Andrew Lowry

Like a real-life stroppy teen, Assassination Nation is pissed off with something new every five minutes — but there’s style and sophistication here. The Trump era has its first dorm-room classic.

You already know if you’ll enjoy a film where LSD-crazed leather daddies are summoned via something called the Horn Of Abraxas. A no-holds-barred ride into madness destined for a thousand midnight screenings.

Pawlikowski is in complete control of the form, but this is no austere piece of work — he even finds time for a few good jokes. Accessible, humane and compassionate: what a treat this is.

For all the flying fists and the hero’s nightmarish predicament, the notions of redemption examined here are plenty deep. Add that to the bone-crunchingly effective technique and flawless lead performance, and you have yourself something very rare: a testosterone-driven narrative that’s about nurturing, rather than destruction. And one that achieves a bleeding-knuckled profundity.

A solid if, given its subject, oddly workmanlike documentary, this makes a very good case both that the fashion world had a genius on its hands, and that they didn’t have a clue what to do with him.

Even if his prosthetics make him look a bit like James May, Everett is near-flawless, and his film is a superb showcase for an actor whose celebrity has at times overshadowed his talent. There’s been plenty of due diligence in terms of the details, and anyone who thinks Wilde was just the Stephen Fry of his day will learn a lot here.

Dark fun, with performances to savour and a set of references too seldom made in today’s pictures, this is a treat. It may peter out at the end, but what a calling card for Cory Finley, and this could be the last outing for its leads before superstardom beckons.

Come for the near-endless rows that convincingly carry the venom of a collapsed, resentful marriage; stay for the extended critique of Russia’s contemporary spiritual vacancy.

Come for the near-endless rows that convincingly carry the venom of a collapsed, resentful marriage; stay for the extended critique of Russia’s contemporary spiritual vacancy.

An outstanding cast savours performing a play that has stood the test of time. Avoiding sentimentality, this is a valuable rejoinder to those who would sugar-coat mass slaughter.

Doubling as a fascinating look at a subculture that is normally sealed off from the rest of us and a gently amusing comedy of manners, this manages to say an awful lot by, paradoxically, saying it endearingly gently.

Working as a profound meditation on karma, predestination and guilt and a proper scary movie, this is near career-best work from all involved. Be warned: this is tough stuff.

Even if it needed one last push to make it truly exceptional, there’s a lot to enjoy here. And Soderbergh once again attracts a cast it’s a pleasure to spend time with.

This fearless reconstruction drives home the dark lie that Lance Armstrong lived – it’s just a pity it doesn’t dig a little deeper.

It may not have the jeopardy of Touching The Void, but when Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary finally reach the summit, we’re treated to an early candidate for one of 2014’s most transcendent film moments. This is genuinely inspirational stuff, and then some.

Anchored by a truly sensational performance from Gleeson, this unexpected blend of passion play, detective story, rural comedy and serious inquiry into faith is destined for classic status.

You may not be sure what you've seen, but you've sure seen something. With neither a petticoat nor a wideboy in sight, this is one of the most original and exciting British movies in some time.

Offering a fascinating window into a world often distorted and oversimplified, this is informative, stimulating and moving stuff.

Succeeding against the odds and adroitly blending its disparate elements, this is a fine entry into the Eurodirector-gawps-at-America subgenre.

Despite the hint of a stiff-upper-lip kind of reserve, this is astonishingly brutal. And Firth’s performance makes this dark, dark story land.