The list of the film’s transgressions against the culturally acceptable is almost gratuitously long. But the spine of self-aware intelligence that runs through even its most grotesque, exploitative, and offensive twists, and the basically incredible, irreplaceable central performance from Isabelle Huppert, make this queasily hilarious mass of contradictions just about cohere.

The Aftermath may lack the novelty of the first film and often takes on more than its runtime can account for, but it also successfully adapts the genre of espionage thriller to the documentary form with riveting results.

There is barely a manufactured minute in the film. Everything fits together organically and in a narrative film that is much harder to pull off than it sounds.

It’s Wang’s singular gift for life’s simplest moments which makes The Farewell ring so truthfully bare, funny and emotional.

Marty Supreme isn’t a moral fable about discipline and sportsmanship; it’s a portrait of ambition as a living, breathing necessity—something Marty must manifest into existence, from his lips to God’s ears. Throughout the madness, Safdie finds an unexpectedly human pulse within the chaos, transforming it into an ecstatic, white-knuckle rollercoaster ride.

It's a remarkably gorgeous piece of work.

Despite a very frank and welcome illustration of gay sexuality rarely seen in modern media (in this manner at least), Greater Freedom continually teases us with storylines and subject matter by choosing to frame this era through a relationship that it cannot rationalize.

Petzold distills a familiar atmosphere to create a work veiled in vibrant, cohesive, sensitively stimulating power.

While Magellan is still a haunting vision, the ghosts of a more impactful film you remember most are also the ones that can feel pushed to the margins of the frame.

In Western, the filmmaking philosophy remains the same, but the subject is new and different, and the storytelling is deeper, nuanced, and honed by experience.

It’s cinematic poetry, if there ever was one, bourgeoning in meaning the more you linger in its shadow.

Still Scott’s greatest film and better than James Cameron’s sequel, the director’s sci-fi horror is an exercise in minimalistic terror, manifesting it in the most unknowable, terrifying extraterrestrial creature ever seen on screen.

A gentle but sharply defined story, brimming with grace, compassion and performances of perfect naturalism, it is unashamedly intellectual yet deeply human.

The formal control is remarkable, but sometimes almost stultifying, as though Martel had spent every moment of this intervening decade plotting how to pack each scene more densely, to the point it feels like Zama” could maybe stop a bullet. It will certainly deter the less persistent viewer.

Humanity permeates Cameraperson, thanks to Johnson’s presence, so as experimental as it is, it’s also stirring and poignant, with a tangible sense of empathy intact in every frame.

It’s when Johnson strays from strict adherence to the concept that the most profound insights come.

Gorgeously realized and crafted with homespun care, this delicate and heartbreaking drama is one of the year’s best films.

Kaufman and fellow director Duke Johnson strike the right balance here, deftly mixing spiritual crisis and despondency with moments of painful awkwardness and biting hilarity.

While Long Day’s plot seems an afterthought, the experience is all that matters: the audience gathers all the clues, rummage through them to soak up the atmosphere and enter a world unlike any seen before. Make no mistake about it, Long Day’s Journey Into Night is a flat-out masterpiece.

A poetic meditation on film, history, and loss, Three Minutes – A Lengthening gives a glimpse into a lost world and then unpacks just how much can be learned from that brief fragment.

Nielsson’s documentary portrait is a tragic look at the broken political process in Zimbabwe.

Crime + Punishment isn’t without hope, but it anchors that hope to the unflattering realities of American policing.

Azor itself is a code word meaning “to not say too much” or “to keep one’s cards close,” a trait that the film and its protagonist so excel at, viewers will be kept guessing until the last moment.

Paul King‘s marvellously rousing, deeply satisfying sequel — is not only another warm, friendly, massively good-natured family-friendly film, but it’s deeply caring, here to give everyone a light and entertaining diversion during these taxing times.

What Wiseman’s film boils down to, in many ways, is a much-needed dose of competency porn – a snapshot of government officials trying their very best to do better, and to be better. And that might be the story he’s really telling: a reminder that government, for all of its speed bumps and snags, can work. It can help. The people running it just have to want it to.

The Death Of Stalin is a grim reminder that we are never too far away from history turning back on progress. It’s not an easy lesson to reconcile, but Iannucci at least has us laughing for a good while before delivering his devastating blow.

While the Turkish director seems ever-fascinated with gloomy, nihilistic anti-heroes, he does vest more hope in human relationships than usual.

You believe this woman exists. And Leigh and Jean-Baptiste ensure she will haunt you.