BFI London Film Festival 2016: Paterson (review…ish)

How do you make a film compelling

Without conflict, drama or action“?

When a man goes to work every day

And loves his girlfriend

And she loves him?

When a notebook full of gentle poems

Stashed in a pocket as he drives the bus

Is all that he needs to be


When the surroundings are suburban

Washed out, simple

Just about real?

When cereal is eaten from a water glass

(No plums in the icebox)

And every morning starts the same

More or less?

When simple symbols repeat themselves

Regularly for two hours

(Circles, twins, circles, twins)?

When he sees things in black and white

(Him and the world, together but separate)

And she makes everything black and white

But sees everything as grey

As possible

(Cupcake queen, country singer)?

When an event of enormous personal significance

Is a broken bus

A toy

A chance conversation

Some paper?

You cast Adam Driver

On whose face the tiniest twitch

The most subtle reaction

Is everything you need to know

And who is capable of being blank

Without being empty.

And to make doubly sure

That everyone is paying attention

You add a bulldog with just enough personality

(Personality goes a long way)

And a wobbly postbox.


BFI London Film Festival 2016: La La Land (review)

La_La_Land_(film).pngYou could be forgiven for assuming that Damien Chazelle has a particular focus on making films about music. In fact, what his blistering debut Whiplash and La La Land actually have more closely in common is that they’re both about commitment and conviction. Which is mildly ironic, as there’s not a lot of that in evidence in the latter.

Is La La Land a musical or an homage to musicals with occasional musical numbers? Is it about following your dream, or about how dreams change? Is it a love story, or about two individuals making their own way? I’ve never felt more divided in opinion about a film before, and I trace this back to the divided soul of the film itself, and perhaps moreover down to the divided nature of its auteur: I love the work of Damien Chazelle the director, but when he takes his turn as a writer I struggle.

In fact, I had a similar problem with Whiplash, wherein I could only accept its polished, perfectly timed brilliance once I’d parked my opinion of its premise (that abuse is food for genius). In La La Land, jazz pianist Seb (Ryan Gosling) is a mildly more palatable talent, as he struggles to fulfil his dream of opening a club dedicated to what he believes is a dying form of music. On his journey, he blasts into the life of aspiring actress and writer Mia Dolan (Emma Stone), and their parallel dreams are at the heart of the rest of the story – as is the question of their ability to fulfil them.

At one point, it looks like Seb might be taking the story in an interesting direction; Chazelle circles back again to a previous theme in unpicking whether relationships are bad for creativity, and vice versa, when he introduces Keith (John Legend), who tempts Seb off the path and pays lip service to the idea that media don’t die so much as evolve. Mia attempts to steer things back on course, but at this point it’s hard to know whether that is or isn’t the right thing to do – the evolution of Seb’s dream seems to bring him more pleasure than the original plan ever did – although when Mia also suffers a setback to her plans Seb resolutely bullies her back into action. Is changing a dream an admission of defeat? Is it ‘growing up’? Is that maturity or losing one’s childlike joy? It’s impossible to tell in a tale that doesn’t so much leave things open-ended as, at times, directly contradict itself.

It’s also impossible not to raise one of La La Land‘s other great contradictions. Set in LA – intended, quite clearly, as a love letter to the city of stars – it boasts a massively, realistically diverse supporting cast, and some attention has clearly been paid to recognising the distinctly black roots of jazz as a musical movement. And yet the next step – to make one or both of the protagonists people of colour – wasn’t taken. Only Keith stands out as a memorable supporting character, and yet he still has the whiff of plot device.

I also felt a mild queasy twinge at the differences in character between Seb – brash, rude, insistently bullying Mia into liking jazz by insisting on ‘educating’ her – and Mia – two quicksteps away from ‘feisty’ but saved by Emma Stone’s beautifully judged performance rather than the words on the page. Gosling tries his best to breathe life into a charming mansplainer (if that’s not a contradiction in terms) and mostly succeeds in at least keeping him just attractive enough a prospect to Mia – even if his singing is shaky. Stone, whose breathy soprano is considerably sweeter, evokes a beguiling combination of fragility and determination, with a warmth that reflects that hers is the character who forms better interpersonal relationships. Despite the fact that Seb has a sister and fellow musicians nearby whereas she only has scatty housemates and dour coffee shop colleagues, he deliberately isolates himself and it is only meeting Mia that seems to draw out reluctant flashes of his humanity. I occasionally got the uncomfortable feeling that Mia’s warmth was characterised as a weakness – that it might be what gets in the way of her goals. Later, female professional success is also represented in terms of family stability; in an overly lengthy coda that fantasises about multiple outcomes, there are none that don’t include two becoming three.

