'The Jungle Book' - Review

★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Jon Favreau’s adaptation of a Disney classic is a joy of fear and wonder. Newcomer Neel Sethi joins a stellar voice cast as the lone live-action element thrown into a lush digital world that blurs the line between reality and magic, in ways Avatar could only dream of. Sethi stars as Mowgli, the man-cub raised amongst a pack of wolves, forced to leave when threatened by a man-fearing tiger, Shere Khan (voiced with dripping malice by Idris Elba).

The opening of The Jungle Book launches us right into the action as Mowgli races the pack home, scolded for his mistakes by panther Bagheera (Ben Kingsley). More than a whirlwind piece of spectacle, it’s almost a statement: unlike the tortuous languor of Maleficent and other fairy tale retellings, this is one story that won’t begin proceedings bogged down in un-necessary backstory or retcons. It’s the tale you know and love revitalised for the blockbuster era.

And it really is the technical wizardry that makes this more than just a perfunctory tentpole release: the world still has the hazy, dream-like quality we associate with animation, but the aura is draped over a realistic world: the awe lies not in Baloo being the most convincing CGI bear since The Revenant, but that he can still somehow resemble the hang-dog visage of Bill Murray (a genius piece of voice casting).

This is not to understate our one tether to reality: Sethi – far from sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the digital creations – carries himself with a gangling lope that smacks of an animated character brought to life, and his performance is dutifully endearing.

While the general tone is something more akin to the earnest nature of Kenneth Branagh’s Cinderella, there are scares aplenty, like the Disney adventures of old. To those of us terrified as children by the transformation of the evil queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs or the mangled monsters of Sid’s bedroom in Toy Story, Christopher Walken’s drawling, shadow-shrouded King Louie will surely provide a familiar fright.

One or two songs from the ’67 version make well-earned appearances, and John Debney’s score does its best to keep up the pace with a score that is at once un-noticeable and essential, morphing into something of a Jerry Goldsmith-like drum march in the final confrontation. The weird geographical and episodic issues already inherent in both the Kipling and the Disney still abide, but if anything these help the film seal the deal as a reverential retelling. This is beautifully realised, good-natured fare; impossible to dislike, and set to become the definitive Jungle Book for a new generation.