Sean the Sheep: Farmageddon (2019), directed by Will Becher & Richard Phelan

What a pleasure it is to enter the funny, clever and joyous world of Aardman. A blatant rip-off of ET, Farmageddon is a much better film. It avoids the button-pushing clichés of its progenitor, while retaining its moving moments, along with continuous LOLs. The beauty of Aardman animation is that it makes films ostensibly for kids that actually operate on several levels, with many smart jokes aimed at adults. And it is all done with so few words. Gestures, noises and facial expressions do the bulk of the communication work, which is particularly meaningful in a film about an alien visiting Earth. The music is well chosen to support the non-verbal communication, especially in the second half. It’s a nice touch that traditional farmyard antagonists wind up becoming allies to save the day.

The van Apfel Girls Are Gone, by Felicity McLean

A lowly lab technician in Baltimore, Tikka seems to have moved as far away as possible to escape the childhood tragedy that haunts her. She is certainly not in the US seeking fortune or fame. Recalled home to the Sydney suburbs because of her sister’s illness, Tikka has to acknowledge that she never has and never will escape her guilt and sadness over the disappearance of the three van Apfel girls when she was 11 and her sister 14. Was the creepy teacher involved? Was it the violent religious father? Or did the girls just run away? Twenty years later, it seems no-one will ever know. You can almost smell the gum trees and mangroves as McLean evokes the long hot summer days of an Australian suburban childhood. Outwardly serene and ordinary, secrets and resentments lurk beneath the surface. Discussion and emotions are repressed, so that an event as disturbing as the disappearance of three sisters is even more shocking – not in our backyard! It is a little hard to believe that Tikka and her sister never told anyone what they knew; surely they would have said something? But the reality is that even now there is a taboo on discussing domestic violence and sexual abuse, with a misplaced sense of shame for the victims. There is also a strong culture of not dobbing, especially among kids. So on further reflection it is all too likely that children would keep secrets that haunt them into adulthood.

Sweet Sorrow, by David Nicholls

Charlie has just finished school, having trashed his final exam. His mates are working and he’s at a loose end so meanders around town on his bike, occasionally dipping in to a book. Charlie’s dad is unemployed and in a deep depression following the failure of his music shop business. His mother has left, taking his little sister and leaving Charlie as virtual carer of his father. The world starts to look brighter when he meets Fran and gets drawn into her world of amateur theatre and a production of Romeo and Juliet. As a tale of first love, coming of age, outgrowing your peer group, the novel works quite well. Charlie is a far from perfect hero, but he has a lot to deal with and could easily take a wrong turn. Unfortunately the tone is very uneven, with Nicholls switching in and out of the voice of Charlie at 16 and Charlie as an adult. This is compounded by insertion of snippets of Charlie as an actual adult, which add nothing to the story and in fact undermine it by foreshadowing much of the outcome.

Little Women (2019), directed by Greta Gerwig

After several film and TV adaptations, did we really need yet another interpretation of Little Women? It turns out we did. This adaptation is faithful to the main events of the book but presents them in a different way, which for the most part works very well. The film moves back and forth in time over seven or eight years, comparing and contrasting different events and feelings in the lives of the March girls. There are a couple of glitches in the timeline, but it’s a minor quibble. The cast is outstanding, with Saoirse Ronin bringing out Jo’s passion and frustration at the lot of a girl in the 19th century and Florence Pugh portraying Amy as a brat who grows into a classy woman. It is a little odd that in this classic American tale, none of the four girls is played by an American. Emma Watson and Eliza Scanlen were interesting choices for Meg and Beth, but the four actors work well as an ensemble of believable sisters who fight hard but always have each other’s backs. Laura Dern makes a fine Marmee and Meryl Streep is a hoot as Aunt March. The details of period costumes and buildings are meticulous and the cinematography makes the most of the gorgeous New England setting. Gerwig’s screenplay makes the implied feminism of the novels more explicit, with well-made points about the economics of marriage and women’s limited choices. There is a slight blurring of identities at the end, with the book Little Women accredited to JL March, but this seems appropriate given the wide acknowledgement that Louisa May Alcott’s novel was heavily autobiographical.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019), directed by JJ Abrams

What a hot mess this film is. The dead rise again and again and again, to the point that it’s almost a zombie movie. The parts that use outtakes of Carrie Fisher from previous films just don’t look right and the script has very obviously been tailored around them. There are few surprises, as most plot points are heavily telegraphed. It is just not possible to be carried away by the story as there are way too many eye-rolling ‘oh really’ moments, many involving how people get to places and how they survive the many, many crashes and shootouts. Daisy Ridley as Rey is the best thing about the film; she does her best with limited material. The end of the franchise really deserved better, but hopefully it is now finally dead and buried.

Akin, by Emma Donoghue

At 79 widower Noah lives alone in his Manhattan apartment with only his much-loved wife Joan’s voice in his head for company. They were childless by choice and following the death of his younger sister Noah has no family. He is about to embark on a trip to his home town, Nice, in the south of France, for the first time since leaving at the age of four, during World War II. Noah suddenly finds himself thrust into the role of temporary guardian to an 11-year-old boy, his sister’s grandson Michael, whom he has never met and whose existence he was barely aware of. Discovery of some strange old photographs of his mother’s has impelled Noah to investigate the circumstance of her staying in Nice until the end of the war after sending Noah to his father in New York. Michael’s company both helps and hinders the investigation as Noah comes to terms with history and starts to see a different future. Donoghue evokes a strong sense of place as Noah moves between several different worlds. Her characters are believable and sympathetic, despite their flaws and with few false notes in the developing relationship between an old academic and a troubled child. At the end of the day it’s all about family over everything.

Wild Rose (2019), directed by Tom Harper

Leaving Glasgow prison with an ankle monitor, Rose-Lynn’s first stop is her boyfriend’s place for a quick shag in the park. Then it’s off to her mother’s house, where her two children have been living while she’s been inside. Children and prison have been annoying interruptions to Rose-Lynn’s aspirations to a brilliant career as a country singer in Nashville. Her mother gets her a job as a cleaner and tries to bring her down to earth, but Rose-Lynn has big dreams and will do almost anything to achieve them. Jessie Buckley is compelling as Rose-Lynn, imbuing her prickly character with enough sympathy to overcome her often-challenging behaviour. It helps that she enables the audience to totally believe in Rose’s talent and therefore her crazy dreams don’t seem completely impossible. Julie Walters is terrific as her long-suffering mother, and the actress playing her vulnerable daughter is exceptional. Sophie Okonedo heads up a fine supporting cast; Nicole’s Taylor’s screenplay is sharp, funny and unsentimental; and the music is great even if you’re not a fan of country.