[…] they could let their eyes hover tenderly on the far-off white cliffs that so often had signalled to the embarrassed English a promise of safety.
He hasn't the nerve to tell her he likes her.
Or humane harts more inlye to impearce
Like the technically astounding and spiritually hollow production numbers, however, [Emily] Blunt can’t situate the sentimental energy in a deeper foundation. Her excellence gets left in a sort of vacuum when paired with the fully extraneous train wreck of a visit with Meryl Streep as kooky Poppins cousin Topsy or some discomfiting soft shoe from a creaky Dick Van Dyke.
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