Simon Kinnear

While sympathetic to their plight, the directors prove alert to the story’s wider impact, speaking to proud parents and outraged opponents alike.

What distinguishes My Brother The Devil is El Hosaini’s maturity in avoiding faux-doc grittiness, political grandstanding or flashy glorification in favour of an intimate, closely observed character piece.

This muted procedural promises more than it can deliver.

With the characters rarely verbalising their attraction, Ribeiro impresses by conveying Leonardo’s awakening through elegant long takes and the actors’ endearing chemistry.

Astonishing macro-photography captures the bees in all their surreal beauty, presenting a tribute to nature’s “messenger of love” and a warning of what might be lost.

The resulting puff-piece is a warning to crusading filmmakers about what happens after they’ve beaten the system.

With its monochrome stylings and a plot laced with ennui, it might be the most French film ever made, but there’s no denying Garrel’s craft.

Conceived on an unprecedented scale in ambition and technique, Otomo’s rich visuals and awe-inspiring action depict a post-apocalyptic dystopia where the threat of feral biker gangs is dwarfed by the rise of an uncontrollable psychic.

Mixing candid talking heads with scarcely believable video footage, Miller’s taut narrative shifts gears (black comedy, thriller, even a love story), but is mostly driven by outrage at the powers that be.

The thematic weight drags down the tension, yet just when it seems Janiak has forgotten the scares she pulls off a creepy finale.

It’s unashamedly broad, sentimental and clichéd, but Cox anchors proceedings with wit and tenderness, while Smith (who can act and shoot at the same time) adds wonder.

The Dardenne brothers deliver a perceptive portrait of professional integrity under pressure.

The cumulative effect offers a tender tribute to the resilience of his subjects’ spirits against the thrum of traffic.

As Scrooge, Michael Caine rises to the challenge and helps find the pathos beneath the puppetry.

The vagueness won't win Dumont new fans, but his enigmatic allegory of intertwined good and evil does linger in the mind.

Shame that the plotting favours narrative intrigue over character depth, creating a film whose message is witnessed rather than felt.

Undeniably beautiful, oddly moving... and quickly tiresome.

The Raid star remains an electrifying, inventive fighter, even fending off a machete-wielding foe while handcuffed to a table.

Philippe Le Guay’s comedy promises an intellectual satire on how actors mirror their characters. Yet it’s compromised by indulgent pacing and ill-advised slapstick – leaving a cosy, middlebrow showcase for its stars to practise theatrical verse and fall off their bikes.

This portrait of an alienated culture funnelling its rage into gun violence is itself too cold and distant to connect.

It’s more of a table wine – inoffensive, middlebrow and, like the scenes of grape harvesting here, hard work.

Director Erik Poppe’s worthy intentions are nearly undone by an undisciplined screenplay. Still, he marshals two strong performances.

The film’s cryptic style obscures insight; just as the condition provides a scapegoat for neglecting Abby’s motives, so it prevents Passon from developing a sustained dramatic network. Satisfaction is fleeting.

Im Sang-Soo’s exposé of a Seoul family corporation is stymied by a humourless regurgitation of observations about power, corruption and lies.

Haggis struggles to make his presence felt over ludicrous thrills, but Crowe is superb and the entertainment factor high.

Barker’s approach starts simplistic but gathers in complexity, insight and moral force with each story.

A classy, actorly affair, whose emphasis on bittersweet character drama over class satire is both its most striking feature and biggest missed opportunity.

It’s too raw and difficult for one target audience, but the erratic tone might leave sick puppies equally nonplussed. Gunn’s jibes at Bible-bashers and gun-nuts are as blunt as Frank’s attacks, and the clash of kooky comedy and violence is as awkward as it is ugly.