The Velveteen Rabbit review – the Matthew Perry connection makes it even more poignant - The Guardian

What is it about playthings coming to life that tugs so hard on the heartstrings? If you’re not wearing a mask of hot tears by the end of The Snowman or Toy Story 3, you’re made of stronger stuff than me. It’s partly the depiction of childhood innocence – that heart-wrenching purity of toy-based joy – but it is also because these stories tend to be about loss: the Snowman melts, the stars of the toybox are discarded. To be alive is to feel rejected, ignored, passed over, and to ultimately die and be forgotten. This is already humanity’s sorry fate – can we at least spare the teddies?

The Velveteen Rabbit, a charming children’s book by Margery Williams published in 1922, is a particularly affecting entry in the toys-become-real sub-canon. It tells the story of a stuffed bunny given to a little boy for Christmas, who, during a playroom tête-à-tête, is told by the wise Skin Horse, a large toy horse on wheels, that he can become real if he is loved enough by his owner. The little boy duly does fall for him and declares him to be real. But one day, when the child takes him outside to play, our supersoft friend meets some flesh-and-blood rabbits, and develops an itch to become real real. Later – when the devastated rabbit is cast away, having been the boy’s most treasured companion during a bout of scarlet fever – his wish comes true.

Despite Williams being British-born, and passages of the book conveying a dry English humour, The Velveteen Rabbit is far better known in America, where it has sold more than 1m copies, than in the UK. Last year its centenary was widely celebrated by US media, but to a certain British cohort it is best known for its role in two Friends episodes. Both storylines involved the late Matthew Perry’s Chandler: one where he tracks down a first edition for a love interest, and another where Monica buys him a Halloween costume based on the story – a connection that may well imbue this already tear-jerking tale with even more poignancy.

Now, after a multitude of US screen adaptations, we have the first significant British version. It is helmed by Tom Bidwell, who has previous with beloved bunnies, having written the BBC’s 2018 adaptation of Watership Down. Bidwell sets the tale in a picturesque manor house, featuring all kinds of inter-war loveliness: a kindly nanny, gorgeous colour schemes that would light up any Pinterest board and some extremely covetable knitwear. He also introduces a supplementary plot: the boy, William, is moving house, and must leave his idyllic little school behind. In his new country home, he spends all his time alone, too shy to befriend other children and entering a soul-sapping swirl of loneliness that proves difficult to break out of. This new layer is a clever addition. It explains why William (played by the very sweet Phoenix Laroche) forms such a strong attachment to the velveteen rabbit, which you may initially suspect would be a bit babyish for him.

Yet the house move isn’t the only extra layer Bidwell adds. The original text is already rather hard to follow (the wise Horse, played here in cockle-warming style by Helena Bonham Carter, says she became real from the boy’s uncle’s love, yet is still a toy), but here there is a whole extra level of logic. The rabbit volunteers to go to the child’s sickbed, despite knowing that he will be destroyed afterwards, and it is that – not the boy’s love for him – which makes him real. “You don’t become real by making someone love you; you become real when you act with unconditional love,” says the dreamy fairy (Derry Girls’ Nicola Coughlan) towards the end, directly contradicting the Horse and confusing the message of the book further.

This muddle slightly undercuts The Velveteen Rabbit’s emotional climax: it’s hard to come away with that warm, washed-out feeling when you are still puzzling over the internal rationale of the story itself. However, the general gist – that love is what makes us real – is still enough to get those tears flowing. From its swelling score to lingering shots of sorrowful faces, the film is unashamedly maudlin. But that doesn’t undermine the relatable emotional truth of William’s isolation, or the heart-rending nature of the guileless friendship he develops with the rabbit, voiced with a perfect mix of trembling naivety and inner steeliness by Alex Lawther, best known for his role in Channel 4’s The End of The F***ing World (the velveteen rabbit knows the feeling).

Despite the festive theme and beautiful craftmanship involved, it’s hard to imagine this adaptation becoming a Christmas TV institution – or making its source material a belated classic in its home country. But it’s still a pleasing shot of fuzzy sentimentality, destined to pry open even the huskiest heart.

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