Sea Fever proves better in concept than in execution, let down by a second act of fumbled editing and slackened tension.

A visceral, Atwoodian journey, The Other Lamb is as much an examination of narcissism and the existing structures of gendered power as it is of the limits of faith.

System Crasher is the outstanding feature film debut of German director Nora Fingscheidt. A tremendous slice of life filled with light and energy, which doesn’t shy away from the tough realities of what social care is like for children with severe developmental issues.

Astronaut is a sweet film that could have done with more fire under its belly earlier on.

Fire Will Come is of an enigmatic and poetic cinema, borne of fierce, barely-contained vision.

Sadly, Radioactive is as lifeless and inert as a rock, badly let down by a dismal script, and carrying all the half-life of an unfinished fish dinner.

It’s open to debate whether this claustrophobic little parable means something. It’s devilishly clever but there’s a suspicion that this is beautiful calligraphy without words. And yet with the added circumstance of self-isolation, quarantine and quiet four-walled despair, Vivarium will undoubtedly resonate.

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

A work of astonishing aesthetic beauty, made up of static compositions and use of chiaroscuro that recalls the Dutch masters.

Timothy Greenfield-Sanders’ timely documentary on the Nobel Prize-winning novelist is a persuasive argument for rereading Morrison if you’ve already read her works – and if you haven’t, an imperative to get to it.

Not since Jane Campion’s The Piano has a costume drama presented such a gorgeous view of love from a woman’s point of view.

By situating the film in the context of domestic abuse, Whannel avoids cliché by evoking the way that distressed women are routinely treated as irrational and disreputable – a theme carried through to the film’s inspired conclusion.

An acutely observed and frequently heartbreaking documentary.

Conceived as a biting commentary on inequality, sweatshop labour and…well, greed, the film lacks fluency and laughs, rarely managing to lands its many upward punches.

Compared to the sophisticated and nuanced horrors of Black Mirror, Little Joe feels like a fairly straightforward riff on a very familiar idea.

This version of Emma. is unlikely to win any accolades for invention. Indeed the 1996 film Clueless arguably remains the most exciting version of Austen’s novel. Nevertheless, de Wilde’s version is a confident and lively translation of Austen’s wit on to the screen.

One of Birds of Prey’s great pleasures is that it tells a Gotham story without having to tell the Gotham story: the adventures of Harley Quinn and associates are not at the centre of some grand narrative, and they are all the better for it.

A masterful dissection of social inequality and the psychology of money.

Queen & Slim is consciously political – powerfully so – but it is simple human survival that drives the two protagonists.

Eggers has created a film of disturbing horror, absurdist comedy and probing psychodrama which defies the generic boundaries as it breaks through them. The Lighthouse is a saltwater gothic masterpiece.

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.

To the Ends of the Earth is a light, airy and fun journey with flashes of poetry.

Despite its slightly televisual veneer and sporadic bouts of mawkishness, as far as British costume dramas go, The Personal History of David Copperfield is better than the majority.

Composed entirely of found footage and presented in black and white to lend visual consistency, the film raises important questions about the politics of viewership, the documentary form’s complex ties to reality and about human relationships in a digitally connected world.

Hers delivers a hard lesson about the healing power of love and acceptance with simple and unsentimental eloquence.

Uncut Gems is not only one of the tightest, tensest American thrillers of recent years but also a fine addition to the New York-set movie canon.

Director Ben Mullinkosson noted the cinematic potential of the volatile dynamic between his two cousins and, in Don’t Be A Dick About It, renders it lovingly to create a charming and often hilarious documentary-comedy hybrid.

Throughout Long Day’s Journey into Night, there is reference to a spell which makes a house spin, and in many ways, the technical accomplishment (cinematographer David Chizallet) of the second half puts the viewer under a spell of joy: this smooth-flowing dreaminess combined with the mystery of the first half makes for a sensuous, visually stunning, eerie tale, and it is compelling viewing.