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Spinoffs are not always the best idea. It’s tempting to imagine that if a little bit is good, then a lot is even better, but this isn’t always true. A pinch of salt makes a dish’s flavour pop; a cup of salt makes it inedible. The risk, then, with Minions is that what made Despicable Me sweet and charming when they were in the background would be unwatchable when asked to carry a film by themselves.

Minions

But it works. Minions works surprisingly well; it’s a very funny, very silly, film, and a very entertaining one at that. It’s nonsense, of course — as Geoffrey Rush’s narration explains in the first ten minutes, minions crave a villain they can follow, and they’ve been in a rut for years, finally sending three of their number, Bob, Kevin and Stuart to find a new baddie to lead them. For reasons that writer Brian Lynch and directors Kyle Balda and Pierre Coffin don’t even bother to attempt to explain, the three minions find themselves in New York in the late 60s, where, stumbling across a secret television channel, they see an advert for Villain-Con, a convention of evil in Orlando. They hitchhike their way their, and work their way into the employ of Scarlett Overkill, the first woman super-villain, who then takes them to England so they can steal for her the crown of the Queen of England. As I said, nonsense, of the highest order. 

But it’s bloody good fun along the way. The film is a love-letter to London in the late 60s, with outdoor scenes looking like they could almost have photographic backdrops instead of computer graphics. Television news reporters drink tea during broadcasts, pausing to pour from teapots. London landmarks, from Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace, are realistically represented. Even the signs, from the Underground to the chemist’s, are accurate. And the music — well, the music is the real star of the film. The score is as funky as it needs to be in a film set in the 1960s, its visuals angular and stylised and unmistakably of a period. And the soundtrack is a thing of beauty, clearly compiled by someone who has nothing but love for the period. It includes — now this is, ostensibly, a children’s film, remember — The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Kinks, The Box Tops, even The bloody Doors. There are sight gags that nod to The Beatles, The Blues Brothers, possibly even The Goodies.

Attention to the most exquisite detail is to be expected in films like this, animations aimed at children but aware that parents will be taking the little ones to see them. Production values are high, from the music to the visual gags, and the voice acting — Steve Coogan, Jennifer Saunders, John Hamm — is outstanding. The minions themselves are voiced by director Coffin, and the fact that the main characters talk utter gibberish throughout the film without making it unwatchable is an indication of how utterly unjoyable Minions is. Sandra Bullock, as Scarlett Overkill, is the weak point in the cast; clearly nobody remembered to tell her that the film was set in the 1960s, and she forgets to be as groovy as, say, Hamm, who gives every indication of having a lot of fun voicing Herb Overkill.

Minions had absolutely no business being any good at all. On paper, it should have been utter rubbish. Instead, it managed to be a surprisingly, and wonderfully, silly and enjoyable film, and one I would definitely recommend.