Kevin Harley

Gomez-Rejon’s sardonic yet sensitive story of geek friendship is the best YA illness novel adap yet. And yes, you can stick that on the poster.

With Moss’ brilliance in full view, Whannell’s taut exercise in suspense gives Universal’s monsters a jolt of life.

Famuyiwa’s teen pic mixes a cocktail of crowd-pleasing vim and political punch, lent charm and conviction by Moore – a star in the making.

From the texture of the underground havens to the idea that our leads have to – literally – cling to each other lest gravity tears them apart, it’s a wonder of detail and ingenuity.

Gyllenhaal is engaged and engaging in Denis Villeneuve’s adventure in psychological surrealism: let’s hope they stay friends.

A lovingly balanced biopic that fends off award-gobbling clichés. Smarts + heart = a winner: it’s a simple equation, but Marsh makes it add up.

The final minutes turn Talk to Me into something almost lyrical, a kind of urban myth you could imagine being shared between parties and campus halls. The filmmakers also blow out the candle at a flab-free 95 minutes. Turns out that’s enough time to get inside you and take possession.

For his part, Trachtenberg has resolved how to give the Yautja its due. Best post-Arnie Predator variant? Undoubtedly. Best Predator movie per se? Tough call, but trust this: Prey gets the job done.

Flawed but often flooring, The Grandmaster swoons with grace, feeling and elegance. With Leung and Zhang on killer form, Wong has delivered his best film in a decade.

Despite the odd awkward tonal gear shift, Knight’s origin story makes refreshingly light work of its uphill climb, fuelled by wit and warmth. And – crucially – with better songs on the retro-tape deck.

Violence seems inevitable but Von Horn plots cause and consequence with patient precision.

Blending the mythical resonances of The Searchers with lyricism and bristly realism, Wolfe’s harrowing, haunting dispatch from Brit-cinema’s undergrowth is strong meat: emphatic evidence of a bold talent’s arrival.

Like a Cobain mixtape brought to feral life, Montage is scruffy, sharp and insightful on an oft-explored subject. The pay-off is terribly moving – it’ll drain you.

Recasting studio formula in fresh, dazzling shapes and shades, Encanto is high-tier modern Disney.

Between Simmonds’ superb lead, the suspense, the slivers of hope, A Quiet Place Part II is worth making a noise for. Just pipe down in the cinema.

Does for Norman’s place what Room 237 did for the Overlook: reopens old haunts for welcome re-investigation.

If some of the stormy relationship stories seem old, the wealth of archive material is gob-smacking: early rehearsals, gig footage and intimate phone calls.

After "Frozen," Disney delivers a heart-melter. The sweet, witty main pairing focuses a potentially busy, derivative super-group tale. Stay for the sting: Big Hero 7 is practically a given.

Torn between mountains and karaoke bars, Tharlo looks as lost as his lamb: a parallel delicately developed in this warm, wise fable of uncertainty.

The music busts a gut straining for weepie affect, but you might shed a few yourself when the five-year battle reaches its jubilant, justified climax.

Between its genre know-how and furious anger, King’s biopic makes damn sure you feel the weight of Hampton’s loss – and the need for his legacy to be honoured.

Even now we know he’ll thrive post-Hogwarts, Radcliffe impresses as Arthur Kipps, the solicitor, widower and father with an invested interest in the afterlife.

Patient, non-judgemental docu-making yields psychologically rich results in Jesse Moss’s potent dispatch from recession-hit America.

Wheatley, Jump, Hiddleston and co occupy Ballard’s towering inferno with brazen style. If the plot wobbles precipitously, chalk it up to the high-rise ambition of a genuinely wayward Brit-film one-off.

Kijak finds poignancy behind the pomp as he builds to a fist-pumping finale.

With measure and muscle, Lawrences Jennifer and Francis nail the job of selling the long, twisting road towards revolution.

The greatest trick he pulls is making you think he’s not genuine: beneath befuddling, bracing digressions on Picasso, Howard Hughes, biography, confidence tricks, growing beards and “girl-watching” lies a searching interrogation of ideas of authorship.

Anderson visits fresh frontiers with a close encounter of the quirky kind, holding wit, whimsy and sly wisdom in supple balance.