The Great War breaks out and Daddy is a brave pilot who goes off to carry out some unsightly business to put Jerry in his place. Mummy is doing her bit as a nurse, so the five children are evacuated to their barmy uncle in the country, where a secret passageway takes them to a mischievous sand fairy and the beginning of a magical adventure.<br /><br />Based on a book written the best part of a century ago, they don't make stories like this anymore. And there's a reason. The men fly planes and author books; the women change bandages and clean house. The boys lead the way with their compasses and nighttime furloughs; the girls do what they are told and play violin - badly. Fat kids who wear specs are nasty. All the kids speak in those clipped, vowel-flattening accents that are soppy and prim but which a certain economic class of English people cultivate. On top of the snobbery and yearning for Imperial Albion, there are plot holes a five-year-old would not tolerate. I mean that literally - my son was asking why the father disappeared before sunset, why the compass didn't just drop from his hand as he disappeared. The film at least tries to aim strictly for the kids, until a completely inappropriate and unfunny monologue by Eddie Izzard (what a waste of genuine comic talent) plays over the final credits.<br /><br />No doubt the five percent of British schoolkids who go to expensive public schools in the UK will find it all such a jolly wheeze. For the other 95 percent of British families who no longer live in the 19th century, the good news is Wall-E, Ratatouille and Wallace and Gromit are all out on DVD.