"I'm annoying," says Eddie Redmayne to Dan Fogler in the opening half-hour of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. He’s like Doctor Who with gout, and yet—just like the good Doctor in even his lamest incarnations, there’s just enough charm glimmering beneath the surface and shining through the contrivances that you can’t write him off entirely. Fantastic Beasts, featuring an original screenplay by J.K. Rowling, is annoying in the manner of Scamander: It is eager to please and amaze, but undersells its spectacle until that spectacle becomes perfunctory. It’s a goofy blast of kid-lit in love with Looney Tunes-inspired adventure—except when it’s a sour metaphor for child abuse and intolerance that owes one hell of a debt to Stephen King’s famous prom queen. But somehow, the two stories are sewed together just tightly enough that the TV pilot-esque clumsiness of Fantastic Beasts (there will be four more of these films, likely transforming ASAP into The Dumbledore Prequels) can be forgiven for the power in its climax.

Read the full review by Bobby Roberts