Crimson Peak is locked in by a somnambulist, formulaic vibe and comes off as contented to go through Gothic 101 motions without recourse to reinvention or refreshing vigour.

Ixcanul may struggle to tackle the larger issue it posits but well represents the lives and rituals of the marginalised community it seeks to give a voice.

Although not quite the bounty of its title, The Treasure rewards the patient viewer with a quietly enchanting drama.

For all its storytelling shortcomings, The Walk is a must-see for its perilous, vertiginous, sweaty-palmed finale and its reminder that the Twin Towers can be remembered for much more than 9/11.

Whatever you take from Hitchcock/Truffaut one thing is for sure: you'll be reaching for a copy of the book and a box set of thrillers at your earliest convenience.

Its aspirations to high-end production values and the inventive use of urban cityscapes filmed from carefully selected futuristic angles are all very well, but it could have done with something a little looser, more punk, more grimy, more stoned.

By utilising a Herzogian blend of existentialist narration with the addition of numerous well-structured interviews (both academic and candid), Guzmán opens up the floor - and skies - to a frank and painfully honest discourse on Chile's past, present and future.

Inhabiting the space between fact and fiction, where repressed memories often seek refuge, The Pearl Button weaves a fascinating, yet traumatic route through Chile's recent history.

If Northern Soul loses its way a little as the duo's friendship starts to unravel, with Constantine working in some unwelcome and unnecessary melodrama, this is a minor blip in what is an otherwise joyous and air-punching affair.

Jason Lei Howden's directorial debut is primed for unalloyed genre thrills, making you laugh until your sides hurt and subverting the rom-zom-com format.

The Whispering Star may not be Sono at his most assertive - it certainly suffers in its middle section from the lack of thrust - but its imbued with tremendous resonance.

Through this absorbing, sometimes disturbing documentary, Spender reveals much about Italy's underworld, as well as the people's passion for spectacle, their machismo, pride and their rivalry.

All of this is intoned with such a humourless sense of self-importance that anyone who genuinely loves their music (such as this reviewer who [full disclosure] would rate Funeral and Neon Bible as two of the best albums of recent years) finds themselves alternately stuffing their fingers in their ears or, when it gets too excruciating, their elbows.

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.

An earnest, forensic examination into the slaying of the Israeli Prime Minister.

Asbæk is towering as Claus, never less than believable as the leader of his platoon, and standout as he comes to terms with the cracks in his own story.

Although the narrative risks becoming arbitrarily episodic towards the end, Neon Bull is a genuine celebration of its characters and their grounded physical life as well as their obstinate ability to dream.

While there is hardship and anguish, Davies' deliberate and treatment of the source material ultimately lessens the dramatic impact even while it retains its splendour.

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

The visuals are undeniably impressive at times, as Henry parkours around the city or during a particularly tense shoot-out, but they also struggle with inevitable motion sickness of the frenetic handheld camerawork.

Francofonia is a chatty and occasionally brilliant rumination on art, history and death.

The Forbidden Room (2015) is Maddin's aesthetic nearing critical mass, a whimsical, genre-spanning opus that demonstrates the totality of his enigmatic style.

There is something of Scorsese to this rise and fall of a criminal family and Trapero crams The Clan with life.

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.

With Blood of My Blood, Bellochio has made a film about how resilient evil, corruption and human stupidity really are.

A clever, daring and unusual piece of cinema which fans of thinking outside the box will appreciate.

To suggest that One Floor Below operates at a simmer would be to exaggerate the level of heat being applied to the pot. This is one that Muntean is happy to let bubble intermittently, cranking the tension around on a scarcely-moving winch.

There are undoubtedly kinks to iron out - the film has a particular problem with pacing during a section that requires careful handling - but this is a handsome and assured feature and certainly suggests a bright future behind the camera for Portman, who also stars.