Reichardt and Williams reunite to muted effect to create a portrait of an artist that feels a little unfinished.

Spielberg lovingly restages the classic musical – but while the songs still soar, it feels more indulgent than essential.

A visually stunning directorial debut that’s too intimidated by the original source material to be effective.

Anders Danielsen Lie gives a compelling, deep-etched lead turn, and you'll find yourself drawn in as he searches for a reason to continue living.

Like an arthouse Ghost, this is bold, original filmmaking with a pervasive sense of amused detachment.

All politics and posturing, the first two-thirds of the film are stiff and uninvolving, and although the climatic 45-minute free-for-all is genuinely spectacular, it’s clear where the director’s heart lies.

Filmmaker Azazel Jacobs follows up the highly mannered (and highly strung) French Exit (2020) with a slow-burn study of sibling rivalry, parental mortality and the ties that bind.

This solid if unspectacular finish to the Apes trilogy features an A-game Andy Serkis and incredible VFX, but its darker excesses threaten to suffocate at times.

Musing on memory and machine-emotion, it echoes Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Her. But despite its fine portraits of loss, it never escapes its stage-play origins.

One of the strangest films you’ll see this (or any) year, it unsettles, bores, elates and amuses in equal measure. Not for everyone, but there’s plenty to chew on.

The results – achieved through small cameras clipped to nets, masts and the crew – will hook some and induce seasickness in others.

Two immensely enjoyable central performances and some of the best race sequences yet filmed fuel an otherwise standard sports movie.

Russell follows "The Fighter" with a softer, soapier family dysfunction drama, lightly comic enough to make for palatable Friday-night viewing. As its nutty lovebirds, Cooper and Lawrence save Playbook from the director's surprisingly mundane impulses.

As noble as his ideals are, watching a series of interminably lengthy conversations inside a car makes for stultifying viewing. And the abrupt ending, which highlights the fictional nature of the whole enterprise, is mystifying.

An impressive study of guilt, responsibility and the bad things that happen to good people.

This (will’o-the-)wisp of a film is a beauty depending on the eye of the beholder; frustratingly slender yet with moments of profundity.

There are some stunning moments, such as the eerily green-screened opener, and an unsettling underwater sequence up there with Dario Argento’s Inferno. But the 145-minute runtime feels increasingly indulgent, and Bonello borrows heavily from Kubrick, Lynch and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Not the promised insider’s peek but Assayas and Binoche are still a potent combo, nailing the fragility of an actress facing the ageing process.

A sombre crimer that resists easy thrills, investing instead in grit, intelligence and complex characterisation.

Keep The Lights On feels lopsided in its focus on Erik, with Paul remaining a strangely remote object of the former's romantic devotion.

The resulting pickle may seem alien to many, but Yaron’s navigation of Shira’s struggles make it tangible.

It suffers an abrupt ending and, compared to the creativity displayed in Coppola’s other biopic, Marie Antoinette, is a more muted affair.

Assured, adult filmmaking from a writer/director who knows her way around the ups and downs of relationships.

The performances keep us engaged.

The film strips away ideas of heroism mercilessly.

While director Ceyda Torun lets the focus meander too much, it’ll leave you, ahem, feline good.

For all its attempts to expand the original’s ensemble and embellish its themes, Dory is cod in batter beside Nemo’s smoked salmon. But still tasty.

The restlessness of the camerawork may drive you to distraction, but director/co-writer Calin Peter Netzer’s film is held steady by Gheorghiu’s staunch performance.

Writer/director Rachel Lang’s film lacks cumulative dramatic punch, its appeal rooted mainly in its easy humour.

It’s technically a doc, but neither Rivers nor his inscrutable subject is interested in backstory.

Clearly no stranger to John Hughes movies, writer-director Kelly Fremon Craig brings a spiky wit and a warm-hearted, nerd-friendly finale to a comedy that wants for nothing but a little substance.

Though stronger in its more straightforward first half than in its experimental and hallucinatory second, 28 Years… still provides enough terror, splatter and suspense to satisfy.

The 3D is completely redundant and the action sporadic but unexpected gearshifts provide plenty of narrative meat.

Though awkwardly assembled, with an overemphatic voiceover, it’s chilling stuff.

It’s a poetic elegy to a lost tribe that conjures up the Meryans’ secret lifestyle via surreal rituals and stunning widescreen visuals, although an over-explained voiceover and clunky symbolism sometimes weaken the spell.

