Thatcher, but is better known to history for escaping from Colditz and for his murder at the hands of the IRA in the House of Commons car park.

Is Margaret Thatcher a good subject for a movie? It seems to me that one’s opinion will inevitably be tied to one’s political biases, at least in the UK, but The Iron Lady fails because it tries to sail a middle course – reminding us of the bad while trying to compensate for them with the weak. However, the film clips speak for themselves. The moment when Thatcher agrees to sink the Belgrano – even though it was sailing away from the Falkland Islands – and we see a missile strike, I actually felt ill. Likewise, the images of the Poll Tax riot with horses riding over protesters.

And yet the fundamental reason why these clips spoke more to me than any clever exchanges between Thatcher and her cronies is because I remember them happening. I marched in the Poll Tax protest, my grandfather was one of the leaders of the miners, I remember rubbish on the streets, teachers, firemen, ambulance crews all striking, the inflation and the millions jobless. I recall the leaflets through the door telling us how to construct a makeshift nuclear bomb shelter and I had sleepless nights thanks to reading about the crews burning on sinking ships in the Falklands. I was politicised by Margaret Thatcher. That is a big problem with The Iron Lady – you either remember the events and have strong personal feelings for or against Thatcher or you don’t and you won’t learn much about them here.

In one scene a woman goes down on her knees before an infirm Thatcher after a dinner party to tell her what an inspiration she was to women – if I’d have been drinking at the time I would have spat it out.

Movies are mighty beasts – they have the power to sway opinion, fiddle with history or even to rewrite it. Watching The Iron Lady, this worried me. I worried about audiences too young to remember Margaret Thatcher, or audiences abroad that may only recall the images of Thatcher posing with Reagan, Gorbachev and other world leaders. I also couldn’t help wondering what Thatcher herself would think of it. I doubt she’d like it any more than me.

What you will see is another fine performance by Meryl Streep. But, whether you’re red or you’re blue, that doesn’t make The Iron Lady a good film.

Top 10 Crackers

10. Morning Glory
If ever there was a film to make me leave the cinema with a skip in my step and a grin on my face it was Morning Glory. Watching Harrison Ford and Diane Keaton spar was a joy to behold. There’s a good chance that I’ve seen this film more than any other in 2011, partly because the hubby is as hooked on it as I am. Review.

9. Troll Hunter
This is what found footage movies should be all about. Low-budget, atmospheric and slightly cheeky peeks in to what makes our hearts beat. In this case, it was fear and thrill at the sight of trolls chomping though the mountains and forests of Norway. Review.

8. Tangled
I haven’t been a huge fan of 3D in 2011 but Tangled was one of the films that showed me how it could be done. Apart from the humour, which was very funny, and the beauty of the animations, which were very beautiful, stick me in front of the scene with floating lanterns and I’ll be sobbing for weeks. Review.

7. In Time
My weakness for science fiction meant that I was keen on this one before I even saw it. What a premise! Fortunately, I was not disappointed in the least with the cast and the pace keeping up with the great storyline. Review.

6. Life in a Day
There have been some wonderful documentaries in 2011, this film, though, wasn’t as much a documentary as an impression of life in all its colours, places and timezones. I sat enraptured and I wept as much as I smiled. I’ll not forget the evening I saw Life in a Day in a hurry. Review.

5. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
I saw this film originally in disturbing circumstances – in the presence of Andy Serkis, during the London riots and interrupted by a powercut. Nevertheless, this refreshing reworking of a franchise I never much cared for is wonderfully emotional and moving. Review.

4. Source Code
Matching Duncan Jones together with Jake Gyllenhaal is a guaranteed way to get me in to see a film time after time after time, in fact every eight minutes. Review.

3. True Grit
If ever there was a film to jumpstart my long stagnant love of the western, it was True Grit. The film even made me appreciate Matt Damon, a feat in itself. Review.

2. Rango
2011 was the year of the animation for me, with the cartoon far outshining the blockbuster. Without doubt, the winning animation of the year was the most perfect and hysterical and splendid Rango! Review.

1. Melancholia
I knew from the moment the film ended that Melancholia was my film for 2011. Beautifully acted and exquisitely filmed, Melancholia spoke to the part of me that loves science fiction, possibly above all else in imagination, but more than that the deeper part that understands a portrayal of the human condition when it sees it. With music to match and moments of pure horror and beauty, Melancholia was a film that kept me awake for nights and will stay with me for far longer than any other film from 2011. Review.

