It can be sly as a fox one minute and as obvious as dynamite the next, but it’s never less than thrilling.

With Catching Fire, director Lawrence certainly isn't afraid to bide his time and build anticipation for the truly spectacular (and tropical-tinged) Quarter Quell, patiently reestablishing crucial relationships for maximum dramatic pay-off.

When everything comes full circle, Marguerite is an enjoyable comedy with hints of dark satire and tangy melodrama.

The Tales of Hoffmann has aged beautifully and reminds us of why we go to the movies in the first place: to move through the screen and find yourself happily transported to another world.

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

The truth is that The Truth is an above-average French comedy and Kore-eda has succeeded in a finely wrought act of ventriloquism and diva worship. But the Japanese director’s fans can be forgiven for thinking above average is not good enough for such an accomplished filmmaker.

Pearl is notable as a pandemic film, situating itself in the middle of the Spanish flu outbreak, though much like its engagement with sex, violence and entertainment, and its treatment of women, the film sets the table for a discussion but doesn’t quite make a full meal of it.

Paris, 13th District is a paean to the freedoms, the heartaches and the confusion of singledom.

While Sirk didn’t believe it to be his greatest work, it’s perhaps best-known for being his most personal, ambitious and starkly cynical film; far removed from the more distinguishable, Technicolor-infused melodramas of that peppered his career.

A solid, stark, cheerless rendering of hard-boiled storytelling. It’s historical filmmaking at its most candid and its most pragmatic.

The US-born, Kenyan-raised director’s feature-length debut is told with honesty, determination and grace.

A searing indictment of religious fundamentalism and anti-intellectualism. Inherit the Wind’s relevance continues beyond its immediate parallels with McCarthyism.

Mistress America is, despite it's wobbles and preference for humour over depth, a delightful diversion from Baumbach's typically weighty output and a star-show for the pair of performers at its centre.

Border is a piece of modern gothic, a far out midnight movie which delivers on the WTF-ery while maintaining a surprisingly big and generous heart.

This is a film about the ordinariness of love.

With Frank, Abrahamson cultivates a mystical hour of prog-based shenanigans before he - and his film - begin to lose their collective heads in a muddled final third.

The Kindergarten Teacher evokes sadness and horror in equal measure, but not always a great deal of understanding.

In many ways, Down by Law feels like the quintessential Jarmusch. It's a perfect distillation of that strange whimsy and resolutely deadpan humour - harvested via the director's life-long passion for world cinema.

This Is Congo is an angry film, yet one which is never blinded by its anger. McCabe offers no solutions – the UN Peacekeeping Force are rounded on at one point by furious locals – and no grounds for optimism. Yet even in its attempts to understand and to communicate that understanding, there is a defiance against the easy fallback of despair.

The Punk Singer is a rewarding and positive experience. Anderson delivers a fascinating account of the grunge era and an influential story of a role model who has the guts and spunk to hopefully inspire a whole new generation of Riot Grrls and Boys.

Makes for a generally powerful statement on human misery and grotesque inequality, though some third act creative decisions and maneuvers cause a wobble or two.

Albert Serra’s latest is a hazy fever dream of post colonialist politics and ambition that in its final minutes lurches into apocalyptic mania.

In a way, Michael is an audience surrogate, informing our own understanding of her; his – and the film’s – refusal to pin Stokes down as either a genius or crank (as if they are binary) speaks to her own project’s attempt to capture the totality of a thing and the noble futility in such an endeavour.

The real marvel of this biopic is how well it captures the stoic resolve of two men who come to realise, perhaps long after their own audience, that life has joined them together for better and for worse.

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.

Most powerful of all is Gulpilil's performance. His presence at the centre of the film is one of anger, humour and ultimately resilience.

Largely uninterested in the humanity of its characters, too often Sigurðsson is content to skewer his subjects without trying to understand them.

A flawed film to be sure, but one with flashes of inspiration, occasionally stunning visuals and a Shakespearean sense of claustrophobia.

Notes on Blindness raises fascinating questions about our reliance on visual memory aids and the amount to which we truly experience the world around us.

Zombi Child is a stirring and highly peculiar piece of work.

Dark Horse is a relentlessly pleasing film that has all the satisfying hallmarks of a Rocky-like underdog tale with the added value of being true. While one suspects a feel-good studio adaptation won't be far off, the real story is a worthwhile bet.

Notturno is a snapshot – in a patchwork of disparate vignettes – that captures the effects of trauma inflicted on and hardships lived by the civilian population.

This is a compelling and rich documentary that captivates and inspires in a similar fashion to some of his best work behind the camera.

The Son of Joseph is nothing short of marvelous. A modernised tale of literal Biblical proportions that will make viewers reconsider what defines paternity, family, and their place in the world. But don't worry: that's a good thing.

Félicité is an emotionally effective heart-tugger, thanks largely to Véro Tshanda Beya's dignified lead performance.