But I said before that, just as the film lacks the conviction to nail its message, its characters and even its format down, I also couldn’t say with determination that I didn’t like it. The full-on wide angle approach is beautiful and used consistently and well. Every visual detail down to costume design is lovingly, colourfully rendered. I’m damned if I’m not still humming one of the songs days later. As a vision, La La Land is stunning, and it is this I think that makes me still excited to see what its director does next. If I could immerse myself in an exhibition like this, I’d fail to emerge for days; on film, it’s just the story that gets in the way.

Disclosure: privately bought ticket for the London Film Festival as a BFI Member. No PR / freebies involved.

Redecorating the kid’s bedroom with Dulux part II: the painting


But it’s not OK to have such a dreadfully dull wall colour. Not when you’re six, anyway.

So, you might remember we were kindly approached by Dulux to try out some of their Endurance+ range paint as part of their campaign to overhaul kids’ bedrooms and let them be part of the process of creating their personal space – a laudable aim and one which I only put a few parental parameters on (I cannot live with pink, I just can’t).


We settled on sunny Vanilla Sundae, a fairly bright yellow, that would add a bit of spark to the room – which doesn’t get much natural light – without being eye-watering. It’s not a big room, just 10′ x 8′ and the ceiling isn’t very high, being a pretty squat 1960s build, so we settled on 5l of paint. We didn’t need to do an undercoat, as the original wall colour was pretty light, but there were some test patches of paint to cover, as you’ll see in the ‘before’ shots. It wasn’t until I had to take those that I realised how embarrassingly drab we’d let the room get; so much so this is about the only ‘before’ photo I can bear to publish. When we first moved in, hurriedly, it was the first room to get a quick dash of paint, a new wardrobe and a pair of curtains, just so we could get our then-toddler settled in. Now a newly minted year 2, with a wall full of certificates for this and that, drawings and posters (Tangled, My Little Pony, Squarehead and Marvel superheroes all represented), the flat calico and basic bed suddenly seemed a pretty poor reflection of the cool, grown-up girl our little dynamo has become.


We started with the usual prep and masking off, and she wanted to get stuck in immediately. While we got to work with the rollers, we shoved a paint brush into her hand and got her to go around all the little masked-off bits in the room – around power sockets, thermostats etc – and she started work on the pipes. When we moved in, we had to add a new gas supply to the house, and the copper piping has been exposed ever since, and not in a cool, steampunky sort of way. While the paint is not designed for that particular job, we glopped a generous layer on and it worked surprisingly well.


The first coat went on pretty quickly, and were it not for the test patches we might well have got away with one coat as it had very good coverage. We left it for the minimum four hours the tin recommends, before adding another coat; this was a bit trigger-happy, as we created some patchy bits by getting ahead of ourselves (our fault, as it was a fairly damp day, so we should have gone for more than the bare minimum time). After leaving this second coat overnight to dry out thoroughly, we made some touch ups in the morning and… boom. Job done.

Best of all, although we’d packed R off to the grandparents the night before so she wasn’t sleeping in a wet-walled room (just enough time for me to barrell through a fat Sarah J. Maas number), she was able to move straight back in on the Sunday night, since the paint has a very faint smell. While it gives off just a bit of a painty, yeasty vibe, it’s not at all unpleasant or unmanageable, and since none of us are prone to reactions to these things we were all very happy for her to sleep in there with just cracked-open windows to encourage thorough drying. All in all it was an exceptionally easy process – and it turned out that 5l was just spot on for two coats and touch ups – in fact, there’s just enough left in the can for anything else we spot. It’s dried to a lovely even yellow, slightly brighter and deeper than the colour on the can – a really Fluttershy shade.