First-time writer/director Ritesh Batra deserves credit for mining gently captivating drama from a pitch that could have just ended with passive-aggressive Post-its left on the office fridge.

Though set in a divided country, it’s an effervescent period piece, edited with verve: Persiel combines recreations with archive footage, animation and home videos.

Jean-Pierre Léaud effortlessly summons up the iron ruler inside the failing man.

While it paints a convincing vision of lives ruled and ruined by the bottle, none of this makes for compelling viewing. Certainly not an hour-and-a-half of it.

More accessible than "Take Shelter" but not as powerful, Mud boasts stunning photography, a mesmerising lead and a strong evocation of Americana. McConaughey’s gold run continues…

Quillévéré’s elliptical plot isn’t always spot-on, skipping years to a near maddening degree. But treading a fine line between poetry and realism, it’s still heartfelt and harrowing.

It never quite gets inside the head of its subject, writer/theologian John Hull. Thankfully, Hull’s observations – an audio diary – provide plenty of insight and engagement.

An intriguing insight into Lynch’s genius, intimately crafted and leaving you wanting more.

Eugène Green’s (The Portuguese Nun) direction favours symmetry over emotion, while the impassive performance style recalls French auteur Robert Bresson. It lacks the profundity to fully merit that comparison, but earns its uplifting ending.

Filled with cherry-blossom gorgeousness and sentimental homages to small-town Japanese life, it's a film of quiet, telling moments, even when big revelations surface.

Comprising archive footage and first-hand accounts, Claire Ferguson’s film feels vital in sharing harrowing stories of life in concentration camps.

Mostly, it’s a study of an analogue ghost turned digital star; yet because Maloof is vested in building Maier’s reputation, the film leaves some uncomfortable questions about the ethics of posthumous fame.

Amy Schumer is a force to be reckoned with – but despite some belly laughs Trainwreck doesn’t quite transcend the romcom formula like the best of the genre.

DuVernay captures the universal experience of loss: the regrets, the suffocating sorrow.

Despite the candid vérité stylings, art-dance powerhouse Grace Jones remains a magnetic enigma in Sophie Fiennes’ docu-study.

Not quite up there with "Tangled," but a solid addition to the canon. Catchy tunes will have you humming, but the hunt for the next "The Little Mermaid" continues...

Mashing up Groundhog Day with Get Out, They Live, Sorry to Bother You, Westworld, A Clockwork Orange, blaxploitation films, "X-Files shit", and more, They Cloned Tyrone is a race-conscious conspiracy caper at heart, spruced up with some zippy patter and a razor-sharp cast.

Great beginning, patchy middle, bum-note ending. Like the Roses’ 1980s-90s lifespan, Meadows’ loving report on a “live resurrection” is indeed alive and passionate, until too many gaps render it less than godlike.

Direction and cast pack a wallop.

Jackass Forever has laughs and thrills and will goose your nostalgia, but it’s like a modern-day Rolling Stones gig – the hits are replayed but satisfaction is elusive.

If Eric Rohmer were British, this is the kind of film he’d make.

It’s a sensitive, sweet, frequently heartbreaking trip through deeply personal history, but there’s no getting round the fact that Gray had what most might consider a fairly typical childhood.

Sully is a skilfully made reconstruction of a recent real-life feat of heroic professionalism. But narrative tension is sorely lacking.

With his trademark subversive playfulness and delight in human foibles, Ozon weaves together comedy, suspense and occasional intimations of darker emotional themes, aided by subtly gauged performances from his two principals.

It’s not without its moments, but more comic dexterity and less brute force would have made a less choppy watch.

Bursts of poetry, characters suddenly freezing, bees flying out of a priest’s crotch: there’s rarely a dull moment, but when it comes to explanation, the sparrow’s not the only one left hanging.

Although a bit over-neat in its contrasts between the respective families, Like Father, Like Son remains an affecting film, thanks to Fukuyama’s understated turn and Koreeda’s typically graceful visual storytelling.

While there’s sweetness, the big, sweeping emotions you hope for never quite arrive.

As much as Nicholas Jarecki’s debut feature simmers, it never quite boils.

Though we'd love to see how Aardman handle Defoe's followup, An Adventure With Communists, this amiable but overstretched diversion is unlikely to spawn a Caribbean franchise.

