Most remarkable about Deep Water is the fact that beyond being a sexy and gruesome thriller, it is also an absolute riot.

The result is a gorgeous, layered portrait of a woman determined to put public image ahead of private feelings.

With Saint Omer, Diop not only refreshes and expands upon the tired conventions of the courtroom drama, but she really drills down into the fundamental gaps in our understanding of human nature and the tantalising but illusive ‘why?’ of it all.

Titane is a genuinely weird, sweet thing, even in a time where those descriptors get thrown around far too much. There has not been a more surprising motion picture in years.

It’s a wonderful film with not an ounce of fat on the bone, and Kaurismäki still manages to thread the needle between a style of ironic detachment and emotions that are big, bold and instantly affecting.

The particular brand of slapstick comedy and barbed romance in What’s Up, Doc? is an homage to a bygone era of Hollywood cinema that in 1972 was considered outdated. But Bogdanovich embraced it without irony.

It’s not a faultless film, but it’s one that sits within the higher echelons of the oft-tawdry biopic form, and also reveals hidden depths to the Nolan project and, excitingly, suggests that we should brace ourselves for anything the next time around.

The Mule is a beautiful, troubling film. It is a pearl formed around a grit of unease in the oyster of our nostalgia.

There is too much going on in Manchester by the Sea and still it is among the best films of this or any year. It is too funny, too tragic, and too full of nods to all manner of movie genres.

Drive My Car is endlessly fascinating and rich, the type of film which you could spend hours analysing and come no closer to feeling as if you’ve landed on its true intent.

In this, her first film centring male psychology after a career of female character studies, she makes observations about masculinity and power that defy classification. She has blown these subjects wide open and we can but stand still and try to catch the fragments as they rain down.

I’m Still Here triumphs in pairing Salles’s intrinsic understanding of the emotional potential of realism with two brilliant performers in Mello and Torres.

The BFG’s greatest strength is its simplicity. This is a film built for children that delights with fantastical details while gently pushing a heartfelt message about the power of dreams.

It’s by addressing grief in its purest form that we empathise with the pain that can make us willing to open up again, pave over the cracks, and wound a broken heart.

No Other Land exemplifies the bravery and patience of activists and journalists. The occupation started over 70 years ago, and together, this unlikely pair capture its inhumanity with humanity.

With so many layers to unpack, this one stays with you.

Through disrupting linear time, Kapadia’s speculative, poetic rumination on memory, political reality and personal association transforms the viewing experience into something transcendent.

A Hidden Life is, underneath it all, a love story. The Jägerstätters are a private microcosm imprinted by history. The Nazi regime is almost incidental, as these people could be anywhere opposing any evil regime. The substance of the film is buoyed by unselfish, enlightened love, shaped by a couple’s faith in each other’s morality.

So carefully and empathetically constructed – even towards its “villains” – that it feels miles away from didacticism, this shapeshifting ecological tale becomes a yearning rumination on the alienations of modern life, and the quietly violent seams where things in this world are changing and dying rapidly while we lack the language to arrive at the same destination, no matter how much people say they’re listening.

Frenetic and obsessive, this is still a love story amid the gore and slick of body oil – a heart-pounding, iron-pumping descent into the heady heart of obsession and desire.

This is by far Haynes’ funniest film to date, with shades of Almodóvar in its dramatic zooms and heightened domestic tension.

This comforting, crass blast from the past confirms the Jackass gang as modern-day legends. Pandemics come and go. The tides turn and pop culture trends live and die on the whim of social media. But Jackass? Baby, Jackass is Forever.

Although the third act sags a little under the weight of Marty’s hubris, it’s impossible to deny Safdie is working at a remarkable technical level. Just as Good Time and Uncut Gems played to the strengths of their stars while also transforming them, Marty Supreme challenges Chalamet and he meets the play with fleet footwork.

Even setting aside its subject matter, it is an astounding feat of dramatising real events with an eye on the cinematic, yet it delivers such a punch to the heart that one hesitates to recommend it without qualification.

There was never a question of whether this would be a great movie, but the pleasant surprise is that it is, in fact, a very great one.

