The odd sight of BFG’s “frobscottle” – a green fizzy drink where the bubbles go down instead of up, speaks to the tonal dissonance that normally shouldn’t work in this feature film. From the get go, The BFG begins like a classic, possibly dark, tale set in the cobbled streets of a 19th century London. Around the “witching hour”, an insomniac orphan named Sophie (Ruby Barnhill) is snatched from her bedroom by a scraggly-looking giant (Mark Rylance in motion capture) and takes her to the Giant Country. Director Steven Spielberg’s then subtly builds up from the photo-realistic “dream tree” sequence to author Roald Dahl’s otherwise, abrupt and wacky setting change – a modern-day Buckingham Palace where BFG consumes his royal breakfast at peace while the Queen of England (Penelope Wilton), her generals and pet corgis fart green clouds in satisfaction. Is this the same film that I walked into? The BFG will probably be best remembered for its short moments of silliness yet that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
The titular character BFG (Big Friendly Giant, a moniker given by Sophie) is a remarkable creation. The “runt” and sole herbivore among his giant folks speaks a language only he himself can understand (i.e. the Gobblefunk) and earns his living by capturing dreams and distributing them with ninja-stealth into the human world (although there’s no explanation how he’s actually getting paid for that).
Spielberg devotes the film’s first hour in introducing us to Giant Country – its Hobbit-ish surroundings, glowing orbs and all to keep us visually entertained. For a while, the magic slowly starts to run thin and I was worried if The BFG will wake up from its frolic dream state and start working on its plot. Not to say that the singular performances from its leads are nothing short of spectacular – Rylance brings warmth and nuanced complexity to a special-effects character and newcomer Barnhill is seriously to watch out for, but this is the type of children’s film where its plot offers no serious stakes and any sense of danger can be dismissed as a mild threat. The oohh-so-scary “cannybulls” which go by names Fleshlumpeater, Bloodbottler, Gizzardgulper, Childchewer, etc. are portrayed as merely comical dumb bullies weak enough to sustain the third act’s liftoff. Sure enough, the film’s straightforward and childish resolution involving the military will only sell to a bunch of eight-year olds. Spielberg choose to shy away from the potential grotesquerie in Dahl’s fictional world and makes this film more harmless. Hence, if you’re looking for that needed sense of adventure, The BFG can be a bit lackluster.
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Still, Spielberg’s childlike sense of wonder and emotionally honest storytelling allows him to transform into a dreamcatcher. The BFG, as a bottled piece of a captured dream unmistakably radiates with the classic Spielbergian magic that we’ve all come to know and love. The unlikely bond between a young girl and a giant transcends to the mature themes of finding friendship amidst loneliness and learning to stand up for yourself. It may not earn the timeless, universal appeal of the closest Spielberg classic that comes to mind (E.T.) but this frothbuggling (i.e., silly in Gobblefunk) tale gets the warm and fuzzies going. A whizzpopper it is!
