There is no magic in Daniel Radcliffe's first non-Potter movie: it's an incredible clunker: naff, sentimental, like an episode of the treacly US TV show The Wonder Years, full of golden summery memories and riddled with irritating, unconvincing child acting.

Radcliffe is the oldest of a group of boys at a 1960s Australian orphanage who are allowed a wonderful holiday by the sea. There are tears and laughter and for Radcliffe a coyly dramatised sexual awakening with a local girl. Nothing about it rings true and the touches of whimsy and fantasy are toe-curlingly awful.