Jane Crowther

Pedro Almodóvar fans may be wrongfooted by the writer/director’s first full-length English-language feature, an atypically austere entry in his canon that’s nevertheless as vivid and haunting as much of his other work.

Filmmaker Azazel Jacobs follows up the highly mannered (and highly strung) French Exit (2020) with a slow-burn study of sibling rivalry, parental mortality and the ties that bind.

Entwining Irish folklore, dead-parent issues, eco-anxiety, and reality-show commentary, The Watched is an acceptable mid-tier horror. It'll be far more interesting to see what Shyamalan does next.

Frankly, if you’re buying a ticket purely for the behemoth battles then you’ll get your money’s worth: take your pick from a trippy rumpus that defies gravity, a Copacabana beach-off, some Planet of the Apes-esque monkey business, and a literal dust-up at the Egyptian pyramids.

DuVernay captures the universal experience of loss: the regrets, the suffocating sorrow.

This ultimately feels like a story that didn’t need remaking, with performances that would have tickled in a one-night view on Broadway. It’s Friedkin’s swan song, yes, but is it representative of his output? Probably not.

Fizzy, funny, heightened – Hit Man is a damn good time at the movies that will leave you buzzing.

Meddle with sobriety and project it on a nightclub wall and maybe it works. As a film, not so much.

It suffers an abrupt ending and, compared to the creativity displayed in Coppola’s other biopic, Marie Antoinette, is a more muted affair.

If you ever wondered what Fincher’s Bond might have looked like, this could be it.

An accomplished and classy follow-up to A Star is Born then, and one that proves Cooper is more than a one-hit wonder. But as an examination of artistic temperament, sexual voracity, and the patient women who love conductors, Maestro’s thunder has been stolen to a degree by Tár.

A funny, sad, bawdy, beautiful concoction that will haunt and provoke in equal measure.

Whimsy with a capital W that unleashes Anderson’s arsenal of quirks. Truly marvellous medicine for fans, but could be a broken record for those who aren’t.

Like Ferrari’s motors, the production is sleek, expensive-looking and runs handsomely. But unlike the brand’s famous 0-60 mph starting capabilities, Mann’s film takes time to run the tyres in, only really reaching top gear in its second half. It works as a companion piece to Le Mans ‘66, but doesn’t manage to surpass it.

It’s a relief to discover that the Lady Bird/Little Women director’s tale of a dress-up doll is profound, silly, moving, smart, existential and, to use Ken’s word, SUBLIME! (shout this (K)energetically, please).

Weaving the Tulsa race riots, the KKK and the Masons into its tapestry, Scorsese’s opus questions the misdeeds of America in the last century while linking them to the pressing issues of today. Addressing racial violence, nationalism, the continued epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women and even our lurid obsession with true crime, Killers of the Flower Moon paints a robust picture of a moment in history that invites viewer introspection.

Uncomfortable viewing, then, but also engaging, unbridled cinema that will prompt discourse and divide opinions.

Classy but curiously empty, The Son may be a spiritual sequel to The Father, but it’s not its equal.

This (will’o-the-)wisp of a film is a beauty depending on the eye of the beholder; frustratingly slender yet with moments of profundity.

As glossy as any of the surfaces that Alice polishes so diligently each day, it’s a feminist film that asks viewers to evaluate their own social complicity in oppression, while not skimping on really great costumes, gorgeous cars or horny sex scenes.

Quibbles and conversation starters aside, The Whale is Aronofsky's kindest work to date, a film that asks its audience to practice acceptance, understanding, empathy, and forgiveness.

Though it’s not Schrader’s finest work and requires political leaps of faith that can be compared to American History X and could be called simplistic, Master Gardener is still an auteur operating at the top of the league.

Nodding to Badlands, Natural Born Killers, My Own Private Idaho, even The Lost Boys, Bones And All is as interested in loneliness, connection, self-identity, and fiscal invisibility as compulsion. Who misses the murdered if they don’t ‘exist’? And what adolescent hasn’t felt the creeping dread that their needs or bodies are out of step with society?

Recalling the likes of All About Eve and Amadeus, TÁR asks pertinent questions about cancel culture, artistic integrity and gender, while also providing a primer on orchestral politics and musical history.

Though ambitious and visually stunning (gorgeous cracked deserts, beautiful beaches, houses filled with sand), it’s willfully elusive and unwieldy to the point of frustrating.

A glossy, undemanding confection that doesn’t make waves, but shouldn’t be given a wide berth either.

Warm, witty and full of wonder, Afterlife reanimates a franchise without spitting on its grave.

Warm and witty, Free Guy is expertly crafted disposable fun. And right now, that feels essential.