This is how children’s fantasy should be – genuinely fantastic, avoiding (or, where possible, upturning) all the sword and sorcery cliches, and with a black, mean streak running through it, as kids themselves have. All second nature to one T Gilliam, of course, and the brilliance with which he pulls off the many spectacles herein is offset by a refreshing lack of “and do you know what, children?” sentimentality. If JK Rowling is the well-meaning but rather patronising relative who produces sixpences from behind your ear with monotonous predictability, El Tel is the “odd” uncle who nicks your Curly Wurly and scares you half to death with tales of the Toilet Monster.
