Adventurer, narcissist or both? Marshall Curry’s riveting study of a momma’s boy turned freedom fighter never editorialises, leaving us to decide.

Driven by a committed turn from Witherspoon, Jean-Marc Vallée confirms himself as the go-to director for triumph-over-adversity character studies.

Marches to the beat of its own drum… Lands with a bang… There just aren’t enough musical clichés to describe Whiplash. A masterclass in technique, power and rhythm, it stings and sings like nothing else.

Cooper’s performance grounds a solid, authentic drama – Eastwood’s best since Letters From Iwo Jima – that is less about one single field of combat than the price of war itself.

Patient, non-judgemental docu-making yields psychologically rich results in Jesse Moss’s potent dispatch from recession-hit America.

Even now we know he’ll thrive post-Hogwarts, Radcliffe impresses as Arthur Kipps, the solicitor, widower and father with an invested interest in the afterlife.

The music busts a gut straining for weepie affect, but you might shed a few yourself when the five-year battle reaches its jubilant, justified climax.

Pierce Brosnan, a long way from his Bond days, huffs and puffs his way through a boilerplate thriller that finds his ex-CIA hitman, Peter Devereaux, retired to a coffee shop in Switzerland.

Wiig and Hader give winning, finely nuanced turns in a film that deftly mixes light and dark. Also features the best use of ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now’ since Mannequin…

Everything gets just too damn convoluted for its own good, and it’s hard to care what becomes of Haggis’ characters as they’re shifted around. Any one of the strands expanded alone might have worked better.

A sombre, ’70s-flavoured crime drama with strong, interior performances from Hardy, Gandolfini and Rapace. Feel the (slow)burn.

Handsomely mounted and energetically played, this movie captures much of the real genius of James Brown... then obscures it with needless chronological fiddling.

Sharp as fangs, warm as fresh blood, this could be the funniest movie of the year. New Zealand’s answer to Edgar Wright.

When someone in Age Of Extinction carps about “crap sequels and remakes” in movies, you almost choke on the audacity.

Snowden proves surprisingly sympathetic. His intentions appear to have no subtext, but sadly neither does the doc; the irony of an infodump approach to mass surveillance goes disappointingly unexploited.

On form as both director and actor, Jones crafts a mournful but moving hymn to the western. The feminist subtext, meanwhile, brings a fresh slant to the old genre.

Bleak but beautiful, this terrific chamber drama confirms Ceylan as one of world cinema’s leading lights. The bum-numbing length may intimidate, but there’s more than enough quality to offset it.

Previously known as "Mariah Mundi And The Midas Box," the retitling came with the straight-to-DVD release – presumably to help hide it from fans of G.P. Taylor’s original book.

Flawed but often flooring, The Grandmaster swoons with grace, feeling and elegance. With Leung and Zhang on killer form, Wong has delivered his best film in a decade.

The home stretch is drenched in sticky-sweet sentiment, but Murray’s fans will rejoice at the chance to see their idol in full-on grouch mode.

Reitman’s topical and melancholy drama is commendably ambitious. But its OTT plotting and alarmist tone make it a Reefer Madness for the Instagram generation.

Disappointingly limp, with precious few belly laughs, despite a try-hard attitude.

A lovingly balanced biopic that fends off award-gobbling clichés. Smarts + heart = a winner: it’s a simple equation, but Marsh makes it add up.

Iñárritu ditches time-hopping bleakness for a linear, if loopy, satire that buzzes with brio. If Mel Brooks, John Cassavetes and Terry Zwigoff co-directed a superhero movie, this might be it.

Gyllenhaal is engaged and engaging in Denis Villeneuve’s adventure in psychological surrealism: let’s hope they stay friends.

A hypnotically disturbing triumph for Miller and his cast. Bruisingly intimate and psychologically nuanced, its spiral into savagery lingers like a bad dream.

