Kambole Campbell

Rungano Nyoni is one of the most exciting voices in cinema today and On Becoming a Guinea Fowl is abject proof: a disquieting, blistering examination of a family where social status trumps blood ties.

The latter half of Chevalier is a little by-the-numbers compared to its energetic opening violin duel — though it is uplifted by its sharp critique of white institutions, and a strong performance from Kelvin Harrison Jr.

It’s a moving ecological parable, and its visuals are an encouraging continuation of the general trend in 3D animation towards graphic textures and away from the restraints of realism, even if it’s something as small as a leaf being represented by an abstract splotch of paint.

Sinners elegantly walks a line between enjoyable mayhem as well as a sense of tragedy around this safe haven being ripped apart – but also leverages the classical allure of the vampire for motivations inspired by its reflective first half.

With all of its visual delights and expert use of its colourful onscreen spaces, its ever-a-shame that it’s the latest Pixar movie exiled to Disney’s streaming services – because it’s one of their best animated movies in years.

Rose Plays Julie is impactful and unsettling, heightened by slippery performances and enigmatic visual construction.

Belle is an exhilarating transformation of a classic tale, updating a story of alienation into something deeply resonant with our digital way of life. Though it misses a couple of notes in its final act, it’s an exhilarating sensory experience, with great emotional depths.

A refreshingly humanist and nostalgic reboot of the iconic monster franchise, Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus One takes the atomic lizard back to his post-war roots, while making the most of the director’s background in animation and VFX direction through convincing, tactile and classic design work.

Elegantly walking a line between absurdist satire and family drama, this is a clever send-up of how the broadness of Black culture gets reduced to cliché.

Memoir of a Snail is not just a stop-motion animation that feels handmade from top to bottom. It tells a deeply human story about a hard-won route to happiness – with all the pain and missteps that go with it.

Anchored by excellent performances from its three intertwined leads, Passages is alternately tender and thorny in its close character study of a narcissist, and as a romantic drama with no winners.

By changing the cautionary tale to be against assimilation and categorisation, plus its invigorating update of traditional technique, the film carves out a space not just as the best Pinocchio film of this year, but among the finest films the director has made.

Chapter 4 is an overwhelming undertaking, but also a welcome doubling-down on everything fun about this series, a thrilling counter-point to its dehumanised, big budget Hollywood contemporaries, that also serves as a welcome ode to martial artists and stunt performers.

If it falters early on, The Summit Of The Gods emerges an astonishing work of animation of both intimacy and incredible scale, stunningly well-crafted and smartly adapted.

An ambitious, provocative swing, Nope feels like that increasingly rare beast: an original blockbuster. Unspooling a horrific parody of Hollywood’s hubris, it’s a crowd-pleaser that wonders about the cost of pleasing a crowd.

It’s a psychedelic, bombastic rock opera, but amid all the energy, Yuasa ponders what stories have been lost as society’s more controlling elements attempt to control how art is made and distributed.

Funny, joyful, and brimming with confidence, The Colors Within chronicles its characters’ tentative first steps into a world outside of the ones built for them by their families and teachers, and it does so with a vibrancy that allows us all to feel as if we’re seeing that world through Totsuko’s eyes.

Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s latest film is a chilly and mystifying expression of a modern malevolence which hangs over our lives — like a cloud, if you will — worsened by constant digital connection.

Rebel Ridge feels like the film all his previous ones were all building to, evidence of the lessons taken on from Saulnier’s previous work: dancing between tense standoffs in tight spaces; the terror of being followed up the open road. He moves purposefully between these confrontations with the film’s angry unspooling of a broken political system.

While it can be a lot to take in, Occupied City is a poignant sociological portrait. Through the history of one space, it studies how fascism pushes people out of spaces  — but is also hopeful on resilience, solidarity and resistance.

Tense and tightly plotted, How To Blow Up A Pipeline is existentially terrifying but not nihilistic. It’s an exciting, humanist eco-thriller that figures there’s still time to take action — but only so much.

Benicio Del Toro’s solid screen charisma can’t rescue Reptile, a derivative and lethargic thriller that rarely thrills as it tries and fails to build a case for itself as a meaningful iteration on the detective thrillers that it admires.

Jackass Forever is a hilarious, even genuinely touching reunion of America’s most vulgar performance artists. It doesn’t reinvent the wheel for the series or definitively say goodbye to it, nor does it need to — it’s simply enough to remember that some things never get old.

Their voice performances lend the story authenticity even at its most ridiculous, while constantly threatening to derail scenes into excitable or mocking chatter, and it’s an adorable delight whenever it does. That messiness in their conversations extends to the film’s thrilling and funny action sequences, mixing it up between slapdash improvisation and the fluidity of a seasoned martial artist.

Another diagnosis of the sickness of an over-armed, money-guzzling police force, Emergency sometimes struggles to combine its cinematic form with its messaging. But there are just enough moments where it all comes together to make it feel like worthwhile viewing.

Though it delivers some entertaining comedy and bloodshed, Candyman is clunky and overly instructive in its metaphorical purpose — killing subtext as often as it does anyone foolish enough to summon the eponymous spirit.

In its search for the personality behind the creator of one of cinema’s most famous comic characters, The Real Charlie Chaplin too often lapses into dreary convention, despite flashes of brilliance in its use of archive footage.

It’s a throwback to the exhilarating, ferocious Hong Kong action filmmaking of yore, capping off a muscular actioner that marries old-school bravado with contemporary technique.