Trevor Johnston

This is another subtle jewel, wise and charming, insouciant yet measured, and somehow squaring the circle between the overwhelming sadness of lost time and the glint of eternity in a passing instant.

Too often here it’s the mouthy ones who get to hold court, which is to be expected, yet the Genoa sequence shows the dramatic dividends from a more focused approach.

It’s gripping in the moment, but with plenty to take away for afterwards. Genius really isn’t too strong a word.

Perhaps a little slacker than some of his previous outings, but Panahi’s commitment and courage shine through.

Fascinating in its balance between microcosm and aerial view, but the performances definitely raise more emotional heat.

With so many layers to unpack, this one stays with you.

There are a few moments of strain and not every gag is comedy gold, yet overall it certainly tickles the cross-generational funny bone and Shaun himself, irrepressibly naughty yet affectingly open-hearted, remains a fluffy icon for young and old alike.

There’s a cumulative emotional impact, generated by the fond recollections of everyone who loved him but couldn’t save him from what he was going through, and marked by the extent to which so many of them are willing to share precious private moments.

What’s remarkable about Hlynur Pálmason’s drama is the way its elemental settings lend everything an oneiric quality. Yet the scenes play out with a very real, visceral intensity, especially once Ingimundur uncovers an uncomfortable secret about his marriage and seeks an outlet for his anger.

It’s about the steps towards healing, challenging Western viewers to allow images of beauty and normalcy to play a part in that journey.

If you believe cinema’s job is to ask the questions rather than offer the answers, then this will usefully challenge you. A dirty fingernail stuck right into the open wound of our unspoken social anxieties.

An absorbing set of vignettes, though the third section definitely ups the emotional ante.

To be fair, the full impact probably depends on some prior Pasolini knowledge, but even those coming in fresh will appreciate a haunting portrait of an artist destroyed by the anticommunist prejudices he fought to tear down.

The slowest of slow burns, requiring adjusting to its careful pacing. There’s no instant gratification on offer, but the second half will draw you into its bristling power games.

The film has no easy answers, but it does strenuously challenge all sides of the argument. Which is exactly what you want from a great documentary.

Nighy gives another suave masterclass, and the whole thing positively burns with passionate advocacy for the artists, free-thinkers and social outsiders who’ve been the making of modern London.

Some accuse the filmmaker of being just like the politicians who turn up, look around and do nothing. It adds a confrontational edge to the film’s already startling combination of immersive aesthetics and humane empathy.

A pleasure and an education.

The painterly camerawork shows the sheer sophistication possible these days with digital technology. The only conventional note in a highly distinctive film touched with wry humour is the too-safe choice of a Mozart music cue.

All in all, ‘Madame Bovary’ is quite something, gradually building to a jawdropping final scene. Anyone with an interest in Chinese arthouse cinema really needs to see this.

A somewhat dour, slightly clenched viewing experience perhaps, but delivered with admirable insight, control, and nuanced subtlety by all concerned. It stays in the mind long afterwards.

The story is fictional, yet it builds up a chastening picture of divisive separate political and religious agendas holding sway over common humanity, and leading the country deeper into chaos. A striking, tough-minded achievement.

It’s an authentic celebration of the timeless delights of country bike rides and skimming stones. Absolutely lovely.

Yamada’s creative direction shows a filmmaker with a distinctive way of looking at the world, following in the footsteps of other maverick Japanese talents like Ozu, Kitano and Miyazaki. Yep, she’s that good.

Irreplaceable builds in intensity as we realise the profound humanity and community spirit embodied by everyday heroes like this. Beautifully done by a writer-director who clearly knows his stuff.

The extraordinary skill with which Shults’s camera prowls and probes the enclosed surroundings also channels Robert Altman in chamber-drama mode. Those are strong comparisons, but this unexpected and hugely impressive US indie debut is worthy of them.

It will drive some viewers up the wall, but fans will feel the rush of discovering a unique new director and, in Richard,a gawky yet captivating screen presence.

Against a backdrop of tensions between French and Flemish speakers, this is a forceful presentation of social divisions and the urgent need for change from within.