The Narracotts live in verdant countryside, upon stony ground of use to no man. Theirs is a working farm in the Disney sense, where ducks come to chase the creditors away and the horses prick their ears to the first sign of trouble. Evidentally, they belong to the same confederate that once built themselves a windmill, took a seat at the high table, and triumphed over ingrained classism at the country sheepdog trial.

Of the film’s many lively affections, the unlikeliest of all is a thoroughbred named Joey. Ted, the most pickled of all the Narracotts, had bid on him solely to spite his miserly landlord, who had taken something of a fancy to the animal. At an auction price three times that of a sturdy plough horse, much was expected of the family’s newest addition, starting with that stony field. The very next morning, their young son, Albert, afixes a plough and waits, expectantly. When that doesn’t work, he begins to whistle and hustle and crack his whip, and still the horse won’t budge. Joey – not one to suffer fools gladly – cranes his neck back as if to confirm that, yes, master really ought to have bought a plough for such a task. No matter. Just as soon as a crowd began to gather by the long fence, so too did dark clouds circle and break, transforming the frigid surface into mud even the most stubborn of thoroughbreds could churn.

If it sounds like a miracle, that’s because it is. War Horse has many of them. Joey was always meant for greater things than Devonshire turnip fields. In fact, he is rather like an equestrian Forrest Gump, destined to appear along the western front until taking a happenstance shot in the butt-ock. Along the way, he passes between generals, farm hands, and war-weary soldiers. He strays without regard to ideology or flag, belonging as equally to the English as to the Germans, Albert or a sweet French girl named Emilie. True to them all are scenes of breathtaking cinematography. On the eve of war, Joey is sold to a cavalry charge led by Captain Nicholls (Tom Hiddleston). A field of horses and her men emerge from the tall grass to race forward; an endless stream charging toward the German lines. Guns spin into life, as we knew they must. Few make it beyond them, fewer yet with their cargo still astride; strewn instead across bloodied French fields.

Steven Spielberg understands the futility of war more than most, and his recall of its many wastes is heartfelt. He departs from Saving Private Ryan in a more humble account of sodden trenches: of the men who filed into them so as to assail an enemy who, just moments before, had done much the same. The message is that of all movies: that war is hell, only made more so by the goodness that is sacrificed to it. Such senseless attrition is underscored when, almost inconceivably, two soldiers emerge from opposing trenches to exchange wire-cutters and submit to an act of selflessness that confounds our contemporary expectations of battle.

Adapted from the acclaimed novel by Michael Morpurgo, the film is less daring than its Broadway counterpart, but only by virtue of not being first. Spielberg and frequent collaborator Janusz Kaminski are ever masters of scale. Like Forrest Gump, War Horse takes the long road back to the beginning, and only in arriving do we realise how far we’ve come. All those individual moments along a fantastical journey, united by a horse of remarkable beauty and courage, who is loved without exception. I like to think his many keepers recognised in him some unspoilt grace, and were duly burdened by what war asks of such creatures. Or maybe Joey was simply another mute tool, all the better to drag heavy artillery with. I suspect the uncomfortable truth is that such feelings were not exclusive: that men like Nicholls could love and condemn their steed in the same dissonant breath.

A collaboration with Richard Curtis was always going to be supremely earnest. Sometimes the skies seem too clear; events implausible even for a children’s parable. All true enough. War Horse is undeniably aimed at the widest possible audience, with timeless themes that will ensure a life far beyond its theatrical run. A beguiling tale of a boy and his horse must necessarily throw cynicism to the wind if it is to do justice to its universal appeal. It is never malicious or base. It is, in every sense of the word, a family film for a time that has come to treat such things with quite dispiriting contempt.