Cronenberg’s latest feels more like a late-in-the-day course correction than a victory lap. It’s a self reflexive film, yes, but it isn’t self-congratulatory.

Tár, Todd Field’s portrait of the artist as an abuser, is the funniest horror film of 2022.

The mistakes we make as children have the power to echo through our lives, and we have to live with them, for better or worse, and only distance provides clarity. Armageddon Time understands the past is a foreign country, and not one you can live in forever.

With all of its visual delights and expert use of its colourful onscreen spaces, its ever-a-shame that it’s the latest Pixar movie exiled to Disney’s streaming services – because it’s one of their best animated movies in years.

The entries into this wicked compendium are more interesting due to their differences rather than their similarities, suggesting that all types of people have their lives ruined by some variety of existential conundrum. And that is something that creates a sprawling lattice of deep human connectivity.

Tensing, thrusting, dripping with sweat and the promise of a good time after the curtain falls, Butler gets the moves, the voice and, most importantly, Elvis’ charisma down. Whatever flaws the film has, Butler’s Elvis is mesmeric.

Gerwig’s filmmaking enriches our world, earnest and joyous and thoughtful. Even under the guise of a piece of massive IP, she maintains that spirit where others have failed.

It’s astonishing how early on in her career Denis had a handle on her distinct brand of visual composition. Hers is a genius for showing not telling, for laying out surfaces that are rich with implication and for conducting details until there is a heady picture that is minutely observant with a sweep that reaches from heaven to hell.

Through his infectiously likeable and talented protagonists, Yates’ rollicking dialogue captures the brilliance of youth in all its bold foolishness and earnestness.

In concept and design, Sachs channels The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant, with its thick, polar white rug, heavy-gloom atmosphere, mosaicked lounging, chamber setting and never-ending exposition; Kiarostami in its tasteful docudrama-crew reveals; and Warhol in its high-concept simplicity. It’s Sachs’ best film yet.

What’s surprising about the film is how hopeful it is, zeroing in on human creativity and resilience during the worst of times rather than wallowing in abject misery.

Afire culminates in a magnificent and poetic study of subjectivity, exploring the isolated anxieties of creative labour and a simultaneous entanglement of superiority and inferiority complexes, adding another compelling and precise layer of texture to Petzold’s multifaceted oeuvre.

Maestro is a film to be swept along by, as heady and bombastic as a golden-age Hollywood musical.

This is no kitchen sink drama; those most marginalised by years of British austerity are making do, and they’re as entitled to magic as the rest.

In Nanny, first time feature filmmaker Nikyatu Jusu takes the spotlight and shines it on this unexplored sect of society, creating a beautiful yet chilling tale surrounding identity, love, and motherhood peppered along with terror, tension, and African mythology.

Rohrwacher instead makes connections through something more primal than logic, a flow of images that feels surprising but always intuitive, in the way a dream does.

The French Dispatch is Anderson’s most impressionistic and unusual film, not to mention his most ambitious.

Seydoux is once again marvellous and a collaboration such as this seems long overdue.

Hundreds of Beavers is an immaculately constructed, gloriously bizarre, wholly unique tribute to that basest of comedy pleasures, made by people whose imagination seemingly knows no bounds.

This is another subtle jewel, wise and charming, insouciant yet measured, and somehow squaring the circle between the overwhelming sadness of lost time and the glint of eternity in a passing instant.

The film isn’t inconclusive but its time and continent-sweeping structure is anything but conventional: and that’s what makes the mercurial Return to Seoul, in the end, so remarkable.

The director has described his film as a poem, but its rhythms feel more abstract, like recalling the best concert of your life in a dream. Brilliantly forgoing nostalgia to frame Elvis in the present, Luhrmann offers the closest experience of a live Elvis show that we may ever see. And like the Vegas residency, EPiC deserves a standing ovation when Luhrmann’s curtain falls.

It’s a cosy, classic Aardman treat, perfect for Wallace and Gromit fans of any age – and Feathers McGraw remains as menacing as ever.

