A film that wields its simple premise with devastating impact.

Only the Animals remains a highly satisfying and gripping thriller that, like the best of them, finds the time to properly contemplate the depths of its dominoes as they are arranged before the capricious hand of chance gleefully knocks them down, one by one.

An ambitious, clever, and inventive psychogenic fugue, Censor is rough around the edges and shot on a shoestring, sure, however Bailey-Bond has compelling and vital comments to make on art, media consumption, politics, and society.

If for no other reason than its place in comedy history, Here Comes Mr. Jordan is interesting, if dispensable viewing.

Its lasting resonance and wider humanitarian message is diluted by a second half that drags it down.

Traversing the curiosities that we all yield at an adolescent age where discovering and understanding our bodies is a paramount experience, one cannot help applauding the director in depicting the taboo subject in such a pure fashion.

Tracing ambivalent pasts and ambiguous futures, Monsoon grows into a brooding portrait of immigrant displacement – one marked by a ceaseless yearning.

The ingredients of a quality film are all here. It just could have done with being a bit shorter and a bit snappier.

A funny and touching coming-of-age story that occasionally loses its way, just like its protagonist.

Nathan Grossman charts her rise in this perfectly enjoyable but ultimately unpersuasive and shallow documentary.

Even with admirable acting, and such a crowd-pleasing, inspirational story, Green Book essentially feels like civil-rights lip-service for a white audience, and given the background to the script, it’s a disappointing portrayal of historical systemic racism, whilst ignoring its continuation in modern-day America.

The fear of old age’s erosion of our faculties, our agency and our relevance is a potent, almost paralysing one: the way we perceive and treat our elders invariably reveals something about ourselves. In her charming and off-kilter documentary The Mole Agent, Chilean director Maite Alberdi confronts that fear literally through the eyes of her subject.

The Oscar-nominated Hedges is, as one would expect, superb in the title role, but performances across the board are excellent.

At its very best his Venus in Fur is a clever and often comical two-hander, with Amalric and Seigner both giving tour de force performances.

The In-Laws, while not quite a classic is a terrifically inventive and consistently funny comedy, with an oft-imitated but rarely matched star chemistry.

The key here is the perfectly-cast Wilson, constantly swimming against the current of her own harrowing memories, often telling more in a single glance than her sporadic utterances to her similarly-broken brother ever could.

Bad 25 is primarily a film about an album and not about a life; a tribute to the master craftsman and musical talent that was Jackson and not a penetrative investigation of the man who made the music.

An unnecessarily loud ending is an unwelcome jolt that will likely divide audiences down the middle, but Chronic is an otherwise unique character study of endearing depth.

Youth is as sentimental as it is accomplished, but Xiaogang's mastery both of broad sweep and intimate detail proves an impressive feat.

Serebrennikov...has a great eye for composition and crafting a set piece, but the meandering pace and loose approach to storytelling makes his second feature akin to an album front loaded with banging tunes and the rest is filler.

It won't be for everyone by any means, but Captain Underpants: The First Movie would be easy to overlook as another kids-only waste of money. But that's not the case. The film subverts this every step of the way and constantly turns in new, unexpected directions in order to surprise and entertain its audience from the start to the end.

Predestination bends genre like it bends time. Simply put, it's a character study filtered through a science fiction lens.

The master of cerebral action cinema is back, and whatever lessons were learnt about the triumph of the human spirit during the making of Dunkirk, they were swiftly forgotten for this new piece of filmic flimflammery.

It’s full of epic bombast, (he even claims that it is based on a true story) jolting you out of complacency with shock, colour and music.

Cult of Chucky is by and large a gory hoot, with Jennifer Tilly stealing every scene she’s in.

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

It's hokey as hell in parts, and the director sometimes shows an uncertainty in tone (resulting in some performances which are pitched a little too broadly) but those imperfections lend an endearing quality to the film.

Hard Times may not have grown in stature to the extent where it will be mentioned by fans in the same breath as the director’s more revered titles, but it’s certainly worth a punt and is an absolute must for Hill completists.

The editing, too, is rough around the edges, but it all adds to the sense of madness that pervades El Salvador – a sense that only grows the more intense the further that Boyle journeys into this Central American heart of darkness.

His scattershot approach means that the film frequently wanders off topic, in pursuit of a litany of social, economic and political injustices.

Doff, who acts as both writer and director, establishes an offbeat, ridiculous tone from the start that solidifies itself with visual humour and sharp dialogue that pay off in riches further down the line.

A mood piece first and foremost, Abbasi takes the intense feelings of early adolescence, and watches how tragedy transforms them.

It’s a mesmerising watch for fans of Cohen’s music, a fitting portrait sewn artfully together, and given a greater intimacy by dint of the fact Broomfield himself spent time in Hydra in his twenties and befriended Marianne whilst there. The only glaring absence is the lack of commentary from Cohen himself on their relationship.

The first forty minutes or so are – as you would expect – a harrowing recreation of the bombing and the crime.

