I’m happy to report to “Pooh” fans that “Goodbye Christopher Robin” offers a wonderful story, and for the most part is a perfectly fine little film that seems to have been created for Masterpiece Theatre on Sunday night.

“Goodbye” is the story about the creation of that little bear “Pooh” your grandma might have had on her bed and the books she kept on the night table, as millions did in the years after the Great War and far into the future. But as in the story of any creation, there is sadness and tears.

But as the years went by and “Winnie” skyrocketed to international fame, the real story, the soft tragedy of a divided family sucked into and damaged by the devastating vortex of fame was tucked away from sight. See Judy Garland, Shirley Temple.

The daddy of Christopher Robin was the famous British author, playwright and mediocre poet, A.A. Milne, who was a pretty good light comedy playwright, celebrated in London’s West End theater district as a notable wit.

But after slogging through blood and guts, smoke and death in the Great War, A.A. came home completely thrown off his game and embittered by what he had seen. The mere popping of a balloon or slammed door sent him plummeting down into the abyss of horrid memories and nightmares, now known as PTSD.

A.A., known to his friends as Alan and “Blue” to his family, was suddenly no longer the life of London’s elite party. His wife Daphne (a flittering, jittery blond, Margot Robbie), refused to give up her closet of party dresses as Mrs. Life of the evening, and kept the party going until she presented Alan with a son, Christopher Robin.

Alan, embittered and angry, turned his wit to anti-war polemics. He sold his house, packed up his family, and bought a hundred-acre retreat in East Sussex, wanting only to distance himself from a complacent society that wanted to pop corks and forget the war.

Alan found quiet, but little solace, in the lovely woods of the estate. When Daphne, fed up with his PTSD, went off on a long holiday back in London’s party circles, leaving father and son to “batch it,” it all changed.

Alone together, with only the help of Irish nanny Olive (a sweet Kelly Macdonald,) father and son were forced to fashion a proper relationship, creating and sharing stories.

Together they wandered the woods, packing along Christopher’s menagerie of stuffed animals that they have named together: Tigger the tiger, Eeyore the donkey, Piglet the piglet, and of course, the ruffled, shaggy forever iconic “Winnie-The-Pooh.” The rest is history, sort of.

Here then in a beautifully crafted little film full of good actors, is the true, unvarnished story of Christopher Robin and his timeless little stuffed friends. But fans may be disappointed to find that no toy Disney-ish “Christopher and the Chocolate Factory” awaits them. “Christopher” has its delights and tender moments, but the cardboard boxes of memory have been weakened, as they often are, by floods of tears.

Domhnall Gleeson, as Milne, having shed any trace of his Irish father, seems to be fashioning a career of tweedy British proper gents, and he is very good at it.

Young Will Tilston walks away, as Christopher should, with every scene he shares. With those king size dual dimples, however, he may never grow up to be an action figure. Director Simon Curtis wisely keeps his camera fastened to him.

Margot Robbie slides effortlessly through three stages of development: perky and cute, sparkling like arm-candy as a wife, and finally, tough skinned, selfish and evil as late stage Mama Milne.

There is much good in this film, but nothing brilliant. There are some laughs, but buckets of tears. Bring Kleenex.

J.P. Devine, of Waterville, is a former stage and film actor.

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