Going just a tad further than we’d requested…

We have more changes to make to her room, including the addition of an amazing Teen Titans Go! wall sticker, though we’ve been advised by the sticker manufacturer to leave newly-painted walls to dry out thoroughly over four weeks before whacking it on. I christened the process by surprising R with a lightbox and letters – with some colourful ones on order too – which I think all adds to the theme of light and colour which we’re really going for. Her new cabin bed was paintstakingly assembled and yes, she does do her homework in there, sat at the pull-out desk from the bed she chose, in the light of a room that is painted in a cheery colour she picked under the purple lampshade that was her preference. While it’s now crowded with boxes and books until we work out the best storage arrangements (hence no photos: I have my pride!), finally the beginnings of her personality are stamped on her own space – a privilege I didn’t realise I’d been denying her.


We’re really happy that Dulux gave us a shove over the finish line. I have a plan in my head for our living room now (pale mint green walls, pale grey bookshelves, mustard cushions) but since it involves some purpose-built shelving and a new sofa it might have to wait a year or so for some hardcore saving…

Disclosure: The paint was provided for us by the Dulux team, but everything else down to the rollers and opinons is ours.

“No one just says they love Sam Neill” …and other stories

There’s a sense with blogging that each post ought to have a theme. An SEO-able topic, that kind of runs along a sensible continuum and gives people a reason to read. My blithe dismissal of this on occasion might explain why I’m not a Blogger-with-a-capital-B, but just a…blogger.


The other day I was talking with one of my favourite people and one of my favourite kickass-women-I-admire and the subject of Taika Waititi came up because we all want to see Hunt for the Wilderpeople (and obvs I’m a Thor bore of old). And I said I really want to see it because I really love Sam Neill. Lo laughed and said “no one ever says that! No one ever just goes ‘I really love Sam Neill‘”. And I mean obviously I just did but it’s true. It doesn’t get said in passing conversation nearly enough. The man is the Lord High Master of hey-it’s-that-guy acting – appearing in practically everything, including goddamn Jurassic Park, and yet is not routinely coming up in conversation . He should. This is my manifesto. Also, watch The Dish because it’s all kinds of charming. And if you’ve seen that weird film where he reminisces about his former life as a dog that I caught 20 minutes of in the gym can you explain it to me in the comments? Ta.

While we’re on the subject of hey-it’s-that-guys, my friend Wil has now cooked for Stellan Skarsgard, and this is basically the best thing I’ve ever heard that I’m thinking of right now. This (Stellan, not Wil) is the man whose marvellously oily character made Good Will Hunting watchable! Even if he hadn’t done 100s of other great things, that would be worth the water cooler chat for decades to come. (I know, I know… I just can’t warm to it. I grew up on that other Robin Williams-starring paragon of special snowflakery, Dead Poets Society, and I’m sticking with it. And Josh Charles. To the desk-standing last.)

My brain is very full of stuff at the moment. I’m working on a huge number of different things at work, involved to different degrees. I’m getting ready for a hugely expensive but fun month, with four London Film Festival screenings and a second bite at Letters of Note all happening in a very small space of time. I have many things to pay for, and childcare issues to resolve. I have films to watch and books to read. I have blog posts to write (you all want to know how the painting turned out, don’t you? Well, you should). I have at least three ideas for future businesses I want to run if I can ever figure out how to run a business, and a draft of a book that very, very badly needs rewriting before I can figure out what else I might want to do with it (I’ve booked an Urban Writers Retreat Day to try and deal with a fraction of that).

I need want more dresses with pockets. Or just more dresses.

My hair has decided it’s curly now and I don’t know how to look after curly hair and some days I look like Cher in Moonstruck and other days it’s more like Monica Geller in humidity.

Everything is so… fizzy. I have the privilege of having so much to say and do and think and covet that I cannot get my thoughts into any sort of reasonable order.

Except, apparently, a Sam Neill Manifesto.


Redecorating a kids’ room with Dulux

We’ve been talking about redecorating our daughter’s room for a year, and thanks to the kind offer of some assistance from Dulux, I think we’re finally going to get started! There has been an element of laziness, but also fear of expense (we have some furniture to obtain as she’s still in a small bed and needs to graduate to a full size single, we’re hoping cabin bed) and considerations for how to make the most of storage in a fairly small room.


The Superhero Room: I’m more of a Marvel girl, but I could totally live with this

But we’ve also been having The Conversation with the kid about how she wants her own space to be. As a kid, I came from the House of Magnolia, and I was rarely allowed to choose the paint or decoration in my room; when we moved house when I was 11, I was given a list of white paints ‘with a hint of [insert other colour here]’ and told to pick one. Apparently there is a difference between white with a hint of blue (as chosen by me) and white with a hint of grey (as chosen by my sister) but it definitely takes a better woman than me to spot it. These days I admire my mother’s simple, fresh approach to decoration – she’s branched out into buttermilk – but I also recognise that I’d have eaten my own arm to be allowed to choose the colour in my own room.