Godard is not willing to sit back in his dotage but strives to push at the boundaries of the medium, resulting in this rich, witty and thoroughly baffling provocation. Less of a narrative or a thesis than an esoteric patchwork visual essay condemning our fallen society, it's intent on being as abrasive as possible in almost every way.

The movie is a gas. It moves with, well, dispatch, clattering along in its own eccentric way.

Martin’s film is a thoroughly sobering watch and leaves us with tough questions about how the West chose to deal – or rather not deal – with Assad and the refugee crisis.

Benedetta has its cake and eats it, with gratuitous nudity and violence offered up to the audience as a base feast for the eyes. Yet in this indulgence, Benedetta eschews simplistic moralising in favour of a complex vision of female sexuality that is as problematic as it is compelling.

Pleasure is not a morally proscriptive film and seeks neither to venerate nor condemn pornography, but to depict its hollowing effect on those who make it. The film’s title is not accidental; at a time when porn is freely and ubiquitously available, the price of gratification may be cheap, but there is always a cost to be paid.

Gere does a fantastic job of embodying this broken man... It's an incredibly moving performance that lends Time Out of Mind emotional weight and anchors this contemplation of a man adrift in a world that doesn't appear to care.

The humour is as gentle as the girls are and, without sharp edges, the film occasionally veers towards schmaltz, but Kore-eda's deft touch and his eye for a subtle yet precise detail keeps the world grounded and consistently interesting, funny and at times moving.

This is a rich portrait of not only Mapplethorpe, but also the history of the New York art world in the latter half of the 20th century.

Danish singer and actress Trine Dyrholm plays the diva with verve and energy, in a portrait which is also something of a reevaluation.

It is the physical, dogged determination of both mind and body that defines Il Mio Corpo.

A Chiara is arguably Carpignano’s most accomplished work to date, pressing ever further into the interior psychologies of his characters.

Dean doubles as cinematographer and his ability to unobtrusively capture moments of village life is matched for an eye for the natural beauty the tribe lives amidst. But it's a beauty which never drowns the film. There's also room for jokes and gossip, nastiness and fun.

This is a sequel that advances on its predecessor in a way that's incredibly satisfying - and not only for the body count and beautifully constructed action scenes it delivers.

With some subtle commentary on class, as well as gender politics, The Escape is an impressive portrayal of existential angst and the disintegration of self, and Arterton’s performance is breathtaking.

With wit, grace and a sincere affection for the town of his birth, the writer-director explores the people and stories that populated his childhood.

Civil War, though imperfect, is a biting, satirical blockbuster that is as much about the alienation of modern media as it is about imagining a second American Civil War.

This is vital filmmaking; Blindspotting is undoubtedly part of a new moment in American cinema and is a fierce, complex satire in it own right.

Heineman himself has said he feels an “enormous kinship” with Colvin’s commitment to revealing the human cost of conflict. And that, despite all her personal flaws, is what makes Colvin’s story so profoundly moving.

Perhaps the greatest shock is how decent the boys turn out to be. They're sincere, articulate, yet self-aware: they have been shaped, not ruined, by their experience.

Ginghină makes for a wonderfully eccentric subject, and the ardour with which he elucidates the intricacies of his project to Porumboiu is both hilarious and tragic.

The topic of who can participate in the arts often ignores society’s racial prejudices and class assumptions, thankfully The Plagiarists’ perfectly judged mimicry of independent cinema illustrates the profound effect a lack of diversity has on the type of art that gets made.

The film’s strongest element and most necessary comes with Luca Marinelli’s performance.

There's a certain bloatedness to much of the first half, while the film in general lacks the balance of humour to hard-hitting found in Shane Black's superb Iron Man 3 and/or Whedon's two Avengers outings.

Nina Forever is a brilliant, intelligent and emotionally rewarding debut feature.

Films such as the exquisite Funny Face, where all the ingredients came together in picture perfect composition, allows us to share, even if only briefly, in this land of fantasy and make-believe.

Diana Kennedy: Nothing Fancy is an affectionate and reverential look at a remarkable figure and a testament to her achievements within the Mexican culinary landscape.

MacDonald’s Whitney is compellingly told with compassion and style, showing just how great a gift Houston was blessed with, but also the demons that pursued her all her life to its tragic end.

Impressive for the most part without being awe-inspiring, the film's two timelines converge in a much more satisfying and thrilling ways towards the end, where the emotional stakes are considerably upped.

Land of Mine serves as a poignant reminder that revenge destroys more than it satisfies and that compassion aids the healing process.

It's as if the writers have set out with the most basic plot imaginable, hoping to cover the cracks with distractions and colourful set pieces. It works, but the lack of depth and emotional heart is noticeable when the film hits some of its less than spectacular moments.

Greene seeks a deeper truth amidst the fragments of arch drama and investigatory reportage; artifice and reality bleed into one another with ease, the transitions smoothed by Sean Price Williams' photography.

For all of the perfection of the period-detail browns and greys, Afterimage could have done with a touch more colour.

