It's kind of fascinating to me that so many reviewers consider this a masterpiece. I am not a dullard as far as quality films go, and I will agree that from a technical filming standpoint, as well as for several of the characters portrayed, the film is in an award-worthy class. But there is no sense (for me) of this film actually going anywhere; I mean, taking the viewer anywhere. It is a series of mood scenes, perhaps remarkable as such, but I want more from a film. I look for story and movement and a fulfillment of arrival, none of which did I find in this film. Yes, it might be considered poetry on film . . . but there is much poetry that I cannot live with for the same reason: that it paints pictures without going anywhere.<br /><br />One thing further to be said is that it documents a mid-century English childhood, which is necessarily limited in its universality. I was personally appalled at what a young British boy had to live through, in that time and place. Having grown up in America just a decade earlier, I can authoritatively say that the contrast is immense. I cannot help wondering if this contrast has had some effect on those reviewing the film so favorably. In other words, could there be a tendency to judge the film entirely on its 'filmic magic' (which I acknowledge is there) and completely ignore its lack of relevance to the nature of one's actual recalled experience?