Enter Dulux. The team there got in touch to highlight their kids’ room designs which include a quiz  tool and workbook to help children make sense of their room decorating choices.  This includes the ideas for themes that you’ll see scattered through this post, and an array of articles on getting kids involved in the processOooh, that sounds interesting, as we’re planning to redecorate, I said. Would you like some paint? they replied. Hell yeah, came the response. More on our choice in a moment!


The Jungle Room

I have to admit, I’d already put some parameters around our 6yo’s choices; as a 1960s build, our house suits pastels, and I insisted on something light in such a small room anyway. I also can’t live with pale pink (I never could), but will accept lilac. We’ve been planning to go for a peaceful green in the living room when we get round to replacing the ‘we’ve just moved in, quick paint it something inoffensive’ pale calico we slathered the place in four years ago. So we had already circled around a few colours anyway. I did in the end find that applying some boundaries does help with a child as young and imaginative as mine – given too many choices and possibilities the indecision and mind-changing is endless. She struggles with committing to a dessert, let alone thinking about a colour she can live with for the next few years.


The Storybook Room

Even though she was pretty sure she wanted something in a yellow hue, we had a go on the Kids Room Tool and no matter which options she chose, the Storybook Room came up as the final option. Which, though R wasn’t so keen on the blue, was appropriate enough given she’d been leaning towards a My Little Pony inspired look (with a hint of Teen Titans Go!).

Still focussed on yellow as the main colour, we then looked at the options available in the Endurance+ range that the Dulux team recommended for being harder-wearing. Of those, the more light and warm shade was Vanilla Sundae, and the team have kindly sent us some so we can finally get cracking! These are the reasons R has given so far for choosing yellow:

  • To remind me of sunshine on rainy days
  • Because it’s your favourite colour, Mummy, and one of mine
  • Because it’s the colour of Fluttershy
  • Because it’s cheerful and light

The Sports Room

We’ve started to do some research into decals and wall stickers. R was all for painting murals and scenes across the wall, but I’m simply not that good a freehand artist, and with a graphic designer dad on board having something custom printed is a more likely option (if we can’t find one we like as is). Also, as I pointed out, she might not like the same things in a couple of years that she likes now – she’s just started getting into Harry Potter, and she already can’t decide how much of the bedroom should be dedicated to her equestrian pals, and how much should represent DC’s finest young superhero team. So stickers will let the room grow with her, while the cheery paint continues to allow light into a room whose windows face across a drive to another house, limiting the natural brightness.

I really am glad that she’s getting a bit of a say in making her own space. I’m getting serious itchy pants about the state of our living room because I spend so much time there; things feel more like home when you can stamp your personality on them. As she’s getting older – going into year 2 next week – she’ll be getting more homework to do at home, and when she has play dates they spend more and more time in her room. Dulux’s research claims that 92% of children say they’d be happier to work and play more in their rooms if they had a say over how they were decorated; I can’t guarantee any results, but I can appreciate the feeling! While I hardly want her to stop hanging out with us in the living room, I’d like her to feel her room is a haven; I was a bookish kid who spent hours holed up reading, and the cosier the place you can do things like that, the better.


The Circus Room

I’ve not yet taken the ‘before’ photos – mostly because her room is a tip – but once we get up and running I’ll document it with another post and Instagram (Stories ‘n all) is likely to be part of the process. I’m no natural interior designer, so all tips and tricks are welcome… and if anyone can recommend a good value company for getting a mid-height cabin bed, I’m all ears!

Disclosure: As stated, Dulux has kindly offered to supply the paint for our project from the Endurance+ range; opinions are my own, and there has been no other payment for this post.

On Ghostbusters 2016 and objectivity

My husband and I saw Ghostbusters separately. We each saw it alone, which is perhaps the best way to know whether you really enjoyed something; you’re not reacting to it with anyone, so it’s all on you.

