Alex Godfrey

In years to come, when this appears on TV late at night, it’ll be impossible to switch off. It’s just one of those films. A stone-cold, instant classic.

War is hell, and Warfare refuses to shy away from it. Free of the operatics of most supposed anti-war films, it’s all the more effective for its simplicity. It is respectfully gruelling.

The most batshit music biopic since Todd Haynes did the Karen Carpenter story with Barbie dolls, Michael Gracey pulls off the biggest cinematic surprise of the year. An absolute blast. 

It’s all a little too lightweight, and not above corniness and sentimentality, but it does earn its little emotional breakthroughs, modest as they are. And the sense of time and place is vivid.

Operating at the peak of his powers, Luca Guadagnino has the time of his life with this practically sadistic exploration of unrelenting obsession. It is horny, it is hungry, it is phenomenally exciting filmmaking.

There was potential here, but Frozen Empire is an overpopulated mish-mash, with too many heroes to wrangle. What’s left is a bit of a gooey mess. We’ve been slimed.

Zen and the art of toilet cleaning? You’d better believe it. This is as gentle as it gets — a humble little film, maybe, but an enriching one. It’s a soul-cleanse.

A striking, unforgettable exercise in absence, this is about what we don’t see — and what we choose not to see. The horror is unseen but underlying, and all the more arresting because of it.

It’s hard to think of another recent drama that feels so brazenly personal, so yearning, so naked and vulnerable. It feels like forgiveness, for Haigh himself, and maybe for others. He’s letting it all out. These characters are a lifeline for him, too.

Golda lives in the shadow of the film it wants to be, but Mirren’s warm performance and the claustrophobia of it all make it linger regardless.

An inspired, soulful piece of sci-fi, the endlessly stunning visuals all in service of a heartfelt, sensitive story. Gareth Edwards is the real deal — this is fantastic, enveloping cinema.

This one’s an endlessly thrilling, continuously propulsive beast, tense from the start: even the quieter, conversational scenes have you on edge. Mission, once again, accomplished.

Serving up stone-cold multiplex mayhem, Sisu makes no bones about it — this is a film about one mad bastard killing a gazillion Nazis. It’s almost impossible not to love it.

If you’re not up for a film that’s nearly three hours of wall-to-wall fighting, this chapter might get on your wick. That fighting, though, is a bone-crunching, butt-clenching masterclass.

Quantumania isn’t as wacky as it should be, and the humongous stakes feel oddly small. But where else do you get a wild Jonathan Majors, an intense Michelle Pfeiffer and talking broccoli?

A beguiling and often brutal look at the life of a donkey, this hijacks your heart, your mind, your ears and your eyes from start to finish.

In two-and-a-half hours, a decade of Spielberg’s own life flies by. An autopsy of a marriage and a homage to invention, it’s a bittersweet piece of joy.

Guillermo del Toro’s perspective runs through every frame of this unique retelling, which isn’t afraid to tackle troubling themes. A sincere, soulful exploration of what it means to be human.

Both a coming of age and an exploration of an era, this self-biographical reminiscence feels both regretful and hopeful – a filmmaker trying to make peace. It’s not sugar-coated, but it’s full of love.

Strawberry Mansion is hugely ambitious, even more so because it doesn’t quite have the resources to realise its own dreams. Nonetheless, it’s a soulful, adorable and unique little trip.

Though not without charm, and some splendid CGI, this scattershot grab-bag of good intentions results in a bit of an emotional flatline. This puppet will not tug on your heartstrings.

A claustrophobic portrait of pre-adolescent turmoil, this is an exceptionally taut drama. It’s Wandel’s debut feature, and it feels like she’s been preparing for it her whole life.

A beguiling and beautiful film about a total toerag, Red Rocket is a unique character study: Mikey Saber will charm your socks off, and you’ll hate him for it.

There’s palpable dread throughout this stagey but nevertheless evocative whirlwind of dysfunction. It’s a gripping, appropriately stifling experience, and the feelings — the fear, the disappointment, the unhappiness — hit home.

Resurrections suffers from an identity crisis, going from being supremely fun and knowing to weirdly pedestrian. It’s a slippery mish-mash— entertaining in big bursts but ultimately a little hollow.

This charmingly odd tribute to Sorrentino’s formative years is slighter than it possibly deserves to be, but when it’s this handsome, who cares? Will have you absolutely salivating for Italy.

It’s hard to take House Of Gucci seriously, because it never seems to take itself seriously. Yet with such glee being had by those involved, it’s an infectious, bizarro bit of fun.

As stirring and heart-warming as you’d like, this is a hugely touching family opus. It’s nothing revolutionary, but it’s straight from the heart and gets you in the gut.