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The story is the familiar one-loosely adapted from Kipling’s eponymous book of stories-of Mowgli, the “man-cub” raised by wolves in the jungles of India. But regardless it is a genuinely wonderful film, an almost overwhelming onrush of thrills, wit, and tenderness. The Jungle Book may or may not be a nostalgia-plying cash grab. And like those movies-and, to a somewhat more conflicted degree, Star Wars: The Force Awakens- The Jungle Book is proof that even the crassest commercial imperatives can be transcended when imbued with love and creativity.

But then, I had presumed very much the same about Mad Max: Fury Road and about Creed, which turned out to be two of the most delightful cinematic surprises of last year.