Elevating silliness to the level of profundity, House doesn’t so much serve its swirling madness to you as it dunks your head into a cauldron full of it.

Schumer is a gifted comedienne and shines brightly when left to run riot, make former wrestlers cry and stick up for modern-day women (for most of the time). It's just a shame it doesn't stick to its guns as it could have really been something.

Swinton's intoxicating lead turn and Potter's aesthetic eye make up for the majority of the film's failings and flaws.

Respect and admiration for her work and carefree nature is in plentiful supply but this is not an exclusively glowing retrospective.

Fiennes doesn’t do anything radical in her handling of the footage or the approach, but with a subject like Grace Jones a simple approach is still spellbinding.

A lovingly crafted and well observed story about adolescent self discovery – and to this day remains one of the most remarkable films produced by Studio Ghibli.

Okja is exuberant and wild filmmaking.

This is political cinema at its best; intelligent, thought-provoking and utterly absorbing. Bakri is a star in the making and delivers an electrifying performance.

Behind the visuals rests an absorbing performance from James Wilby as the titular character.

Among all the violence, body horror and Giger-esque sexuality, Titane’s most surprising quality is its tenderness.

It’s often very amusing, sometime surreal, and the script is chock-full of some wonderful zingers, delivered with razor-sharp timing by the magnificent Stephens.

By the third act all the stone-stepping plot points that get us from set-piece A to set-piece B start to wear thin.

Once seen, Aldrich’s What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? is hard to forget, as it charts the sad path of many a former child star to the backwaters of the Hollywood hills.

Dancing in Jaffa is a wonderfully insightful documentary that explores a side of geopolitical tensions in a completely new light. Like Dulaine's teachings, the feeling of hope, the promise of light at the end of the tunnel, never diminishes.

The acting throughout is superb, with Swinton sitting back and watching with obvious pleasure as Fiennes gnaws up the scenery and beach furniture with genuine vim. Schoenaerts once again proves himself a charismatic and compelling actor alongside the excellent Johnson.

Berg's Little Girl Blue inevitably concentrates on the tragic parabola of the life without fully getting to the heart of the art.

Southside with You doesn't leave a lasting impact because it plays all elements altogether too safe.

The tributes paid to Yauch throughout by both Horovitz and Diamond are genuinely touching, and it’s here that Beastie Boys Story breaks through its inherent – often distracting – staginess. While there is still a definitive, impartial Beastie Boys film in the offing, devout fans should be more than satisfied by this nostalgic oddity.

The Measure of a Man is solid social document that offers insight into quiet lives lived by those who don't give in - despite every good reason - to desperation.

You may have casually leafed through one of the photographer's books in the past, or even visited a gallery of this work, but this documentary is a must-see for anyone who has ever expressed an interest in this fascinating figure (and for those keen to witness what life is like on the other side of the lens).

So many thematic and tonal elements of Weerasethakul's later, more celebrated films, are evident in Mysterious Object at Noon that it would be easy to consider as a formative exercise alone, but even as he began to explore these fertile soils, he was creating a work of captivating and arresting beauty.

Inviting mystery, ambiguity, and a pervasive sense of unease, Ghost Town Anthology is an entrancing yet unsettling allegory that builds like the pressure of an approaching storm that never quite arrives.

Blending and bending genres to highlight the elusiveness of the truth, Green's avant-garde documentary presents the audience with a wealth of interviewees, each giving their own account of how the murder was reported.

Bones and All, like the best horror movies, finds poetry in the frightening, in the transgressive, in the perverse. It mines light from darkness and transforms it before our eyes into something universal, shining and true, no matter how ephemeral.

Grander in scope than any of Villeneuve’s work yet, Dune is proper, ambitious blockbuster filmmaking for grown-ups.

A Woman's Life is a modest chamber piece, a series of sketches revealing a life of quiet desperation, which eschews melodrama and, for the most part, platitudes but exhibits great tenderness and sensitivity.

Labyrinth of the Turtles is a charming and occasionally moving love letter to the legendary Spanish-Mexican surrealist, and at a spry 80 minutes, doesn’t outstay its welcome.

What elevates Armageddon Time to something more than a piece of indulgent navel gazing is the way that Paul’s coming-of-age is reflected in the national story which closes a chapter on Jimmy Carter to turn a new page into Reaganite 1980s selfishness, reactionary politics and feral capitalism.

While it is hard to imagine its themes of gender fluidity and female empowerment not resonating with contemporary audiences, Wash and his fellow screenwriters make these parallels irritatingly obvious, to the extent that characters constantly say and do things that feel implausibly millennial, and caricatures (especially male ones) abound.

It’s difficult given the premise of the film not to come out of The Workshop thinking of alternative directions the story could have gone in.

Disobedience’s third-act narrative inertia does little to dampen its tonal sobriety and quietly powerful compositions. While nuance may be lacking, it makes up in tone and directorial precision.