Despite what the poster may suggest, Bridge to Terabithia is not, strictly speaking, a fantasy film, write Donald Clarke
LET us first clarify what this deeply moving picture is not. Despite what the poster and the trailer may suggest, Bridge to Terabithia could not properly be classed as a fantasy film. It is true that the story, adapted from a beloved novel by Katherine Paterson, concerns a boy and a girl who dream up a fantastic kingdom beyond the creek at the bottom of the garden. But the creatures that inhabit that land - realised with special effects that seem almost deliberate in their cheesiness - appear on screen only fleetingly in Gábor Csupó's skilfully constructed picture.
This is, at its core, a story of the different ways children deal with the wretchedness of life. Some withdraw within themselves. Others turn to aggression. More than a few embark on fantasies.
Bridge to Terabithia is forgiving of all its characters and, stuffed with painful levels of compassion, emerges as the most enjoyable live-action family picture to have come our way in many years.
As is so often the case in such dramas, the film begins with a young girl being transported to an unfamiliar locale. After arriving in her new town, Leslie (AnnaSophia Robb), the daughter of bohemian writers, beats young Josh (Jess Aarons) in a running race. The two eventually become friends and set about reimagining the woods near their home into the Kingdom of Terabithia.
Josh, a decent lad with a talent for drawing, uses the retreat as a way of putting from his mind the customary pressures of living in a large, not particularly well-off family. Leslie has less
to complain of, but still seems somewhat distanced by her parents' tendency to shut off company while working.
The performances are excellent and, while the principals seem a tad too old for their roles, the delight children take in sharing secrets is summoned up with touching power.
Parents should, however, be aware that the film does contain an incident towards the close that could draw tears from a boulder. At least one middle-aged film critic, having spouted like a ruptured water main throughout, had to have a little lie down afterwards. Teenagers may, of course, be more robust.
