The Wakhan Front's script is finely-balanced, allowing the possibly supernatural to slowly impinge without resorting to genre clichés.

It is told with characteristic precision, compassion and determination by its prolific director.

Its woozy oddity does linger and the process of falling in and out of love may well feel like drowning. But as we come up for air in closing it must be said that the best is surely yet to come from this excellent leading pair and gifted director after this latest underwater outing.

Far From Home nails its characters, chemistry and sense of humour, while fumbling the action and visuals.

The humour is scant and there's no real risk of peril (Grant George's nephew and his dastardly plans seem more psychopathic than threatening). Yet when you have a film that's colourful, easy on the eye and full of positive messages about friendship and trust, then kids will be happy.

For Herzog it is people that matter and he's just as fascinated by Elon Musk's gazing at the stars as those battering their keyboards or avoiding them altogether.

Schipper's script doesn't quite complement his technical prowess and once you peer behind the smoke and mirrors of the film's one-take gimmick the criminal-underworld lurking behind it feels trite and contrived.... Yet none of this can take away from its pure entertainment factor. An experience akin to a burst of pure adrenaline intravenously introduced to your bloodstream, Victoria remains one helluva ride.

The thoughtfulness of Plummer's performance is not matched by a script that forgets human logic in favour of narrative tricksiness that ultimately undermines the initially intriguing premise.

There's something deeply unsettling about the unstoppable, magma-like flow of Werner Herzog's Into the Inferno.

Sure, Detective Pikachu is messy and predictable, but the fact that director Rob Letterman and his team embrace the inherent absurdity of the Pokémon franchise as a whole means it’s a hoot.

Beyond its gender-swapped lead role, Peter von Kant never truly ventures into new territory and so never quite justifies its own existence.

With Yves Saint Laurent, Lespert has played it safe but stylish, and pulls it off thanks to some canny casting choices and a refreshing focus on mainstream appeal.

With little action taking place for the majority of the film, this slow boiling story is more of an insightful character study than a heart pounding thriller.

The film is often remarkable, gorgeous even - many of the shots in Youth would make excellent closing shots, including the opening shot - and funny. It's a work of wonderful moments, but it's less than momentous and, significantly, you'll never believe a single word of it. This is a pity as the performances are excellent.

As fuzzy and reassuring as a multi-coloured Pringle sweater-vest, The Phantom of the Open is a good, old-fashioned crowd-pleaser.

Effective in articulating how relationships work as a way of transferring and understanding the unspoken and unseen feelings that lay dormant within us all, Netzer's intelligent portrait of a ticking time-bomb relationship sadly lacks the warmth and tenderness required for it ever to ignite.

It has its moments, but the film is guilty of being fun but forgettable, much like those numerous spy stories cooked up on typewriters in the quiet hours of night and then lost to history when the guns fell silent.

Paul Verhoeven’s first English language film Flesh + Blood is bloody, cynical and unrefined, but indicative of his later satirical tendencies.

There are moments of real wonder and delight and Quentin Blake's original illustrations are occasionally glimpsed in the set ups. This isn't an epic of visual wizardry and there's zero irony or clever wit. Rather, Spielberg's latest is an old-fashioned children's tale told simply and with plenty of heart.

Arguably, this is the Iranian’s most mainstream film to date, and lacks the subtlety of his early work, yet he still shows he has the ability to deliver devastating blows that leave you stunned. While not on top form, Faradhi demonstrates he is still a master craftsman, albeit in a more conventional mould.

Everything looks beautiful: sand the colour of peach fluff and skies, a cyan blue.

This biopic is a well-mounted and handsomely shot study of men obsessed by their work, but never fully hits top gear.

At 100 minutes, the film runs dangerously close to outstaying its welcome, but like its subject matter, Diaz's Don't Stop Believin': Everyman's Journey is both amiable and appealing.

The Seasons in Quincy is most compelling when we and it listens to Berger or captures him listening to someone else.

As an audience, you're infected with the languor Abby suffers, realising that as pretty as Concussion looks and with such an interesting premise behind it, beneath the surface there is precious little to really sink your teeth into.

A compelling re-telling of the singer's story.

The components are all here for a compelling psychological drama, led by two excellent performances, but a conflation between narrative obfuscation with thematic depth undermines Esme, My Love’s final emotional impact.

With quite a simple plot, it’s not a particularly challenging or unpredictable storyline, but it’s elevated by great performances, refreshingly dry humour, bold cinematography by Stefan Duscio, and a vibrant original score by François Tétaz.