MARY POPPINS (1964)

Magic is unmistakably in the air. Leaves scatter through this London street, and cherry blossoms hover in the afternoon breeze. The winds are changing; something wonderful is about to happen. Floating in a cloud, fixing her make-up, an angel in nanny’s clothing is descending into our mortal realm.

Jane (Karen Dotrice) and Michael Banks (Matthew Garber) are two adorably mischievous young children, neither of whom can keep a nanny due to their unruly behaviour. Dissatisfied with their comportment, their authoritarian father Mr Banks (David Tomlinson) seeks a nanny who will discipline his children so that they may grow up to be respectable citizens in Edwardian England. But when he hires Mary Poppins (Julie Andrews), he has no idea what will happen next…

Mary Poppins is the definition of magic in cinema. In this moving tale about childhood dreams and the power of love, imagination comes to life. Besides the awe-inspiring technical achievements that made Mary Poppins Disney’s greatest live-action musical, it is a touching story about family, about recognising what is truly important in life. As a result, Mary Poppins is much like our eponymous hero: practically perfect in every way.

The sense of wonder that characterises Robert Stevenson’s adaptation of P.L Travers’ book is apparent from the very beginning. As Bert sings to a gathering crowd as part of his busking routine, he looks up in amazement as a noticeable change in the atmosphere occurs: for those in the know, something incredible is about to happen. “Winds in the East, mist coming in… Like something is brewing… And ’bout to begin…”

This twinkle in his eye intrigues us, revealing to the audience that an altogether inexplicable phenomenon is about to take place. We are hooked on this sensation, this wonder at the ethereal and spectacular. In short, we are awestruck by the angelic Mary’s presence. She’s not quite human, but not alien either; she’s an exquisite enigma, deserving of awe, but not inquisition—“I never explain anything!”

As Mary begins instructing the children in lessons of decorum, she reveals herself to be a fantastical being, capable of floating up bannisters, cleaning up a room with a snap of her fingers, and singing with birds. Jumping into a street painting is easy, and serving tea while suspended in the air is child’s play. Much like the children, we are spellbound by a wholly enchanting journey, discovering a whole new world of potential.

Of course, it’s not all fun and games. The true heart of the story is rather sad: we watch as a fractured family becomes increasingly divided. Indeed, it seems that Mary’s presence in this broken household is only exacerbating the fractious dynamic between Mr Banks and his wife Winifred (Glynis Johns) and children.

Mr Banks, the embodiment of an unfeeling, emotionless capitalist enterprise, is shown to be both chauvinistic and draconian. He chastises how Winifred has raised the children with “sugary, female thinking,” deciding that his prepubescent progeny ought to learn about the world of investment banking and compound interest if they’re ever to become something in life.

It’s a sad fact that Mr Banks hates the joy that surrounds him because he, himself, is miserable. Singing is referred to as “fearful caterwauling” and his happy children are dismissed as being “confoundingly cheerful”. Even the tweeting birds give him a headache. It’s for this reason that he is determined to place adult concerns on his children’s narrow shoulders. Of course, this leads to more trouble and strife than had ever occurred before. In this respect, the film shrewdly demonstrates how Mr Banks’ mentality is often behind many societal ills.

As Michael places a tuppence in his father’s hand, hoping to undo the damage they have been led to believe is all their fault, it’s difficult to keep the tears from flowing. Mr Banks’ horrified expression is deeply stirring; only when it is too late does he realise how he might have damaged his offspring. The plot largely takes a backseat as we watch our story unfold with mesmerising grace: both children and adults are growing up right before our very eyes.

While the story is stellar, it would not be such a celebrated musical without the superlative soundtrack. The songs and lyrics—both of which were composed by the Sherman Brothers—occasionally have an aspect of a fever dream. Trumpets punctuate each song, bringing us back to 1910 with their music hall melodies, possessing a frenetic energy akin to a marching band stampeding forward with indomitable spirit, faster and faster.

However, when we’re not listening to a song with such a frantic pace, the song-writing duo create pieces that have an uncommonly powerful emotional heft. As Jane and Michael sing about the kind of person they want to raise them, it is difficult not to be moved to tears. Additionally, I cannot listen to “Feed the Birds” without becoming lachrymose. In a house that is plagued with rigid structure and clinical orderliness, one child’s urge to be charitable reveals the stark lack of compassion in a world obsessed with productivity and profit.

Much of this magical atmosphere and tragic theme are conveyed through brilliant cinematography and special effects photography. Mary Poppins’ silhouette on London houses, hovering down from the heavens to rescue a dysfunctional family, has become immensely iconic for good reason: it’s simply angelic.

Similarly, as Mr Banks strolls through London streets, fully aware that he’s walking directly into a firing squad as he’s to be fired from the bank, it contains a sombre, forlorn element. The lighting is superb, highlighting what, for him, is to be a seminal moment in his life. As the children run away from the bank, fugitives from the unfeeling bureaucracy that has consumed their father, their imaginative humanity is symbolised in their colourful clothing, standing out from the bankers with their black hats and drab coats.

