Ellen E Jones

While Harrison’s performance may never fully reveal the nature of the man beneath these sumptuous layers of organza, silk and self-confidence, it’s enchanté Chevalier, all the same.

Gradually and delicately, Sylvia and Saul’s tessellating traumas are revealed by a beautifully balanced pair of lead performances.

This feels like history-in-the-making, as both a fresh insight into the interior lives of historical figures and a snapshot of a future filmmaking great just getting started.

The cumulative effect is like strolling through a Reykjavik gallery where each painting moves within its well-chosen frame.

This film understands that, irrespective of where your parents were born, or what part of the world they raised you in, if you grew up in the late 00s, you grew up primarily online.

The film’s particular innovation is to privilege Black women’s perspectives on the history of American racism, and with the exception of Kendi himself, every expert commentator here is a Black woman.

For anyone who values diverse storytelling, Peoples’ portrait of a hardworking woman on the up is a tale of hopefulness – and a reason to hope in itself.

Larraín’s film demonstrates a palate for mordant humour as refined as the count’s taste for blood.

The result is a film that’s people-pleasing in inverse proportion to its grouchy heroine.

Proof that even the most basic cinematic tools can be used to make fire.

In his more wistful moments Kang would surely understand the main misgiving with this efficient movie product: the MCU marches inexorably onwards, through “phases” and “sagas”, but what’s the point if there’s no time to pause, reflect and enjoy a joke with old friends?

To watch Tesla the film is to admire its ambition while regretting its follies. Much like Tesla the man, perhaps?

These mid-90s, north-west Brooklyn specificities are fascinating and relevant; to Biggie’s art, certainly, but possibly also to his death.

Such intricate genre mechanisms are fundamental to The Monkey’s construction, but the film also has a heart that beats with authentic human emotion.

Harding’s film proves movingly open-minded on the subject of the strange things isolation can do, but as a neighbour he might have been nosier. English reserve seems to have prevented further prying into the circumstances that created this English eccentric.

Bailey is the best thing about this film but, despite a team crammed with talent, this live action reworking can’t match the magic of the 1989 classic.

Not much about this film is original, but the buddy-pairing of two equally competent criminals is something we haven’t seen too often.

Not since Snakes on a Plane has a movie promised so much, but despite a great cast the plot is too tame.

The performances are fine, but the questionable decision to cast not one, not two, but three Brits can’t help but intensify the off-putting sense of Americana cosplay.

As you’d expect from a movie originated by Robert Kirkman of The Walking Dead zombie franchise, Renfield is also resplendent in gore. Dracula’s grotesque visage – decaying in reverse as he gathers strength – is a prosthetics triumph.

Kraken anatomy differs from human in some aspects, but this is a film with its heart, at least, in the right place.

Any poignance Stern’s David-v-Goliath fight might have possessed is undermined by a flowery script that’s over-fond of quick comebacks. To hear Bosworth curl her lips around some of these zingers though, almost makes for a fair trade-off.

A third-act plot twist is audacious enough to regain our attention, but Reuten and Wolf don’t quite have the charisma to fully carry it off.

Aside from one marvellous set piece at a magazine stand, The Nun II’s mid-century design is tasteful to the point of tedium, and a disgrace to the good name of 70s-era nunsploitation. That really is the gravest sin.

This is modern gothic, with natural lighting, neatly composed wide shots and the near total absence of a musical score.

This film’s real propulsive, emotional motor is nothing to do with a woman, but rather the age-old entanglement of lawman and outlaw.

Antebellum offers neither a coherent social commentary nor – thanks to its pat, ahistorical ending – a revenge thriller’s catharsis. What else, besides entertainment, could its purpose be?

The plot proceeds like a mid-season episode of CSI: Anywhere, just with better cinematography and a mournful cello score.