I feel a bit disappointed. It's not like a real movie, which is just like a gathering of some episodes of Peppa Pig, interspersed with some live children footage. The episodes are great and funny as usual, but they don't feel like being designed for the movie screen, because the size doesn't feel right. But anyway, as a 23-year -old grown-up, I still love Peppa Pig sooooooooo much!
10 Reviews
Porcine Garbage
batemanemma14 April 2019
Warning: Spoilers
If you're four, you will LOVE LOVE LOVE this film.
If you're not, you will realise that it is possible to lose even more of your human dignity than when you gave birth, and that you will never get this ninety minutes (or was it hours) of your sad and pathetic life back.
Peppa's "Festival of Fun" isn't even a film. It's just a series of seemingly never-ending episodes from the nightmarish porcine interspersed with children larking about on a blue screen and forcing you to endure horrific audience participation songs in which you will wash your face, brush you hair, pretend to be a crocodile and do some odd athletic stretching, with all the other sleep ravaged glassy-eyed parents. Farewell dignity.
The "film" includes a strange Somersetian badger who runs a petting farm and is obsessed with hand washing, burping chickens and belching guinea pigs. There's some class-based competitive bird spotting, followed by the daring helicopter rescue of a carbohydrate superhero (Super potato) from the roof of a cinema. Daddy pig waxes spectacularly lyrical and militant views regarding pineapple on pizza. More hand washing. Miss rabbit appears as the projectionist and then the strawberry farmer. She turns up later as a professional storyteller and queen of crafting. At one point she's even the historian/tour guide of the weirdest Festival attraction ever called the "History of Concrete"
There's a dog child thing with a bizarre hat-wearing northern/south west coastal/irish naval father. An elephant child prodigy. Extremely posh glamping. Lots of mud. Jumping up and down in muddy puddles. Just as you begin to think you really can't take any more (and you'd be right) it descends into Baudrillardian hyper-reality farce as peppa and George make a TV show. "Now you can be on tv every day, hundreds of times". AGGGGGHHHHHH. Screw you Peppa. Then Grandpa pig has a birthday meal featuring swede and dried fish served by Hercule Poirot.
Its never going to end (maniacal laughter). No really, my daughter turned to me about 57 minutes in like something out of child of Chuckie and told me somewhat menacingly that "this is going to go on forever".
The theme tune "I'm Peppa Pig...etc" plays for the seventh, eighth maybe even ninth time. You don't even know what day it is any more and are willing your child to need the toilet so you can leave.
Note - In other news, I'm sure Granny pig is one of the voices on the Archers? This is driving me insane.
If you're not, you will realise that it is possible to lose even more of your human dignity than when you gave birth, and that you will never get this ninety minutes (or was it hours) of your sad and pathetic life back.
Peppa's "Festival of Fun" isn't even a film. It's just a series of seemingly never-ending episodes from the nightmarish porcine interspersed with children larking about on a blue screen and forcing you to endure horrific audience participation songs in which you will wash your face, brush you hair, pretend to be a crocodile and do some odd athletic stretching, with all the other sleep ravaged glassy-eyed parents. Farewell dignity.
The "film" includes a strange Somersetian badger who runs a petting farm and is obsessed with hand washing, burping chickens and belching guinea pigs. There's some class-based competitive bird spotting, followed by the daring helicopter rescue of a carbohydrate superhero (Super potato) from the roof of a cinema. Daddy pig waxes spectacularly lyrical and militant views regarding pineapple on pizza. More hand washing. Miss rabbit appears as the projectionist and then the strawberry farmer. She turns up later as a professional storyteller and queen of crafting. At one point she's even the historian/tour guide of the weirdest Festival attraction ever called the "History of Concrete"
There's a dog child thing with a bizarre hat-wearing northern/south west coastal/irish naval father. An elephant child prodigy. Extremely posh glamping. Lots of mud. Jumping up and down in muddy puddles. Just as you begin to think you really can't take any more (and you'd be right) it descends into Baudrillardian hyper-reality farce as peppa and George make a TV show. "Now you can be on tv every day, hundreds of times". AGGGGGHHHHHH. Screw you Peppa. Then Grandpa pig has a birthday meal featuring swede and dried fish served by Hercule Poirot.
