In essence, Dark Star has what all great comedy has: a sense of desperation and pathos allied to an abiding humanity which elevates it high above the realm of mere spoof.

Heartfelt and heart-breaking, this feels like Spielberg has made an adaptation faithful to its roots but also, always, alive to the modern world.

Beautifully crafted, sinister, frightening, erotic and thought-provoking, Alain Guiraudie’s multi-faceted Cannes triumph is already one of the most provocative, intriguing films of the year.

Life-affirming and often laugh-out-loud funny, this is feel-good movie-making par excellence.

A medieval-on-your-ass laff-riot.

For a change, we're in a privileged position, always knowing more than the characters we're following, understanding their wrong-headed thought processes, appreciating the ironies they miss, seeing where a slightly different bit of behaviour would have saved lives or led to happier endings.

The fun and fear, the silliness and heartbreak, are taken to vivid extremes by Walt's entwining of high art and what snobs will always deride as Disney-kitsch.

Jarecki's film brilliantly illustrates the fallibility of memory, the slippery nature of 'facts' and even people's invention of events that may never have taken place.

Stunning cast and scenery cannot fill the hole where the heart of this film should be. A satire with an unnaturally soft centre.

Ethical screed aside, what does A Clockwork Orange have to offer beyond its curiosity value and a crash course in humanism? Well, for a start there's Kubrick's dazzling visual style which, rather in the manner that Trainspotting did 25 years later, translates the substance of an "unfilmable" book into the language of cinema. And at the dramatic core of the film is a simply astonishing performance by Malcolm MacDowell as Alex. It also features an orgy sequence that would have had Von Stroheim laughing his jackboots off — you'll certainly never listen to the William Tell Overture in quite the same way again. And as for Singin' In The Rain...

A terrific, sophisticated comedy that tackles serious issues with a lightness of touch and a spirit of steel, Philomena is the British film to beat come BAFTA time.

Perhaps without the shock and suspense of subsequent work, this is nevertheless another undoubted masterpiece from the atmospheric film maker, and just as essential.

A remarkably assured directorial debut from Bradley Cooper who turns in a career-defining performance opposite a promising Lady Gaga. A remake that captures the tone and spirit of prior films, A Star Is Born still blazes its own heartfelt, authentic path.

Short Term 12 is a miracle of a movie. Beautifully written and perfectly played, all of human life is here: the good, the bad, the messy and the uplifting.

War is hell, and Warfare refuses to shy away from it. Free of the operatics of most supposed anti-war films, it’s all the more effective for its simplicity. It is respectfully gruelling.

A truthful, tender masterpiece about how coming of age has no age-limit — love, for others and for ourselves, is what makes every risk and loss worthwhile. Rarely has a story like this been told as beautifully.

Dog-lovers, in particular, will go ga-ga for this, but this remarkably fresh and funny period tale (set in England, fact fans) has all the ebullience and lovability of its titular characters.

Admirably low-key, deeply compelling and their warmest movie since Fargo.

Bolstered by Lee’s trenchant, intimate direction, Byrne reframes a peerless setlist of songs as a testament to hope and humanity that implores himself and his audience to keep going. A much-needed source of comfort and joy.

A rivetingly weird and exceptionally beautiful fantasy film that offers no easy answers but ponders the biggest questions — through myths, mysticism, and men in crisis. This is major stuff from David Lowery.

For all the flying fists and the hero’s nightmarish predicament, the notions of redemption examined here are plenty deep. Add that to the bone-crunchingly effective technique and flawless lead performance, and you have yourself something very rare: a testosterone-driven narrative that’s about nurturing, rather than destruction. And one that achieves a bleeding-knuckled profundity.

A vivid reworking of Daniel Woodrell's novel that brings the book's conflicted heroine to searing life in a piece of unhurried filmmaking too rarely seen these days.

With the visuals and soundtrack given a wax and polish job for the big screen, Scott's masterful use of shadows, framing and sound has never been more terrifying. No matter how many times you've seen this, you'll still be hiding behind your fingers at every conceivable juncture.

Even if you’ve skipped the Dardennes’ work until now, this is a talking-point movie — and an outstanding lead performance — you need to see. It’s a rare film of unforced simplicity that will stick with you for a long time. And it’s honest right to its perfectly judged ending.

Arguably Harrison Ford’s finest performance, and one of the strongest thrillers to emerge from the heady gloss of the ‘80s, this is director Peter Weir at his most adept.

The sheer audacity and delight Welles takes in flouting conventions and inventing new ones is what keeps it fresh.

The Wicker Man is, more than anything else, a film about what people can do in the name of religion or, more generally, belief. Its power comes not from appeals to the supernatural but from a deep understanding of our own undeniable nature. Horror doesn't get much closer to home than that.

Bold, gruesome and melancholic, this Gothic horrorfest offers us much to sink our teeth into: Cruise - who effectively disappears from the screen for half the film's duration - is terrific, Dunst eerily compelling, Banderas hypnotic.