I loved it. He thought it was fine. We, like everyone else in the world, both fell hard for Holtzmann; we diverged on Hemsworth. I was pleasantly surprised by his straight delivery and almost deadpan gaze; my husband found him a bit lifeless. We agree that the first half hour takes too long to get to the point. I would say that too much space is given to Wiig and McCarthy to do their thing as individuals when the strength of the film is the union of all four characters, and in particular the rock solid contributions of Jones and McKinnon. He reckons that they are both simply not that funny in the first half of the film – individually and together. We were both glad that, even if Patty is still relegated to being the only non-academic of the group and a bit ‘urban’ (which could have been a massive cringe as the only notable POC in the film), she’s actually far more rounded than the trailer suggested, and massively well self-educated to boot.  But still: overall I loved it, pre-ordered it on Blu-ray (yes, some people still do that) and can’t wait to see it again, and he thought it was a bit better than okay but… yeah, whatever.

Here is where I wonder if it’s actually impossible to separate political joy and filmmaking objectivity. Do we even need to? My husband’s position is arguably more ‘objective’ than mine in that he is, by definition, less invested in the film being good. He has never had to go out at night worrying if tonight is going to involve (another) assault or death; on a recent re-watch of the original Ghostbusters he himself pointed out how revoltingly predatory Bill Murray’s Venkman is but I think he could see it rather than feel it. As a child I watched that version many, many times every summer – that and Mannequin were the only vaguely suitable films in English that my grandma’s local video shop in Athens carried – and yet I never loved it. At the time it was groundbreaking in many ways and the premise remains an excellent one, but I did not warm to it the way I did Back To The Future, The Goonies and Pretty in Pink. Even Mannequin, frankly. That’s fine, I didn’t have to. I can accept that it wasn’t, in the end, made for me.

But this Ghostbusters, at this time, was. And I accept the gift wholeheartedly. I feel an intense and lasting joy at the lack of casual rape jokes, at the tongue-in-cheek references to fanboy trolling, at the deliberately practical and unsexy costumes, at Holtzmann’s triumphant battle scene, at female friendship that doesn’t centre on relationships, at flawed women being flawed. And it doesn’t matter to me whether future generations objectively think that joke was as funny as it could have been, etc. I lost patience with this Ghostbusters only when it delivered heavy-handed fan service to the original (Aykroyd’s lamely game cameo was really just awful, and Murray’s awkwardly unnecessary; Hudson’s was actually quite sweet and natural but made the sad lack of Ramis even more keenly felt). When it was its own, kickass thing, behaving as if comic female action leads are just the most natural thing in the world, it was exactly what I always knew could happen if we just let it.

To be honest, the best case scenario is that women in the future find this film a bit of an embarrassing relic that their mums like. That there are so many original, brilliant feature films that don’t need to rely on an existing formats to make their point that this seems a bit old fashioned and unnecessary. I do not need it to last. I do not need it to be ‘objectively’ brilliant to do exactly what it was has done (even if I think it does actually stand up just fine most of the time, thanks). If the greatest value this film ever has is as a gender political statement, then that is more than enough for me.

And if my husband has to stand there in his wrongness, be wrong and get used to it, then I dare say we can both live with that too.

Review: Alice Through the Looking Glass with Edible Cinema


It’s no secret that I adore the Alice in Wonderland aesthetic. As with so many tea fans and cat lovers – not to mention flamingo obsessives – I’m drawn to the twee and the fantastic, the essential Britishness. I went to the British Library exhibit earlier this year, and I’ve already assigned the animated take on the Cheshire Cat as my favourite Disney character of all time (we have both Disney and Tenniel Christmas ornaments to prove it). Mary Blair’s concept work on Alice is basically the artwork I’d produce if I had any sort of talent, let alone one as prodigious as Blair’s.

In spite of all of this, it took me an age to get around to watching 2010’s Alice in Wonderland. In part, this is because of my complex relationship with the films of Tim Burton. Having loved every second of the Edward Scissorhands era, I became increasingly disillusioned with his more recent work, culminating in a substantial dislike of Big Fish  – the point, for me, at which his work stopped being beautiful creative driven by the story but self-consciously quirky stories retrofitted into a glorious visual. In the end, I was pleasantly surprised by his Alice – from the liberties it gleefully took with the source material to the canny casting of the other-worldly Mia Wasikowska. And when I heard that Alice Through the Looking Glass was going to be handed over to another director, I was heartened – if The Nightmare Before Christmas teaches us anything it’s that sometimes Burton can be credited with finer work as producer, rather than director.