Its never going to end (maniacal laughter). No really, my daughter turned to me about 57 minutes in like something out of child of Chuckie and told me somewhat menacingly that "this is going to go on forever".
The theme tune "I'm Peppa Pig...etc" plays for the seventh, eighth maybe even ninth time. You don't even know what day it is any more and are willing your child to need the toilet so you can leave.
Note - In other news, I'm sure Granny pig is one of the voices on the Archers? This is driving me insane.
DON'T BOTHER.
lisahbabe18 April 2019
Daughter enjoyed it, naturally, "it's peppa pig Daddy!!"
dave_jon_smith8 May 2019
Kids that like peppa pig, will enjoy it. But, to be honest it felt like a massive cash grab. The first movie just felt a better experience with the actor from the stage show narrating, where as this has other children in between the episodes which is pretty dismal. Thankfully we had two free cinema tickets from the bank to use up, otherwise would have felt robbed, that said my daughter had fun, and that's all that matters. Parents, maybe sneak a gin/vodka in to get through it... top tip.
Painfully long!
carrben16 June 2019
My 2yo daughter love it but due to it being endless episodes, it seemed to never end. Episode after episode after episode. And when you check your phone to see how much longer you have to endure it, there are still MORE EPISODES!!! Argh!
peppa never deserved a movie
cbishop-6881416 December 2019
Goerge is a brat that always gets his way with his brat sister wanting everything like dora the explorrer. Peppa is not even a child and there dad is disgrace to all pig kind with there terrible mother. this show should have never countinued.
Great for the kids
numutant4 May 2019
My daughter loved this. It is a collection of 10 brand new episodes, interspersed with live action scenes featuring kids singing and interacting with the cinema crowd. There's even a few not so subtle in jokes about the repetitiveness of childrens shows to keep the grownups entertained.
What Fun the Festival Is! The most Fun you'll have!
thatstinkyskunk1 September 2021
"We gather here and join hooves today to take part in the giving of goodness, the reaping of crops, the sewing of futures well-earned, and the living of lives well lived. We gather here, on the hallowed ground of our virgin goddess Peppa the Powerful, for the Festival of Fun."
Silence beneath the scorched skies. The Swine stood together. They were all that remained.
There were bags over their heads. Rough sacks stained with soot and farmhouse filth.
Baptisms of mud. They each held their ceremonial knives, forged from pots or perhaps pans, crude metal for a crude function. There was no art in killing, not to them. Instead, it was service. It was duty. And it was honorable. Daddy Pig had the biggest knife and he felt proud whenever it weighed in his hoof, he could feel it thirsting, and all he thought of was Peppa the Powerful.
When the knife thirsted, she hungered.
Had one thousand years passed already?
"Bring out the runt." Daddy Pig said.
And It came as a command, with the strength of thunder and the strike of lighting.
He truly was the God King and it felt good to be the God King. The bagheaded boars and sows, with their sagging fat, their rolls blubbering against each other, and their ornate scarifications dug deep into their flesh, forever raw and forever red, rushed into their shelters of barbed wire and rebar.
They disappeared there. No pain for it was in pain they belonged. There came a shuffling.
They stumbled not when carrying the offering back out.
Little George Pig, the most recent of them, his little body birthed from Mummy Pig.
What a beautiful day that was.
All of these breedings and birthings later and the inspired magic of conception never grew old.
George Pig had been fattened at the golden troph. He had taken part in his daily slop. Drank deep from the troph and always inquired for truth, for something higher, for something beyond the call of a normal life.
So he will have an honorable death.
He had faith indeed. This honorable death would keep the faith.
And Daddy Pig took his knife, performed the rites, and did the ritual. He performed it with pleasure. With the spark of the divine. He was sweating. Breathing heavy. Light and lofty in his mind, his heart, and his spirit. All of him took part in the ritual. He gave all that he was to the moment.. Just like George did.
