Altogether, the Innocent is a relatively low stakes story of ordinary people doing humbly ridiculous if fairly illegal things – and all the more charming for it.

The most shocking element of Bring Them Down is the emotional truth at its core; Andrews’ observation of how difficult the cycles of abuse are to break is astute, and even the most sensational elements of the plot have a grim plausibility to them. But this is balanced by the empathy that Andrews and his cast show.

Bones & All gets at the fragility and futility of human existence, and the fleeting moments of joy we find between birth and death. It’s an imperfect but effortlessly charming film, one that feels lived-in and loved (shout out to the eclectic, youthful soundtrack and Elettra Simos’ expressive costume design) and speaks to the human desire to love and be loved, in spite of our flaws. Bones and all.

In an entertainment landscape saturated with whodunnits, it’s impressive to see Johnson maintain his topical observations and satirical jabs while confidently recalibrating to provide a mystery that shows the genre still has something meaningful to say.

Rebel Ridge feels like the film all his previous ones were all building to, evidence of the lessons taken on from Saulnier’s previous work: dancing between tense standoffs in tight spaces; the terror of being followed up the open road. He moves purposefully between these confrontations with the film’s angry unspooling of a broken political system.

Farhadi never misses a beat, taking his tale into increasingly gripping territory.

The performances sell everything unique and special about Torres’ approach to this story, and they bring his characters, who already feel so vibrant through their words, alive.

Even in the most crass jokes, where fluid pours out of orifices, Babes is a delightful and profound study in growth.

The result is a melancholic, Terrence Malick-ian vision of a place that is brutal, beautiful and forever lost to time.

While there’s a loving homage element to the film, Cronin isn’t merely attempting to ape the hysterical dynamics and acrobatic camera moves that Raimi made his trademark.

It’s a harrowing and powerful film that navigates the intricate terrain of going against tradition and longing for freedom, one that aims to extend the personal confines of cultural conflict beyond the fictional characters it portrays.

The mixed media technique cuts through the film’s naturalism to bring forth something felt and ineffable, akin to the rich, vivid worlds within children’s imaginations, as well as the haziness with which we recall childhood memories.

It’s another very special film from this exceptionally gifted and thoughtful (and extremely angry) director.

Guiraudie successfully fashions his own singular cinematic world.

A few behind-the-scenes moments during weekends and holidays depict a more personal side to the otherwise-enigmatic Bachmann, but the picture that Speth paints of him is as someone who is casually fixated with this occupation – that the process of teaching is seeped into his very being and consumes his thoughts.

At only 84 minutes and light on plot, at times this film feels so slight that it might just slip through your fingers. And yet its ethereality is what makes it enchanting.

It’s a film about making art that feels good in the moment, as the act itself can be as rewarding – and possibly even more so – than the delivery of that art to an audience.

Its gnarled, subterranean subject may be shrouded in a biblical halo, but The Truffle Hunters sublime focus on the natural world and both its flora and fauna inhabitants offers calming reassurance for the unwashed.

Soul-stirring. One of the most exceedingly lovely coming-of-age films in a long while.

It culminates in a bold exploration of transness, womanhood, Blackness and the sex industry, providing thoughtful and intimate insight into these material conditions and the breadth of experience that lies behind them.

Like The Last Jedi, The Kid Who Would Be King isn’t concerned about legacy or predecessors, it’s about personal belief regardless of who came before you.

The Fabelmans clearly comes from a place of deep sincerity – while it might not be a particularly “deep” film, it is absolutely the Spielberg film about Becoming Spielberg that we’ve been waiting for, echoing the world of child-like wonder and the tenacity to manifest dreams that his whole career has centred around.

The overarching theme of White Noise – an anxiety around the looming spectre of death – is familiar territory for for the writer/director, as is the psyche of the film’s middle-aged, middle-class white protagonist. This is his most ambitious project in both scale and provenance.

Nobody does tension quite like the Dardenne brothers. As in so many of their films, there’s a moment in Tori and Lokita when a character makes a fateful decision and the narrative suddenly snaps into focus, creating stretches of the drama when you’re holding your breath and feeling a roiling sense of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Essential, infuriating viewing.

The film makes for a involving and often mordantly funny three-hander, and Exarchopoulos and Whishaw are both superb despite being given the slightly thankless task of clearing things up in Tomas’s wake.

Wheatley captures the volatility of emotions during the festive period, where every familial anxiety seems to come to a head, and does so with compassion and humour.

The film is beautifully staged and executed, maintaining well-defined emotional contours and never allowing things to descend into mainstream sentimentalism.