The Tavianis have conjured a film which is as hard to dislike as an earnest puppy wagging its tail and unfortunately carries the same level of depth. The inseparable and plucky duo make an amiable pair, and the film skips along with a breezy humour, but is also hopelessly burdened by a twee sentimentality, not least in the depiction of the far right-wing movie mogul D.W. Griffith as an avuncular gentleman who takes a shine to the prop-making prodigies. The film tries to rectify the mawk overload in the final reel with the brothers falling out and then ending up volunteering for service in the First World War, but the ship to realism or mature pathos has sailed long before then.
5/10
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