Wasteman doesn’t imply that either of these men is more or less deserving of being inside or that we should be rooting for one of them over the other. Both men are troubled, sad, selfish and violent, mired in trauma that Dee expresses through bravado and physical domination, which manifests more inwardly in Taylor.

With its vibrant use of colour, expressive character design and flights of expressionist fancy, Little Amélie offers a lyrical vision of early-years development and so much more.

In ambition, achievement and Jenkin’s future as an image-maker of esoteric esteem, this is a big step up from Bait.

It may fall prey to the odd awkward joke or saccharine moment, but Crazy Rich Asians is a blast from start to finish.

Running at just 82 minutes, Rye Lane fills its brief time with an infectious sense of joy and hopefulness.

Chevalier is ultimately a devastating reminder of a greatness that was nearly entirely expunged from history, and how equal talents lived and died without even being given a chance to put a little more beauty into the world.

Make no mistake – The Devil Wears Prada 2 scratches every itch a legacy sequel ought, with callbacks and cameos and jokes galore. But if the first film is Tom Ford and Calvin Klein then this time it’s Vivienne Westwood and Alexander McQueen – less slick, and with something darker underneath.

Pain, pleasure, the desperate urgency to express yourself and the sincerity of youth coalesce to electrifying ends.

It’s a strange and beguiling film, and I’m just going to lay down my cards and say that, on the back of her all-in collaborations with Lars von Trier and Claire Denis, Goth’s presence makes any movie a must-see.

All the ingredients here are invaluable, and the film’s vision comes alive with a real sense of hope about the soul of Chile and its thirst for change that’s palpable, not imaginary.

One thing to emphasise is that this is a very funny film, yet the humour doesn’t ever come from jokes or contrived set-ups. It’s more a sense of looming realisation that this caper – explained and justified over a single pint in a pub – is even more flawed that we ever might have imagined.

Delicate, yet resonant.

Ambulance is just delightfully unhinged in its experiment to see how much carnage can be caused by just one car chase.

Running at just under 90 minutes, the film Ekner has crafted not only examines the politics and socioeconomics of each country she visits, but also channels the atmosphere of each locale via potent vistas and exhilarating revelry. The danger she speaks of early on in the film is expressed as a looming threat, yet the final result yields the same mood of a wildly passionate love affair.

It’s refreshing that Rivers and Williams have an understanding that, just because the camera is pointing at you, it doesn’t mean you need to narrate your actions and speak to the audience down the lens.

It’s a chilling and expertly constructed work which goes on to suggest that our finicky anxieties will end up getting the best for us.

It’s a film that understands there’s nothing to be gained from making oneself an island, but remains stoic and unsentimental in its vision of the past.

Soderbergh’s enjoyably swift chiller demonstrates genuine curiosity towards its occupiers and the choices they make through difficult circumstances.

Doing his part to keep his father’s work alive and relevant, Gorō Miyazaki steers the Ghibli ship even further away than Yonebayashi dared, resulting in the studio’s most cheerily radical film to date.

If you’ve ever wished ill towards a scalper, Kurosawa has the film for you. But this darkly comic thriller also skewers those who flirt with fantasies of vengeance from behind supposed anonymity.

Amir Jadidi’s haunted-behind-the-eyes performance stays with you, whether or not you want it to.

Sasha’s parents are inspiring in their determination to give their daughter the childhood every girl her age deserves.

Despite being an obvious meditation on the potential for impending climate catastrophe, the film is never cloying or condescending – instead Flow feels warm and delicate, like the fur of a cat who’s been lying in a sun spot all morning.

The film certainly is rare in actually offering an authentic depiction of social media and its noxious capabilities, even if its insistence on proving there’s no righteous moral that can’t be swiftly liquidated does become a little tiresome by the home stretch.

The Rule of Jenny Pen offers a horrifying hypothetical: what if your final years were spent trapped with a racist bully?

It’s a film which sets up a lot of easy targets, but shifts its aim at the last second to take on – and bullseye – a whole lot of hard ones.

It is a disorienting, all-consuming sensorial experience and made all the much better to those willing to surrender to its mysteries.

