The Jackass films measure success by how often they elicit one of three responses from viewers: laughter, wincing or nausea. By that proudly juvenile standard, Best And Last fully accomplishes its objective, offering pummeling slapstick as the popular series’ collection of goofballs get hit, tasered and tortured.

A bombshell medical diagnosis prompts a young man to reflect on life’s precious gifts in Nino, Pauline Loques’ delicately-handled debut feature which builds into a touching drama carried on a soulful, understated central performance from Theodore Pellerin.

In its attempt to introduce audiences to Superman’s smart-aleck cousin, this likeable but underwhelming sci-fi adventure only sporadically presents its protagonist in her best light. That said, Milly Alcock certainly has the chops and gravity for the role, and hopefully subsequent pictures will make better use of her stirring spirit.

The Wave is nothing if not ambitious, and in its bittersweet ending it reaches a melancholic, nuanced understanding that once the feminist wave broke, the backlash began. But the kind of complex debates about consent, vigilante justice and empowerment that are deployed here sit uneasily in what is in some ways a classical female self-realisation musical.

With Toy Story 5, Pixar reaffirms what has always made this franchise so beloved, resulting in another delightful adventure that mines fresh emotional terrain while producing plenty of hearty laughs.

Pushing too hard to give The Death Of Robin Hood a sense of gravitas, Sarnoski suffocates his story rather than letting its palpable agony envelop the viewer. This Robin Hood subverts our expectations, but he never gets to breathe.

Spielberg has long been fascinated with the concept of information (and misinformation) as both weapon and tool, and ultimately gives this science fiction fable the feel of a gritty 1970s conspiracy thriller; a bombastic underdog, truth-to-power tale – albeit one with cosmological consequences.

While the jokes come thick and fast, it’s all so obvious, scattershot and immediately dated that nothing lands. It’s not funny or clever, provocative or edgy – it’s just boring.

At nearly two-and-a-half hours, the film ultimately succumbs to blockbuster conventionality and the stifling demands of brand management. But like the timid Adam transforming into the swaggering He-Man, occasionally the picture transcends those confining strictures to become something a little more confident and carefree.

We Are Aliens remains visually engrossing and, as storytelling, it’s mostly sophisticated and intelligent.

Debut director Kane Parsons assuredly harnesses the creepy, mind-bending potential of this liminal concept, delivering an original horror that has both the scares and the smarts.

Ben’Imana is a film that works by accretion, layering its stories, characters and themes like the colourful textiles seen in robes, scarves, curtains, bedcovers, school uniforms, or, in one devastating scene, the torn clothes of massacred children, unearthed in a garden.

La Gradiva is not about overt bullying but rather an exploration of the mercurial nature of young group dynamics that zeroes in on the bruising pressure points of teenage life – that are as much self-generated as imposed by others.

Lea Mysius’s third feature is a taut exploration of family, identity and betrayal, with a claustrophobic atmosphere and strong performances from Hafsia Herzi and Monica Bellucci. But conventional plotting and a relentlessly sombre tone mean that The Birthday Party never truly comes alive.

At a narrative level, it pulls from modern anxieties surrounding surveillance, the unfettered spreading of information and the trauma of contagion (and indeed lockdown), But, as you would expect from the director of 2016’s Train To Busan, Colony’s main draw is its visuals, its carefully choreographed action sequences unfolding at a breakneck pace saturated by lashings of gore.

Here, the impossible appears to occur, but with a grounded psychological precision that more than earns the break with reality and means that the film’s carefully established realism is deepened – reaching almost unbearable levels of emotional resonance, rather than undermined.

Clio Barnard’s adaptation of the novel by Keiran Goddard is, like her previous works, an expertly-observed study of human relationships, how they are shaped by environment and buffeted by opportunity – or lack of it. Featuring a superb ensemble cast, it’s grounded by a gritty, relatable authenticity that pushes it past its more didactic moments.

Without getting too sappy or strident, Jim Queen explores how sexual fluidity can open up exciting possibilities but also break people’s hearts. In the case of this cheeky picture, it can be pretty funny, too.

There’s some enlightening substance and much poignancy in the words of John Lennon and Yoko Ono – but also much egregious AI-created visual ugliness – in John Lennon: The Last Interview,

It’s a handsomely mounted piece that leans more towards psychological warfare than the sword-based bloodshed that fans of Kurosawa’s previous work might expect.

The third feature from Zachary Wigon (following 2023’s Sanctuary and 2014’s The Heart Machine) takes gonzo delight in ratcheting up traditional gothic psychodrama tropes to frenzied heights while also paying striking homage to its literary roots.

Full Phil is a work of art masquerading as a B-movie, a film of depth and strange fascination – one that ends in a moment of body horror that turns strangely tender. It’s difficult to think of many other contemporary cineastes who could pull that off.

Everything is in flux in The Dreamed Adventure, even the genre of a film that shape-shifts between noir, western and romance. At its heart is the director’s extraordinary deployment of a cast of non-professionals who seem to carry their own stories with them in every line and gesture.

The Diary Of A Chambermaid’s outward prettiness merely emphasises the melancholy and quiet anger at its core, as Jude reveals his disdain for how rich families (and countries) treat poor immigrant labour. Marguerite and Pierre are never outwardly cruel, but their repeated microaggressions are a comparable torture.

Okonedo and Oyelowo give affecting performances as star-crossed lovers who can’t quite own up to their mistakes . . . Together they give Clarissa a touching guardedness that might not offer the spit and fire of Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, but certainly understands the permanent heartache and the poeticism of a life deferred.

As a portrait of the man, it’s selective but not so much as to feel shallow. It fleshes out his qualities and weaknesses while preserving much of the enigma. Which is exactly what you imagine Cantona himself would want.

Smoothly executed throughout, Avedon displays some snappy editing allowing for flow. It may be couched in admiring tones but it is persuasive in arguing why the photographer mattered, and why he seemed most at home and in control from behind a camera lens.

It’s an intelligent and involving film that successfully questions Hollywood cliches of war drama, while drawing knowingly on that tradition.