Black Widow (2021), directed by Cate Shortland

There is a lot to like about the long overdue standalone Black Widow film that tells the origin story of Avenger Natasha Romanov. It has an engaging story about the nature of family, with a strong but subtle underlying theme about combating the abuse, control and trafficking of women and girls. Florence Pugh as Yelena provides a fabulous counterpoint to Scarlett Johansson’s Natasha, the script allowing them some emotion and humour to lift the often-dour Avenger. In flashbacks their child versions represent great casting. Rachel Weisz and David Harbour are great as the main supports, while Ray Winstone makes a suitably evil villain. The plot draws on the TV show The Americans, which fits neatly into the broader Marvel Universe of super soldier rivalry. The film’s style is very Bondish – cheekily referenced at one point, which doesn’t fit quite as well. In an otherwise real-world story the wham bam, barely-a-bruise excessive comic book violence, OTT extended action sequences and ever-conveniently provided hardware and infrastructure sits awkwardly. There are no gods or superheroes to justify the schlock aspect, so while the film is mostly entertaining it does drag in parts, despite running a very reasonable (for Marvel) 140 minutes. Fewer violins on the soundtrack and more songs like the Nirvana cover would also have improved it. But how refreshing it is to see a female-led action film; there should be more of it.

Winter, by Ali Smith

The second of Smith’s seasonal quartet again explores themes of ageing, interaction with the natural world and society’s decline. Similarly to Autumn, it features an old person having weird hallucinations that hark back to their past; fraught parent-child relationships; and profound winter-spring romances, always with an older man and much younger woman. Another overlooked and forgotten female artist is also thrown into the mix, apropos of not much. Sophia lives in a huge, empty house in Cornwall. She has made no preparations for the visit of her son and his girlfriend for Christmas. In London, Art has been dumped and trolled by his girlfriend and his solution is to find a substitute for the visit, rather than explain or deal with his troubles. Sophia’s estranged sister, Iris, is called in to rescue the situation, but it is up to the substitute, Lux, to help heal old wounds and bring the family together. Autumn has more funny moments than Winter, but also contains quietly horrifying casual references to the degradation of living standards and services such as libraries and housing in contemporary Britain. It demonstrates the fallacy and self-destruction of people who claim to have no interest in politics, because everything is politics and truly the standard you walk past is the standard you accept. It questions the way people are valued and how this translates to an increasing divide between the haves and have-nots. Will Spring bring hope of change and renewal, or continue the theme of the long slow spiral downwards? Lockdown is possibly not the right circumstance to find out.

Autumn, by Ali Smith

Ancient Daniel Gluck is in a nursing home, seemingly hovering between life and death. His unconscious mind roams around his past and possible future, exploring history and potential afterlife, visiting his younger sister and old loves. Elisabeth is a young academic with insecure work and little hope of improving her circumstances. Daniel was a formative influence on Elisabeth as a child, fostering her love of art and learning, providing refuge from a neglectful mother. She visits Daniel in the nursing home, patiently reading second hand classic novels while he sleeps, hoping that he will wake. The setting is southern England, immediately following the Brexit vote. Autumn perhaps symbolises winding down and decay, a bridge between the brightness of summer and a looming stone-cold winter. At the same time the book compares and contrasts the current divisive and difficult times with similar periods in history, focusing on how it all affects individuals – like Daniel’s long-lost sister. Interwoven with all this are references to artist Pauline Boty, a largely forgotten pioneer of pop art, who is important to both Daniel and Elisabeth. Smith’s style is elliptical, sometimes whimsical, often poetic and occasionally frustrating, as it hints and omits, using nature as metaphor and ultimately offering just a glimmer of hope.

Killjoys seasons 1-5, Syfy

Michelle Lovretta has made a career of writing twisty, action-packed sci fi centred on kick-ass women and featuring remarkable lead actresses. First Anna Silk in supernatural thriller Lost Girl; then Tatiana Maslany in scientific thriller Orphan Black; now Hannah John-Kamen in space thriller Killjoys. Raised as a princess, Yala ‘Dutch’ Yardeen was trained to be an assassin then reinvented herself as a galactic bounty hunter, in partnership with her trusty tech-head offsider Johnny Jaqobis. The series follows their adventures around the Quad; a dwarf planet and its three moons - aristo homeworld Cresh; agricultural Leith; and industrial Westerly - located in a star cluster known as the J. Dutch’s dark past and Johnny’s estranged brother D’avin cause complications and political problems, but they have to set aside differences with family, friends and even enemies when the Quad is threatened with invasion by alien species. As is usual with Lovretta, a strong vein of humour underpins the fantastical, with a great mix of political and social elements to broaden and deepen the story. The camera loves Hannah John-Kamen, but she is ably supported by Aaron Ashmore and Luke McFarlane as the Jakobi brothers and a diverse and interesting cast of characters throughout all five fun and satisfying seasons. Canadian TV is seriously underrated and underexposed. Next please Michelle.

Bridgerton – The Duke & I, by Julia Quinn

It is interesting going to the source material of the epic Netflix series success. It’s possibly harsh to judge the first book as a standalone, given Shonda Rhimes had all eight books of the series to draw on. Book one focuses in on the primary relationship between the eldest Miss Bridgerton, Daphne, and Simon, the Duke of Hastings. Although Daphne’s mother and three elder brothers feature in the story, her younger siblings are barely mentioned. There is enough here to eliminate aspersions of a Jane Austen, or even a Georgette Heyer wannabe. Yes, it is a regency romance, but there is more to it. Undeniably sexy, the story quietly champions women and their right to autonomy and choices about their own bodies. There are a few jarring Americanisms and the continual threats of violence between the men is a bit overdone, but the book is mostly true to the period. The downside of this new edition of the book is that, as well as its original epilogue an extended one has been added that contains significant spoilers to future books. This is totally unnecessary and really annoying.

The Emporium of the Imagination, by Tabitha Bird

The emporium is a shop that magically appears in the place it needs to be for as long as it is needed by the community. It has a custodian, Earlatidge Hubert Umbray, who is nearing the end of his 10-year term and must find a replacement. The shop has fetched up in regional Queensland and he must also identify a local shopkeeper, who will help the townsfolk find what they need. The novel seems to have the admirable goal of assisting people feel their grief and move on from death, disaster and tragedy. The means used involve a brand of self-conscious magical realism, with an interesting, if derivative, idea, poorly executed. There are many plot holes that are not adequately filled by magic, among a confused melange of ghosts and disasters. Characters are not well realised and the whole is vaguely unsatisfying.