Trevor Johnston

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

The largely non-professional cast are as authentic as the craggy, unforgiving surroundings, and the way the film balances the simplicity of its central rite of passage with a broader outlook on a people caught in the shifting sands of time is a tribute to the filmmakers’ clarity of vision. A truly memorable first feature.

Occasionally baggy, always sincere, this is an essential document of a defining era when ‘soul’ really meant something.

It's a strikingly controlled, confident, bitingly effective display, which leaves you wondering where this film has been all our lives.

Ozu's first film in colour, and he uses it sparingly. Subdued dress sense and domestic interiors are set against splashes of significant red (look out for the kettle!), representing the amaryllis which blooms around the autumn equinox - the perfect image for a film about transition.

His film is the product of tough-love, arresting, unexpected and worth your time.

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

Its encouragement to let ourselves be captivated by everyday humanity as well as the old masters is both richly illuminating and quirkily endearing. Time well spent.

Hyena is startling, claustrophobic and penetrating in its analysis of the blurred lines involved in doing good.

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.

Lau’s astute performance is rather like the film as a whole – at first you think it’s underdone, but it’s actually cannily judged to favour genuine feeling over pushy sentimentality.

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.

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.

There’s much to ponder in a brave, defiantly idiosyncratic film that’s as mesmerising as it is unexpected.

First-time director Sophie Hyde’s mazy, impulsive but sympathetic approach is always true to her characters’ exasperating but ultimately affecting pathway towards hard-earned self knowledge.

Hard to Be a God is an endurance test for its protagonist and audience, yet the reward is an unforgettable cinematic experience and a timely insight into the need to remain human in a world of carnage.

Don’t be put off by the jock-ish ‘extreme sports’ subject matter, this is an insightful, deeply affecting journey of emotional discovery beyond the thrill of speed and the roar of the crowd.

The cliché-averse will doubtless resist, but the laughter and tears here are never less than fully earned. A lovely film.

A leisurely, wise and ultimately affecting meditation on the benefits of letting go.

The effect is talismanic: overlaid by a thoughtful voiceover, it invites the audience to share the pain in a cathartic act of imaginative reclamation.

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.

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.