The magical world of Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium is a pleasant departure from the heavy-handed fall film schedule. Lighthearted and earnest in its thrust, the 90-minute trip into Mr. Magorium’s toy store can be compared to leaving work early to spend an afternoon playing with the kids—it may not change the world but it sure is a heckuva lot of fun. The store is a virtual toy box of unrestrained joy and discovery bursting with color, light, sounds, and laughter.
Segmented into chapters, the film begins near the end of 243-year old Mr. Magorium’s life. Played with camp and schtick by Dustin Hoffman with electric-socket hair and whimsical lisp, he is the owner of Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. Often described as a “magical toy store,” the store is literally another character in itself. It has a pulse and mind all its own and only those who “believe” can partake of the magic. Store manager Mahoney (Natalie Portman) is a believer. A struggling pianist and composer, she is riddled with self-doubt, and the safety of the store provides her with a colorful comfort zone of living plush dolls, live animals, and robots that live, breathe, and have their being in this alternate universe. The best thing she has is a kinship and friend in Magorium. Little does she know that he has handpicked her to take over the store upon his demise which he knows is imminent.
In preparation for his “departure,” as he calls it, he hires stuffy accountant Henry Weston (Jason Bateman), whom he affectionately labels “mutant,” to look over his century-worth of books to make sure everything is hunky-dory for his departure. Weston, a workaholic professional, fails to find the charm of the store as he practically squirms in discomfort at the sight of kids having fun—he has even less tolerance for grown-ups who waste time playing.
Joined by frequent store visitor, 9-year-old Eric (Zach Mills), Mahoney makes it her mission to convince Magorium that he will be all right. After all, how can he die after 243 years? In a touching scene, Magorium corrects her, saying, “Light bulbs die, sweetheart. I will depart.” In his eyes, he views death as the beginning of another chapter: for himself, for Mahoney, and for the toy store. He recalls the simplicity of Shakespeare’s words in King Lear when the playwright simply wrote the words he died. “The importance is the life that preceded those two words,” he tells Mahoney. Instead of mourning his death, he wants her to celebrate hers. “Your life is an occasion,” he says. “Rise to it.”
The heaviness of the subject of death in a movie targeted for children is always tricky. Yet here it is treated with the utmost respect and subtlety yet with power. Hope is extended as the store, in spite of the precariousness of the finances and the death of its owner, remains not just open but still a place of wonder and discovery. In the final chapter, even the stiff-collared Weston is able to let go and “see” the magic. It is a sobering reminder that in a world where we may feel the need to be grown up and mature, it is not always the path to knowing our Creator more intimately. As Jesus instructed His disciples, “Unless you become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Seems like Mr. Magorium and Mahoney are well aware of this. If we could grasp it a little more often too, then maybe our own little world will burst with color, discovery, excitement, and innocence like Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium.
