A fog of menace descends on this hauntingly photographed, oppressive and driftingly directionless movie from Lucile Hadzihalilovic. It has the intensively curated atmosphere of body-horror noir – if not the conventional plot structure – and some way into the running time you might find yourself awakened from its reverie of formless anxiety by a sudden, horrifying stab of violence.

Enjoyable and well-crafted as it is, this movie can’t quite decide what to do with the tougher, darker side of Richard Williams.

The supposedly important themes of immigrants and Syria are cancelled by its naive flippancy.

While armed with plenty of social critique, the beauty of Balloon goes beyond this tug-of-war between modernity and tradition.

Covering the Indonesian war of independence through the viewpoint of the occupier, The East is yet another pale addition to the format, rehashing empty metaphors that are barren of emotional complexity, historical poignancy or visual ingenuity.

What a man. Just writing this makes me want to watch the documentary all over again.

An intriguing and drily comic film.

Pure evil is all around in this unnervingly subtle, sophisticated movie; an eerie oppression in the air.

This is another film about a white European mixed up in a Middle Eastern war they barely seem to understand, but on its own terms it’s a story well told.

An all-star cast and some showstoppingly horrible hair can’t save Ridley Scott’s medieval epic.

Part delicious satire of Hollywood culture and part frustratingly muddled thriller. But the good bits are sufficiently impressive it wouldn’t be fair to hold its flaws against it too much. We mustn’t be greedy for perfection.

The movie is saturated with emotion and colour, though its novelistic depth brings with it the slightly effortful running time of two hours and 20 minutes.

There’s a rich confectionery of strangeness, sadness and fear to this very absorbing film.

This dense but witty film is never caught short for a flourish.

Love letters to the past are always addressed to an illusion, yet this is such a seductive piece of myth-making from Branagh.

Here, we can find a damning summary of modern Hollywood’s default mode – a nostalgia object, drained of personality and fitted into a dully palatable mold, custom-made for a fandom that worships everything and respects nothing.

It’s entertaining, though composed with algorithmic precision, and it winds up suspiciously neutral about whether kids really should abandon digital enslavement in favour of real-life human friends.

You find yourself admiring Madonna’s desire to focus forward artistically and to recast her music as expressly political, while wondering if the songs from Madame X are really good enough to warrant so much of the spotlight.

It’s an impressively contrived film, almost a machine for winning awards, a monochrome reverie of midlife yearning.

Stories involving shocking discrimination and violence are filmed with a conspiratorial understanding, as if the camera is lending a friendly ear.

As charmless as its predecessor, The Addams Family 2 is without an iota of ooky, nor any shred of kooky. Really, it’s just kind of ghastly – and not in the intended way.

It’s not a vanity project (Brühl does not seem in the least vain) but an actor’s project, nonetheless.

Night Drive doesn’t quite have enough time left to build on sharp interlocking performances by Dalah and Bowen and give their characters the full noir shadings the suitcase coaxes out of them. But it’s still an intriguing alternative routeing for LA night-owl cinema.

It’s a bit indulgent but, still, a gentle watch.

Even in terms of its attempted emotional cross-section of the pandemic, Convergence spreads its net too wide.

The head of steam Keeyes endeavours to build up gets drained away by the endless barely relevant flashbacks.

Director Patrick Brice is so distracted with trying to be of the moment that he forgets to make his film base-level fun or at times even base-level coherent, its thesis crammed into a laughably on-the-nose killer speech where buzzwords are clumsily crashed together, trying to make a point about something but ultimately saying not a lot about anything.

Madres never loses a strong underpinning of social conscience that seeps into director Ryan Zaragoza’s considered shots.