Hugo

Martin Scorsese’s Hugo is a warm, inventive family adventure that takes too long to explain why cinema matters. We recommend it for its curiosity and its feeling for neglected people, with a warning that younger viewers may tire before the director does. An orphan’s search for a place in 1930s Paris becomes the way into early film history. The connection makes sense emotionally, even when the storytelling starts to resemble a guided lesson.

Robert Richardson’s cinematography uses 3D to make the space between foreground and background inviting to explore. Dante Ferretti’s production design gives those images enough detail to reward a wandering eye, and the obvious artifice suits the fantasy. We were delighted by the opening sequence: the depth makes looking into the picture feel like play, with our attention free to move around rather than wait for the next cut. The pleasure survives once we have adjusted to the effect.

As Hugo Cabret, Asa Butterfield gives the story a seriousness that suits its orphaned child, though the film sometimes asks solemnity to do too much of the work. Chloë Grace Moretz brings a welcome change of energy to Isabelle, and the children’s scenes benefit from that difference. Their performances are more appealing when the screenplay leaves them room to be curious. They are capable of holding our attention without every exchange having to carry an important idea.

Ben Kingsley gives Georges Méliès the weight the film needs, allowing him enough reserve that the warmer moments feel earned. His performance is one reason the sentiment rarely becomes cloying, even when the writing comes close. Sacha Baron Cohen’s Station Inspector provides broad slapstick, which is less dependable. Some of it supplies welcome foolishness; some interrupts the more involving story, and the change of tone can be awkward.

Thelma Schoonmaker’s editing keeps the visual invention legible, but cannot make every digression feel necessary. At 126 minutes, the film gives its enthusiasms more space than the adventure can comfortably fill, and the pauses become noticeable. Howard Shore’s music helps sustain the warmth through those slower passages, though its emotional guidance can feel insistent when the dialogue is already doing the same job. There are stretches where less encouragement to be moved would have left us more room to respond.

The difficulty is John Logan’s screenplay, which becomes too explicit about the value of cinema and its preservation. The subject is worth a child’s attention, and the film’s enthusiasm makes it accessible without suggesting that old work needs apologising for. But the dialogue can sound as though it is checking that we have understood the point, when the images have already given us a reason to care. A little less explanation would have helped the adventure keep moving.

For a family adventure, this asks for more patience than its energetic visual style initially suggests. We would not choose it for children who need a new incident every few minutes, but those interested in how films are made have good reason to stay. There is no need to know early cinema beforehand; the film is certainly not going to leave anyone short of an introduction. Save Hugo for an evening when nobody needs the adventure to hurry.