It’s the greatest asset of Papicha that it condemns without being dogmatic, showing its central conflict to be more complicated than Western audiences might otherwise believe.

This is primary-colour, major-key storytelling. It is disarming, charming and unafraid to be sincere – especially when it comes to the sparks of inspiration, creativity and connection that are so fundamental to human existence.

Perfect Days encourages a sort of radical presentness in our own lives – learning how to truly connect with our existence, even when it’s difficult or causes us to confront unpleasant truths.

It’s certainly an enjoyable watch, though Östlund gestures towards big questions about gender and class divisions without making any truly bold statements. Instead, his characters noodle around inside increasingly outlandish scenarios, and the eventual ending feels rather abrupt after two hours of build-up.

While its success outside Italy remains to be seen, del Toro and Zemeckis will have to pull a lot of strings to better Garrone.

Tseden directs with a low-slung commitment to a dramatically heightened form of social realism, and this deceptively simple story ends up speaking volumes about how love, sex, marriage and parenting sit at a paradoxical remove from the dictates of the state, and the parochial attitudes of the older generation.

Perhaps we are never driven to indignation at Lisa’s actions because the film exudes a refreshing state of calm, boasting a visual style that is awash with turquoise hues.

Violence breeds violence, and Oldman’s film shows us this horrific reproduction without compromise, hesitation or shame.

In this years-long dance between the two, The Eight Mountains plays as a gentle epic, equally accomplished in its minimalistic approach to intimacy as in its grandiose portrayal of landscapes, an immersive visual experience that needs not sacrifice the arcs of its characters to succeed in building arresting contemplation.

The film avoids polemic and instead presents itself as informed and inquisitive blueprint for the ways in which we discuss anti-colonialist action.

I found myself wishing I could watch a real game directed by Inoue, with such careful attention to detail and an acute sense of drama.

Operating on a grander scale, Kogonada still retains his singular, warm sensibility – and if you can succumb to the film’s heart-on-its-sleeve sentimentality, it’s a journey worth taking.

By exploring his passions and drives, Schible has given meaning beyond the surface to Sakamoto’s music. It makes for fascinating viewing, and even more beautiful listening.

Although the first 40 minutes in the buttoned-up period setting do drag a little, once The Beast finds its groove, its imaginative and melodramatic spirit are hard to resist. It’s a big swing for the fences from a singular French filmmaker, and one that absolutely pays off.

Perhaps it’s his fidelity to this team of collaborators that creates such a fluid vision; much like the honey bees that Teddy lovingly tends to in his garden, every artist moves in service of a grand design.

It amounts to more than just ‘a heap of broken images’ – it’s a warming depiction of friendship as family.

While it would be hard to argue that none of this film’s two hours, 20 minute runtime could be trimmed, its final minutes are well worth the wait, with Cooper selling the intense darkness with everything he’s got.

Despite some pacing issues and the fact it leans a little to heavily on extended visual longeurs, this is a fine second feature from Mortensen.

So it’s not the Michael Jordan story, or a two-hour lesson about the science of sneaker design. Instead Air is an engaging Hollywood fairytale, about extraordinary people and the scope of their ambition, and the importance of advocating not only for your own worth, but for the worth of those around you.

It’s a film that feels gloriously alive, earnest in its depiction of masculinity that is fragile rather than toxic while still grappling with the question of why anyone would choose to make a living in such a barbaric way.

The film remains one of the most realistic depictions of nuclear war and the chaos that would ensue, wrapped up in a Los Angeles love story.

Haslett writes that the riotsvilles were the places, “where the state assembles its fears.” Pettengill’s film is an invigorating indictment of these constructed falsehoods – their fears, their riotsvilles, their scapegoats and their reasons for destruction.

If that first hour or so is where the film resembles debilitating wilderness trek tales such as Kelly Reichardt’s Meek’s Cutoff or Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo (in both content and quality), the claustrophobic second half is where valid comparisons to something like Shūsaku Endō’s Silence – though especially Martin Scorsese’s 2016 screen adaptation – come to the fore; where colonial arrogance and perceived enlightenment make for combustible mix ready to blow at the slightest provocation.