And then… then I was invited to watch it as part of an Edible Cinema screening. Hell yes, my friends.

I’ve been dying to try Edible Cinema for ages – food AND films? What’s not to love? – and I cannot imagine a better pairing for this pleasingly inventive idea than an Alice film. If you’re unfamiliar with the setup, you get given a box full of numbered ‘serves’ and then are prompted unobtrusively during the film to eat or drink them at relevant points. Each serve is designed to perfectly accompany the scene it’s consumed with – like ice-cold mouthfuls of crunchy sherbet as the characters tramp through the snow… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Alice Through the Looking Glass again parks the source material at the door, simply taking the characters of Lewis Carroll’s world and playing merry hell with them. And really, maybe it’s the preferable route to take sometimes, particularly with such widely adapted and massively influential texts; without worrying about the impact of some perceived canon or other, you can simply enjoy the action for what it is. Set some years after Alice’s return from ‘Underland’, she’s now a fearless sea captain – steering her late father’s ship to safety and leaving pirates stranded in the shallows. This Alice is a fully paid up feminist, and it’s a delight to see. On her return to land, her shady wannabe-ex attempts to pop her back into the drawer he thinks she belongs in – instead Alice follows an old friend through a looking glass and ends up back in the familiar topsy-turvy world, only to be plunged immediately into a race against Time (literally, in the form of Sacha Baron Cohen) to save her friend the Hatter from a swift decline prompted by nostalgic melancholy.

If I’m honest, the plot doesn’t always make that much sense, but the rollicking, frantic pace is such that it doesn’t much matter. The moral – that you can’t change the past, but you can learn from it – is ladled on a tad thickly but it helps that it’s a pretty solid moral. Wasikowska’s straight guy turn is thoughtful, and there’s a cameo for all her old pals, from Absolem (the late, great Alan Rickman’s final work, and heartbreaking for it) to the White Queen (Anne Hathaway still keeping up the well-meant but misguided mannerisms that made the character rather irritating the first time around). Andrew Scott pops up pleasingly as a sort of Bedlam Moriarty, eyes gleaming and syringe held high. And of course Helena Bonham Carter is back on scene-stealing duty as Iracebeth, the Red Queen, but it’s Baron Cohen who walks away with the film. His sublime portrayal of what director James Bobin – he, appropriately enough, of The Muppets – called the ‘confident idiot’ is beautifully balanced: he flips on and off the manic gleam in his eye to be at one moment the frustrating villain of the piece and at the next a surprisingly moving figure.


Accompanying the rapid twists and turns of the plot were some brilliantly creative moments from Edible Cinema. Be warned – you will be sugar high and a little tipsy by the time you emerge from any EC screening (and there are allergen-friendly menus available if you get in touch in time). I parked my sugar-quitting at the door to try a gooey, marshmallow fluff-based confection as Alice landed in a heap of flowers, a crystalline sugar butterfly when she met the transformed former caterpillar (accompanied by a shot of gin so strong I coughed like a furtive  smoker behind the bikesheds) and a rich bite of ginger and thyme spice cake as matters came to their Time-ly resolution at the end. My absolute favourite – both for flavour and the matching sensation it evoked – was the aforementioned crunchy sugar snow (and more gin). I missed one number cue which meant that two treats got shovelled in rather quickly one after another but it didn’t really affect the overall charm of the experience. Were I to give any feedback it would be that more savouries would really help cut through the intense sweetness of the menu, as some very welcome sharp and spicy popcorn did, but I imagine it’s very different with other films. And there’s no doubt that I would definitely try it again.

Glorious setting aside, I will admit that – with its madcap pace, convoluted plot and sudden resolution – Alice Through the Looking Glass is not a masterpiece, but it is a perfectly watchable romp with a universally appealing moral and a satisfyingly intentional take on creating a feminist heroine. Older children will enjoy the bonkers humour and rousing pitch, while adults can be quietly charmed by the sumptuous visuals and quality cast. Of course I didn’t take my 5yo to this particular screening (hic!); while I think she would have been fine with the nature of the content, she would likely have struggled with following the plot so in general I’d recommend it for 7+. If you don’t manage to catch it in cinemas, I definitely recommend getting creative with snacks for the home release – I can confirm it adds a whole new dimension.

Alice Through the Looking Glass is on UK general release.

Disclosure: The screening and Edible Cinema experience were courtesy of the Disney UK team. All opinions my own.