Honourable mentions
Drive Angry
Super 8
Arthur Christmas
Kung Fu Panda 2
Life in the Material World
Senna
TT3D
Thor
The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec
X-Men: First Class
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2
127 Hours
Midnight in Paris
Sherlock Holmes 2

The ugly films of 2011

11. Hanna
After quite a build up, this was extremely disappointing and had more plot holes than a leaky bucket. Why press the button? Review.

10. Wuthering Heights
Perhaps it isn’t fair for me to include this on the list of turkeys because I didn’t see the whole film. Nevertheless, I did walk out after five minutes so that wouldn’t earn it many points for my worth seeing list.

9. Horrible Bosses
Another film that was so bad, I couldn’t make it to reviewing stage. Most of the time I just sat and held my head wishing Colin Farrell weren’t in a fatsuit and Jennifer Aniston could get back to movies with dying dogs.

8. How Do You Know
Take a bunch of actors with some skill and charisma, stick them together and eradicate that chemistry, and you have How Do You Know. And, where on earth is the question mark…? Review.

7. Transformers 3
In a way, I shouldn’t blame Transformers 3. I hadn’t liked the other two after all. However, I’d been promised great things thanks to a superb trailer (the Tron: Legacy Syndrome) but – and why was this so disappointing? – that was it. The rest of it was so loud, blurry and manic that my head exploded. Review.

6. Take Shelter
I was so disappointed with Take Shelter. It could have been so interesting and worthwhile. Instead, it had no idea what it was and where to aim. I felt cross, never a good sign. Review.

5. Hereafter
One of the things that I really find unforgivable with the movies is when I think they’re going to be good and then they pull the carpet out from under my feet. Hereafter was one of those. There is more substance in a tube of toothpaste. Review.

4. Priest
Someone needs to rescue Paul Bettany from himself and stop him from inflicting his body with crosses, lashings and tattoos. Review.

3. Apollo 18
Never before have I been so glad to regret catching a film at the cinema than with Apollo 18. Alien rocks? C’mon! Review.

2. Sucker Punch
Diabolical toxic sludge. Or, to rephrase, diabolical toxic sludge. The only reason it isn’t number 1 on my hate list is because I enjoyed parts of the soundtrack. It isn’t healthy for me to repeat why I disliked Sucker Punch so much, so take a look at the Review, while I lie in a darkened room.

1. Tree of Life
When this exercise in self-indulgence finished – after what felt like several circles of the sun – I heard someone complain to their near unconscious partner that they had lost a significant part of their life that they would never recover. I knew just how they felt. I don’t need plot but I do need purpose. Watching this, I also needed a good nudge, at least once every five minutes. Review.

All in all, a rather good year I think, with a mix of moods, genres and budgets. There are some goodies to come so please do drop by as we go through 2012 and make sure I don’t miss the things I should and do miss the things I shouldn’t.

Apollo 18 – which does not star Tom Hanks or Kevin Bacon – is one of those found footage movies. The instant trouble with that is that it makes comparison with this year’s excellent Troll Hunter inevitable and that is not a good thing. Comparison with Apollo 13 doesn’t do it too many favours either. In this film we see the recordings made by a team of three who visit the moon (one staying in orbit while the other two land) in 1974 to set transmitters to interfere with Russian satellites.

Because Apollo 18 is billed as a horror, it’s impossible not to look for those creepy moments from the outset – whenever there is interference on the camera or the astronauts enter a particularly dark and cold crater of the moon’s surface where there might or might not lie the body of a dead cosmonaut. Unfortunately, after an awful lot of time building up a crescendo of averted and deflected horrors, the true terror finally hits and… well, it’s just not that frightening. This is the trouble when alien monsters turn out to be rocks. Even when the rocks grow legs and wriggle about.

Once the true horror of the rock infestation is established, the astronauts learn that they are on their own – contaminated. Their efforts to save themselves take on some of the drama of a story that has a little shape to it but, for me, the film failed from the moment in which I saw a rock wobble on legs. Space is infinite in its possibilities. This film lets it down.

The cast is anonymous and interchangeable. There isn’t half the drama of the scene in Apollo 13 when they have to make a square thing fit into a round hole, using nothing more than a sock. On the up side, it’s short. On the down side, it ends with an absurd rendition of We Three Kings.

I want more scifi movies, and I want them filled with wonder and awe and, if necessary, horror. More films like Apollo 18 are less necessary.

