Andrew Pulver

Inevitably, perhaps, it pulls its punches, and soft-pedals on any authentic misery that its scenarios might evoke. But its essential amiability and decency comes through.

Margarita, With a Straw is a sturdily conceived, emotionally direct drama.

It’s tough to take all the hardcore emoting seriously, particularly as the emotional heavy lifting is designed to be done by the occasional maudlin line in brief pauses between the explosions. For a film so concerned with its characters’ inner lives, there’s a fundamental disconnect going on here – enough to make you yearn for the lighter touch of the Marvel films.

It is Davies’ ability to invest even the most apparently-humdrum moments with some form of intense radiance that sustains his film.

Hail, Caesar! is a lot of fun, and beautifully crafted, too. One to savour.

Despite the surface sheen, and some enterprising plot twists, it doesn’t entirely convince.

Equals doesn’t really work as either a plausible attempt at rendering some sort of future society, nor as a really convincing thwarted-love story.

For all its berserk energy, you will need a very particular sense of humour not to lose patience with the prolific Takashi Miike’s latest.

This may not be the director’s most immediately electrifying film, but in its understated way, it’s an immensely powerful work.

This is a very good-looking film that represents a brave attempt to do justice to a very popular book; it manages it, just.

Portman has made a film with something serious and interesting to say about Israel, a nuanced portrait of the place that demonstrates a commitment to, and connection with, her home country. This is an assured, heartfelt debut.

The Aardman vision of contemporary England is generous, inclusive and - if a fast-moving film about a smart-alec sheep can allow itself such grandiose ambitions – genuinely inspiring.

The co-operation between Wenders and Salgado Jr works well, mixing the former's heavyweight presence as both interviewer and storyteller, and the latter's ability to harvest intimate, deep-buried subtleties that may otherwise not have seen the light of day. Together they have made a moving tribute to a peerless talent.

Like Agatha Christie’s detective novels, there would appear little in the way of aesthetic – as opposed to technological – progression; having set the tone so definitively at the outset, each film delivered exactly what it promised.

Though high-minded and well-intentioned – as well as being conceived on an epic scale – there’s something faintly stodgy and safety-first about the endeavour.

[A] blundering jackhammer of a film.

I'd never want to stand in the way of artists pushing things, but messing with Postman Pat is probably a step too far.

The way the allegory works out is not exactly subtle or unexpected, but is strangely moving, despite the gruesomeness that has gone before. All in all, a treat.

Impressive as much of his film is, however, Aronofsky never quite solves the main challenge of the semi-literal biblical adaptation: what is so economical, and beautifully expressed, on the page can become a heavy, lumbering beast when translated into conventional narrative.

In its current state, Neighbors is filthy, nasty and a bit too sloppy. But it’ll scrub up lovely.

It's a film that holds you in a vice-like grip throughout; only wavering towards the end with a faintly preposterous climactic shootout.

A genial, lightweight farce, which largely approximates Hornby's distinctively bittersweet tone.

With this film, Anderson has built a thoroughly likable vision of a prewar Europe – no more real, perhaps, than the kind of Viennese light-operetta that sustained much of 1930s Hollywood – but a distinctive, attractive proposition all the same. It's a nimblefooted, witty piece, but one also imbued with a premonitory sadness at the coming conflagration.

This is basically a studied and serious film, but there's a feyness to its tone, and a lethargy to its pacing that make it difficult to warm to, even if the principal actors give it their all.

Filmed in what you might call the international hotel style, Tornatore's idiotic premise is entertaining if you don't inspect it too carefully, or look for anything beneath the portentousness.

This Anchorman sequel knows who its fans are, and does its best to keep them happy. No one will be complaining.

Junger articulates a number of subtle and unexpected ideas about Hetherington's work, and about combat reporting in general.

For Cash devotees who want a hitherto-hidden perspective on their man, though, this is invaluable viewing.