Rooted in the mundane, but told with an imaginative vision, flair and real composure, The Pink Cloud announces Iuli Gerbase as a new creative talent and filmmaker to watch out for.

If you go out into the furthest reaches of Star Trek's filmography today, you're in for an unsettling discovery: the final frontier looks oddly familiar. It's brightly coloured eye-bait, Jim, exactly as we know it - outpacing your visual field in an attempt to convince you that something exciting is going on.

For a debut feature, it’s impressive and thoroughly committed to its vision of Hell on Earth. The atrocities, bleak tension and stomach-churning imagery are unstoppable, the director deeming them necessary for maximum impact.

Its spontaneity and uncertain evolution are both gripping and slightly terrifying given that what becomes a quest for truth could just as likely see its subjects killed or imprisoned as set free.

The Hunger Games looks poised to usher in a brand new hit franchise and deserves all the credit it gets for its confrontational subject matter, delicately-orchestrated fight sequences and sci-fi sensibilities. For teen audiences, films don't get much darker - or smarter - than this.

A charming, deadpan study of national identities, an idiosyncratic love letter to his home and an unvarnished tribute to life’s universal absurdities.

Sharing its name with a 1950 Joan Crawford film, The Damned Don’t Cry has thematic resonance with its namesake as a study of women’s vulnerability in a patriarchal society and the criminalising of marginalised lives.

Herzog doesn’t quite hit the mark here: Family Romance’s denouement is certainly moving but its depiction of Ishii’s emotional conflict is undercooked and perhaps even a little trite. Nevertheless, on a formal level, it’s a fascinating study of the artifice of the genre, a deconstruction of the comforting contract between artist and viewer that guides us towards a particular kind of emotional or intellectual engagement.

The film as a whole is neither scary nor particularly interested in the nature of its ‘monster’, though it is undoubtedly strange and often unsettling.

Holland’s film is particularly taken with that old image of the heroic journalist in a deceitful world.

No doubt many will find German’s approach pretentious and overly repetitive.

Scafaria is writing from personal experience and it shows in some of the understated but utterly credible scenes which illuminate the grieving process.

The vision of the black American experience might be grim, but it is never miserablist or despairing. The songs, the traditions, the love and the community are still there, even if the world seems to be undeniably on fire.

With The Homesman, Jones has produced an original and cantankerously offbeat western which becomes increasingly beguiling as the road stretches on.

Akin’s assured directing makes this a film that doesn’t put a foot wrong.

The performances are pitch perfect, particularly that of Marceau, who is superb in riding through the conflicts of the situation and the moments when the strong emotions riding over the niceties finally come to the fore.

Moland is telling a tale of paradise lost but Horses is perhaps less remarkable for its plot than it is for its style.

Thankfully, some typically rich voice-acting and a plethora of visual gags help to gloss over a number of uncharacteristic stumbles.

Black Mass is ultimately a decent film with some great parts, but unfortunately it falls short of the canon to which it aspires.

The Hateful Eight is easily Tarantino's most fantastic film in terms of its visuals, its period detail and its award-worthy score, but it suffers from the director's common pitfalls while lacking the verve that so often carries him through.

No matter what your allegiance, or feelings of antagonism toward the man for Fergie time and defeats doled out by championship-winning sides year after year, it’s impossible not to admire his dedication to the game he loves and the town that made him who he is.

The result is predictably crackpot and enigmatic.

This affectionate portrait in failure is more in the tone of Darren Aronofky's Venice winner The Wrestler, carried mainly by a brilliantly swollen performance by Schrieber, full of humour and bluff and yet with an intelligence to learn his lessons, slowly, but learn them.

The Childhood of a Leader is a dark, enigmatic piece of work that hovers between visionary greatness and petty domestic triviality. Corbet's inaugural stint behind the camera marks a stunning debut.

There are several commendable performances in Richard Jewell – Bates’ among them – that lift an otherwise stolid, workmanlike entry into the filmography of the 89-year-old Eastwood.

The main hook of The Long Riders is clearly in the casting, but this never feels gimmicky in a film that attempts to balance the pastoral and the brutal. It’s a noble ambition and one which works for the most part; there are occasions upon which it means a jarring switch of tone but largely the timbre remains consistently elegiac.

Even at ninety minutes Popstar feels too long. The funniest moments are the songs.

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.

Kore-eda has unquestionably added a new, intriguing angle to his meditation on family life in contemporary Japan.

Pieces may not be in the same league as the slasher classics but fans of the genre will find much to enjoy in this knowingly silly exercise in day-glo splatter.

Once again, it’s an unadulterated pleasure to watch Chan and his stunt team at work, jumping, contorting and throwing the human form around in ways that simply don’t seem possible.

A brutal, crackling and savage Hollywood satire Maps to the Stars knows exactly where it's going, carefully breaking every rule in the book. After carefully constructing his crystal kingdom, Cronenberg launches his stones with dark, mischievous joy.

Funny, exciting, and a little too long, Drunken Master is as charming as it is unbalanced, but its martial arts choreography remains unmatched.

