Cosy crime gets a CGI spit-shine in Kyle Balda’s likable screen adaptation of Leonie Swann’s 2005 novel ‘Three Bags Full’. First we’ll address a couple of little FAQs: No, it’s not a film about detectives searching for missing or murdered sheep; Yes, it is a film about sheep who attempt to work out who murdered the shepherd that loved them. And the sheep all have names, traits and celebrity voices, and even though it all takes place in the sleepy English village of Denbrook, the vast majority of denizens (human and animal) hark, for reasons unaddressed, from the US and Australia.
Hugh Jackman dons a flat-cap and wellies as George Hardy, a humble shepherd “with a past” who loves his flock so intensely that he reads crime novels to them as the sun sets over the hillside. Little does he realise, the sheep are actually sponging it all up, and the more stories they get the hear, the more they start to comprehend the tried-and-tested plot mechanics of the timeworn murder-mystery. And so it falls to the cleverest sheep Lily (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), the tall, dark outsider Sebastian (Bryan Cranston), and the accident-prone goof Mopple (Chris O’Dowd) to make sure a pack of dastardly humans do right by their fallen father.
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The whodunit element of the story feels like something of an afterthought, though Nicholas Braun as a pratfalling Clouseau-like local inspector who’s massively out of his depth is a nice touch. The suspects don’t get much of a look-in when it comes to screen time and character depth, so it becomes a case of merely waiting for the next big revelation to come along and nudge the plot forward. Yet the film does aim for something a little deeper by also making it about the sheep being forced to acknowledge and experience the realities of death, and there are a couple of moments of sheep-based existential revelation that are surprisingly moving. At its best it even occasionally recalls vintage Aardman, particularly something like the original Chicken Run film.
Otherwise things putter on gently like a family-oriented Brit sitcom and it arrives at a conclusion that’s so far-fetched that only random guesswork would allow you to finger the culprit in advance. Aesthetically it’s all a bit of a hash, and the glowing digital sheen does make you hunger for the analogue, animal-wrangling wonder of things such as the Babe movies. But following the bellyflop of the 2025 adaption of Richard Osman’s The Thursday Murder Club, it’s nice to see you can make one of these films that does have a little more heart and soul to it. It’s above-average fodder for a Sunday at the pictures, and if the spreadsheets are all happy, sequels and spin-offs seem inevitable.