Like Ferrari’s motors, the production is sleek, expensive-looking and runs handsomely. But unlike the brand’s famous 0-60 mph starting capabilities, Mann’s film takes time to run the tyres in, only really reaching top gear in its second half. It works as a companion piece to Le Mans ‘66, but doesn’t manage to surpass it.

Tom Hanks gives a fine leading performance as Captain Kidd, yet the plot falls into problematic stereotypes at times.

What emerges is a touching study (in more ways than one) of the trials, terrors and triumphs of living with physical disability.

The stand-out, though, is Mikkel Boe Folsgaard as the King. Teetering on the edge of sanity, he is both detestable and sympathetic.

For all his noble intentions, though, Crocodile Gennadiy sure loves the limelight, forcing us to speculate whether he works for God’s glory or his own.

The culture clash comedy cleaves to predictability but the story’s specificity sustains its perceptive look at the human impact of post-9/11 jingoism.

A serviceable translation of a theatrical success whose weaker elements are found wherever it veers too widely from its source.

Straight Outta Compton soars for an hour before spiralling into a bloated, melodramatic mess. Still, it’s worth it for the early ferocity, capturing just how powerful N.W.A really were.

Kooler convinces, but it feels like TV sketches, with not enough laughs.

Precision-built to make you chortle, M3GAN is a l0t of 4un. On the fr1ghts front, however, it’s basically a Furby.

[An] engaging if straightforward doc.

Director Laura Poitras (Citizenfour) charts her own feelings towards her subject, yet unanswered questions abound surrounding WikiLeaks’ alleged connections to Donald Trump’s campaign.

There’s no questioning Skarsgård’s commitment to his character’s descent into depravity, while the gifted Goth is fearlessly uninhibited. But just because Infinity Pool looks good on the surface, that doesn’t mean it has hidden depths.

Gorgeous animation and inspired set design help patch over a lacklustre script. The horror hardcore will enjoy playing spot the homage.

Backdraft clichés notwithstanding, this is a stirring fact-based tribute to public servants putting it on the line.

The film treads a fine line between saccharine and crowd-pleasing, though there’s no doubt a few moments will elicit tears.

El Camino, then, offers a final – if not wholly necessary – farewell to some of the greatest characters ever put to television screens. And Jesse, poor Jesse, finally gets the closing chapter he deserves.

Sharp social commentary and slick genre trappings make for thought-provoking entertainment, even if it never entirely hooks you.

It's probably the best three-star movie this month. An effortless, emotional, funny little indie that few people will see. Be one of them.

The storytelling can feel a bit plodding, but Jim Broadbent’s exuberant Ernest and Brenda Blethyn’s timid, upwardly mobile Ethel give the marriage a touching intimacy and warmth.

Marx, Tristan Tzara, André Breton, Werner Herzog; Constructivism, Dadaism, Futurism… on it goes. Impressive, sure, but ultimately stultifying.

As ever, Cronenberg leaves you with much to chew on, but dramatically The Shrouds feels rather inert, as if it can’t get out of second gear

Familiar territory, especially if you've seen "Hoop Dreams" and "Friday Night Lights," but the intimate style offers its own rewards.

Two fine performances - particularly from an unhinged Winstead - almost elevate Smashed to greatness. But an under-worked script leaves you feeling groggy and bleary-eyed by the end.

Something of a companion piece to the superior Finding Nemo, this is one of Pixar’s weaker efforts but still worth catching.

Those with fond memories of a gentler era of boy-and-his-insert-critter-here heartwarmers are bound to welcome Dragon’s old-fashioned vibe. But it still feels almost perverse to place all of Weta’s hi-tech wizardry at the disposal of a film so stubbornly, studiously lo-fi.

Though delightful in places, the third entry in Sony’s third Spider-Man cycle feels both overstocked and underwhelming.

A so-so sequel enlivened by a few inspired moments. Ralph and Vanellope are still good company, but this concept might have worked better as a series of shorts.

This muted procedural promises more than it can deliver.

If Miyazaki Jr elevates the material, it’s through style. Dripping with watercolour warmth, the rapturous images convey how a country’s efforts to right itself resonate with the young.

We’ve seen Stiller do ‘exasperated malcontent’ before, but this remains a perceptive portrait of fortysomething angst.

This ultimately feels like a story that didn’t need remaking, with performances that would have tickled in a one-night view on Broadway. It’s Friedkin’s swan song, yes, but is it representative of his output? Probably not.

Lang makes an intimidating antagonist, but a silly final act ends things on a sour note