Above all else John Wick is a lean, mean revenger to go with its ice-cold protagonist. It's not perfect, but you'll be hard pressed to find a more enjoyable action movie this year.

Mon Roi is one of the best films of the year and an impressively realistic depiction of the highs and lows of love.

Garrel’s The Innocent deftly mixes comic family melodrama with genre thrills in this pacy, emotive thriller with a killer cast.

The pacing of Meyers' film sometimes drags a little but like a slow-moving training heading for the end of the line we can see the danger ahead and are powerless to prevent it. This frustration, and a gripping central performance, make My Friend Dahmer a film you can't pull your eyes away from.

It will keep you guessing, thoroughly entertained and engaged for the best part of three hours.

Treading the fine line between truth and fiction, Kumiko is more than just a homage to the Cohen brothers.

While the premise of Rafiki is well-worn, the context of the film is not and Kahiu brings fresh zest to a familiar story which is told with spirit.

While The Five Devils doesn’t quite have the clarity of vision of her previous picture, its emotion, erotically-charged themes and puzzle-box structure leave much to recommend.

Ghost Stories is uncomfortably timely, reminding us the haunted past is always haunting the present.

Paradoxically, the wide-eyed awe produces a narrow vision, heavy on the photogenic, with modern life corralled onto a SIM card and loaded with a platitudinous inquisition.

The fraternity versus parents premise is a decidedly simple one, but the surprising amount of depth to the characters helps mine it for all its worth.

Crimes of the Future still has its strengths. Howard Shore’s score lends a tragic, almost stately emotional counterpoint to the steel of the wit.

Seidl is a filmmaker of both talent and merit, but the blatant manipulation of his subjects and the nakedness of his own intentions and dribbling fascination make In the Basement irrelevant as a comment on Austrian society as a whole, and only passingly interesting as an unsurprising picture of what some very odd people do in the privacy of their own homes.

A slow-burning drama about slavery in all its forms, this austere, visually striking film combines a harrowing period of Brazilian history with devastating accuracy of emotion.

In another director’s hands this might all have been a bit of a slog but there is a quiet humor and lightness of touch to Schanelec’s direction and a self-effacing irony to Aistrid’s rambling that saves it from pure maudlinism.

The President has an urgent relevance to all too many countries around the world, including those touched by the Arab Spring; a darkly comic and poignant portrait of an Ozymandian fall from grace and the subsequent damage that ensues.

As the credits roll on one of the most spectacular and unengaging films of the year, The Way of Water’s vision is as clear as mud. As Cameron has become more fascinated with the technology of storytelling, it seems he’s become less so by the actual storytelling.

William Golding’s tale of public schoolboys stranded on a desert island is an iconic depiction of fundamental savagery. More than fifty years on, Peter Brook’s 1963 Lord of the Flies remains the definitive film, its hallucinogenic brutality as terrifying as ever.

An imagined biography of a fictional pop star, the film is ambitious in its structure but only occasionally flickers into life.

Rife with the director's trademark stylistic preferences, this is a blast of an idiosyncratic comedy full of brilliant deadpan performances that offer a wickedly funny and poignant conclusion to the fable.

It's gorgeous, lush and fun, but there's an underlying silliness to the endeavour which, despite occasional archness, constantly threatens to trivialise events.

Boyle has made an admirable effort that captures the melancholy of being right back to where you started from. But it's not what it used to be - or what it could have been.

There’s nothing inherently problematic about reverence and homage, but the partial focus on the Strodes, and the ideas cased within regarding the bonds and abscissions violence brings, makes one wish more time was spent studying their multi-generational dynamic than on Michael’s murder spree.

Even if it does occasionally threaten to outstay its welcome with a 111-minute running time, the deeply engaging performances and that freeing and uninhibited Spanish flavour which Marques-Marcet brings to his English-language debut, means it’s the kind of world you really don’t mind lingering in.

The delight is in the audacity and surprise of the film.

The film ultimately ends up feeling like a shaggy dog story – a metaphor for Ted Kennedy, perhaps – engaging, charismatic, but ending with a whimper.

A Faithful Man may tip its hat to the conventions of film noir – Abel as the patsy, Marianne as the femme fatale – but Garrel’s winking sensibility is far too fun for real darkness. Instead, he gives us a wonderful soufflé of a film – light, airy, and a rare treat.

The true winning formula, however, is found in Voight and Roberts’ double-act. Their eccentric characters are funny, violent and heartwarming all at the same time, where we root for them despite the fact that they’re basically psychopaths.

The Circle is an undiscovered gem that constantly delights with its unshowy transference of an inherited blood debt that we finally are 'beginning' to honour.

While it can feel, at times, a little too scattered (often in terms of plot), this is a praiseworthy venture. Its a film that knows its audience well enough to give them exactly what they demand and deserve after more than a decade of dedication.

The choice soundtrack, accompanied by the candyfloss aesthetic make for moments of fun, but it ultimately lacks the originality of the first.