Forty years before the film is set, a young girl, Harriet, disappears from her wealthy family home on an island in the north of Sweden. All these years later, her great uncle Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) hires journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig) and computer hacker and investigator Lisbeth Salande (Rooney Mara) to discover whom amongst his relatives on the island was responsible for her murder. Of course it’s not that simple. Blomkvist needs to get away, having just been disgraced in court. Lisbeth is another kettle of fish entirely. Having been judged as mentally unfit to look after her own affairs, she’s the ward of the state and victim to such corruptions of the system that it’s a miracle she has any sanity. For her too, this case is an escape and a means to an end.

The case itself forms the frame for the film and offers the cold, bleak setting of an icy island for its location, but it is only one aspect of the story itself – the fragile and not particularly sympathetic recovery of Blomkvist and Lisbeth as well as their connection with each other. This lack of focus in the plot hampered the thriller element for me. Nor was its solution a surprise.

According to the poster – which I cannot stand – ‘Evil shall with evil be expelled’. I’m not entirely certain to whom or what the second evil refers. I hope it’s not supposed to mean Lisbeth, although the way she’s displayed on the poster, I’m not so sure. Lisbeth is a victim for all her fighting against it and this poster glamorises the predation that has fed off her. Rooney Mara, however, is sensational and completely scene-stealing. I feared for her and loved to see her free on her bike. Daniel Craig as Blomkvist is not as entirely successful. For one thing, he is the only character that I noticed not to be given an accent. Why? Is it because he couldn’t do it? He does manage to put Bond behind him – he can be hurt and he can be killed. It’s always good to see Christopher Plummer.

Dragon Tattoo‘s composer Trent Rezner also composed the outstanding soundtrack for The Social Network. I didn’t need to know that. The music was so similar, and so less good, that I could have guessed. Throughout I was reminded of another, better film.

All this brings me to my problem with Dragon Tattoo. It is a good film and it kept my attention despite its length. It is visually arresting and some of the acting is fine indeed. The opening credits to the wonderful Led Zeppelin Immigrant Song adaptation is fantastic. Indeed, considering the story, which is not my type of thing at all, I liked it much more than I would have expected. However, I have no idea why David Fincher made this film. Zodiac was a far better investigation of a serial killer as well as a completely immersive recreation of a past time and place. Se7en was far more frightening and memorable. The Social Network was extraordinarily original and witty and Benjamin Button was, for me, utterly bewitching and draining. Dragon Tattoo, for all its qualities, is a remake and it will always be compared to the original. Ironically, if it had been directed by someone else, I may have been far less critical of it (that’s if I had gone to see it in the first place, of course).

As one would expect from a story about Santa, Arthur Christmas is set at the North Pole, or under it, with the Christmas Eve present-despatch operation finely honed by Santa’s oldest son, Steve (voiced by Hugh Laurie), his S1 spaceship and his elf commandos. Santa himself (Jim Broadbent) is now little more than a rather rotund figurehead who delivers a present or two with a lot of help. However, despite the latest in Christmas technology, a mishap occurs and a young girl, Gwen in Cornwall, is missed. In order to prove that Gwen is not the only child in the world that Santa hates, Santa’s other son, Arthur (James McAvoy), the son whose only experience of technology lies in his choice of flashing reindeer slippers, has no option but to deliver the present himself. Only then can he demonstrate that Santa is the kindest man in the world.

The problem is he has to take crotchety Grandsanta (Bill Nighy) along, a moth-eared Rudolph, a sleigh that goes at a mere 50,000 miles per hour or so, some unreliable reindeer, a sprinkle of Magic Dust, an irritating present-wrapping elf (Ashley Jensen) and phone GPS.

It’s in these characters that you’ll find the love, humour and warmth that make up Arthur Christmas (except perhaps with Grandsanta whom you may want to clobber). There are no baddies – except perhaps a bunch of lions – just a group of Santas who all want to be the man in red. The comedy is non-offensive and very funny indeed – the kids will marvel at the animations but the mums and dads will bellow at the jokes. The imagination that goes into the super technology as well as the lesser technology (for instance disguising a sleigh as a 1950s’ spaceship) is wonderful to behold and the funny sweetness of Arthur is endearing. I did want to hit the elf, mind you. There are humorous little touches throughout and, for sure, Arthur Christmas will stand up well to a second viewing. There is a Britishness about the film too, from its mince pies to Margaret Santa (Imelda Staunton), who reminded me of Meryl Streep in a certain preceding trailer. Then there are the elves in kilts.

Incidentally, I saw Arthur Christmas in 2D and it needed no extra dimension.

Arthur Christmas is so much better than the title suggests. It is far funnier than Arthur’s slippers. It is as warm and cosy as one of Arthur’s horrible jumpers. It is as light and sparkly as the Magic Dust that makes reindeer fly. Do try and catch it while you can.