His body laid still, a flood of his fluids ran like a pure stream through the geometry of black stone trophs laid into the earth. They pooled in a sigil of their house. The visage of Peppa.
Daddy pig smiled. Breathed. The ritual was easy. Every step, an instinct, every movement ingrained in him, like a dance as old as him, a dance as old as time. How he loved to do the dance. He looked over to Mummy Pig in her soiled robes, she too was proud He spoke.. "Rise my eternal daughter, Rise my mother of all. Rise my goddess." And rise Peppa did.
She rose hungered, thirsting, for a worthy offering, for the George of this age. A squeal, a snort, a smack of lips. Nothing remained of George.
Just like that the Fun had been had.
Then the smell of summer and flowers and joy. Trees came from the earth. Flowers came from the earth. The sun shone bright. Everything did. All was well. They all took off their robes and bags. Put on their dressed and shirts. The sky was blue, it was not red. The world appeared simple and happy. Easy for now. Brought from the brink of oblivion. The Restoration complete. Thank you George.
The fun had ceased.
And for one thousand years more, life would go on.
One thousand years, Daddy Pig dreamed.
The Festival would come again. Then and only then would the Fun be had.
There were bags over their heads. Rough sacks stained with soot and farmhouse filth.
Baptisms of mud. They each held their ceremonial knives, forged from pots or perhaps pans, crude metal for a crude function. There was no art in killing, not to them. Instead, it was service. It was duty. And it was honorable. Daddy Pig had the biggest knife and he felt proud whenever it weighed in his hoof, he could feel it thirsting, and all he thought of was Peppa the Powerful.
When the knife thirsted, she hungered.
Had one thousand years passed already?
"Bring out the runt." Daddy Pig said.
And It came as a command, with the strength of thunder and the strike of lighting.
He truly was the God King and it felt good to be the God King. The bagheaded boars and sows, with their sagging fat, their rolls blubbering against each other, and their ornate scarifications dug deep into their flesh, forever raw and forever red, rushed into their shelters of barbed wire and rebar.
They disappeared there. No pain for it was in pain they belonged. There came a shuffling.
They stumbled not when carrying the offering back out.
Little George Pig, the most recent of them, his little body birthed from Mummy Pig.
What a beautiful day that was.
All of these breedings and birthings later and the inspired magic of conception never grew old.
George Pig had been fattened at the golden troph. He had taken part in his daily slop. Drank deep from the troph and always inquired for truth, for something higher, for something beyond the call of a normal life.
So he will have an honorable death.
He had faith indeed. This honorable death would keep the faith.
And Daddy Pig took his knife, performed the rites, and did the ritual. He performed it with pleasure. With the spark of the divine. He was sweating. Breathing heavy. Light and lofty in his mind, his heart, and his spirit. All of him took part in the ritual. He gave all that he was to the moment.. Just like George did.
His body laid still, a flood of his fluids ran like a pure stream through the geometry of black stone trophs laid into the earth. They pooled in a sigil of their house. The visage of Peppa.
Daddy pig smiled. Breathed. The ritual was easy. Every step, an instinct, every movement ingrained in him, like a dance as old as him, a dance as old as time. How he loved to do the dance. He looked over to Mummy Pig in her soiled robes, she too was proud He spoke.. "Rise my eternal daughter, Rise my mother of all. Rise my goddess." And rise Peppa did.
She rose hungered, thirsting, for a worthy offering, for the George of this age. A squeal, a snort, a smack of lips. Nothing remained of George.
Just like that the Fun had been had.
Then the smell of summer and flowers and joy. Trees came from the earth. Flowers came from the earth. The sun shone bright. Everything did. All was well. They all took off their robes and bags. Put on their dressed and shirts. The sky was blue, it was not red. The world appeared simple and happy. Easy for now. Brought from the brink of oblivion. The Restoration complete. Thank you George.
The fun had ceased.
And for one thousand years more, life would go on.
One thousand years, Daddy Pig dreamed.
The Festival would come again. Then and only then would the Fun be had.
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