Praise given to Edward Colman’s cinematography is well-deserved, but it’s perhaps the work of SFX supervisor Peter Ellenshaw who steals the show. It’s due to his brilliant contributions that the film possesses its supernatural air. As a sea of curmudgeonly faces are sucked into a tempest (which, in fairness, seems a bit unfair; they only wanted to do a hard day’s work for a fair wage, after all), we’re awakened to the mystical nature of our titular hero.

The team behind the VFX also require unending adulation. Ub Iwerks, who was also the inventive visual effects coordinator behind The Birds (1963), helped to bring a new understanding of what was possible in cinema. Through Iwerks’ modifications of the Technicolour camera, Stevenson could combine both live-action and animation within a single scene, a revolutionary conceit for the time. It may not have been the first film to do this—but it was perhaps the first to do it so well.

Truthfully, few sequences in film history capture the potential of cinema quite like the scene that takes place inside a street painting. As they jump into a different dimension, we enter a world of sheer escapism, a dreamlike realm of pure imagination. Turtles serve as polite, sentient stepping stones, farm animals sing gaily, and penguins serve our protagonist’s lunch under a weeping willow tree. It’s not just wholly innovative cinema to mesmerise children in 1964 but stuns adults today, 60 years later, paving the way for classics like Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988).

Other examples of cinematic trickery pervade the film. A handbag possesses depths impossible in the normal world, Mary’s reflected visage in a mirror challenges her to a singing contest, and chimneys suck children up in a vortex, shooting them out again like a cannonball. Not since Buster Keaton’s Sherlock Jr. (1924) had filmmaking felt this magical.

This is in no doubt due to the fantastic performances, especially that of our eponymous hero. With the sheer number of creative individuals involved, it’s telling that all most people remember of this film is Julie Andrews. Her self-assured stance, impeccable posture, unshakeable equanimity, composed demeanour, and unwavering affection are all incredibly influential. In constructing the archetypal nanny, I don’t doubt Robin Williams channelled his best Julie Andrews on the set of Mrs. Doubtfire (1993).

Dick van Dyke, on the other hand, is not quite as impressive. His terrible accent is often incomprehensible (to put it mildly), and he has even since admitted that he was miscast. However, what he lacks in linguistic ability, he more than makes up for in physical comedy and dancing prowess. He’s also exceptionally funny as the cadaverous, mercantile geriatric, Mr Dawes Sr.

Hilariously, neither Karen Dotrice nor Matthew Garber knew that it was Dick van Dyke under all that prosthetics and make-up, meaning they were genuinely concerned this old man would fall over any minute. Both Dotrice and Garber are utterly lovable in their performances, setting the standard of what it means to be a rosy-cheeked Disney child performer.

David Tomlinson as Mr Banks is one of the more underrated performances of the cast. His distraught facial expressions imbue the whole film with a poignancy which would be lacking without his subtle character work. As Bert laments how quickly children grow up, and how soon Banks’ children will have flown out of the nest, Mr Banks’ sorrowful countenance imparts all the themes of the film with a transfixing simplicity.

Unsurprisingly, Mary Poppins created quite a legacy. It won five Academy Awards, making it the most decorated Disney film of all time, and Walt Disney himself considered this film to be the crowning achievement of his career. Unfortunately, P.L Travers hated the adaptation for several reasons. She thought her eponymous hero was too cheery, considered the songs mawkish, and despised the animated sequences, even demanding they be removed from the film after the premiere.

Subsequently, she refused to allow further adaptations of her series during her lifetime. However, I would argue this was a blessing in disguise. We didn’t need endless iterations of the character; the standalone story is touching, moving, and endlessly sweet. Though they eventually made a belated sequel, Mary Poppins Returns (2018), I believe nothing can match the original. To my mind, no live-action Disney musical bests Mary Poppins.

That’s because few Disney musicals have ever captured the sensation of a family falling apart so well, nor conveyed the compassion and empathy required to put it back together. Mary Poppins could probably be helping a less wealthy household, but she was needed there; without her, Jane and Michael could well have grown up fatherless.

So when the wind changes once more, the ending is bittersweet—it’s time for the enigmatic heroine to move on again. She knows that her time has come: in watching a father put the four pieces of his children’s kite back together, it is apparent that things were never better. The family has been restored to how they should be. Mary Poppins is bewitching, charming cinema, and remains food for the soul six decades on.

USA | 1964 | 139 MINUTES | 1.75:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Robert Stevenson.
writers: Bill Walsh & Don DaGradi (based on the book by P.L Travers).
starring: Julie Andrews, Dick Van Dyke, David Tomlinson, Glynis Johns, Hermione Baddeley, Karen Dotrice, Matthew Garber, Elsa Lanchester, Arthur Treacher, Reginald Owen & Ed Wynn.