Family entertainment with death, limb-lopping and other horrors. If you go Into The Woods today, you’ll be surprised how faithful this is to the dark stage musical.

The most inventive sequence has Larry and Teddy plunge into an MC Escher painting, an interlude so dazzling you can almost overlook the weeing monkey.

Patric’s bullet-scarred killer-gone-clean is a tired character in every sense, and no amount of exploding blood packs can make up for this much banality. At least there’s enough momentum to keep you from checking the timer every two minutes.

Tipping its hat to "The Evil Dead" and Peter Jackson’s early gore flicks, Dead Snow 2 is a 90-minute symphony of skull-splitting sight gags, each one more revolting than the last.

Richard Laxton’s painterly film combines the gothic shadows of Hitchcock’s Rebecca with the gut-wrenching romance of A Royal Affair. The result is dark and offbeat, but as a murky anti-romance, Gray is undeniably effective.

A finely etched character study, with Cumberbatch on towering form. Set coordinates for the Oscars.

Injecting fun and fairground thrills back into the spy movie, Kingsman is a blast. Firth is sensational, Jackson rules and newcomer Egerton surprises. Mission accomplished for Matthew Vaughn.

Liam Neeson cuts a rather sorry figure in what’s less a final flourish for the series than a prolonged death rattle.

Harper’s well-appointed sequel has strong performances even if the Woman becomes a supporting character in her own tale.

Adams is as watchable as ever as Margaret, backed by fine support, but the problem lies with Waltz. He’s more caricature than character, and Burton proves unable to harness his energy as well as Tarantino did.

Even the film’s key source of charm, its heartfelt allegory about tolerance, becomes a flaw when rare flashes of anarchy (notably a tribe of crazed rodents) are eclipsed by over earnestness.

The film’s cryptic style obscures insight; just as the condition provides a scapegoat for neglecting Abby’s motives, so it prevents Passon from developing a sustained dramatic network. Satisfaction is fleeting.

Francesca Gregorini’s film stands or falls on a central mystery as silly as it is surreal. Fair play to Gregorini, though, for avoiding the temptation to deliver an outré slice of suburban Gothic; by framing events as melodrama, she can better examine themes of grief and motherhood.

Political without point-scoring, Jacir remains true to a child’s-eye view, with Asfa’s delightful, exuberant performance always upfront.

Philippe Le Guay’s comedy promises an intellectual satire on how actors mirror their characters. Yet it’s compromised by indulgent pacing and ill-advised slapstick – leaving a cosy, middlebrow showcase for its stars to practise theatrical verse and fall off their bikes.

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.

Mixing candid talking heads with scarcely believable video footage, Miller’s taut narrative shifts gears (black comedy, thriller, even a love story), but is mostly driven by outrage at the powers that be.

It might look as though Hallmark, Benetton and Richard Curtis have collaborated on a movie, but Chelsom’s lightly subversive, self-aware tone bolsters Pegg’s best shot yet at a mass-appeal crowd-pleaser.

The initially cryptic plotting and low-key realism are familiar from Iranian dramas; what’s striking is how Rasoulof shifts into such a lucid, gut-punching tale of persecution. The film’s flaws are forgivable; its very existence should be applauded.

The thematic weight drags down the tension, yet just when it seems Janiak has forgotten the scares she pulls off a creepy finale.

Like a Richard Curtis movie with an Instagram filter, director Christian Ditter makes everything look pretty.

With the characters rarely verbalising their attraction, Ribeiro impresses by conveying Leonardo’s awakening through elegant long takes and the actors’ endearing chemistry.

The cumulative effect offers a tender tribute to the resilience of his subjects’ spirits against the thrum of traffic.

The film’s power lies in its use of archive footage, voiceover and even Ebert’s computerised speech translator to keep the writer’s voice alive.

A brutal army thriller that feels like the truth, thanks to take-no-prisoners storytelling and a tell-no-lies performance from Jack O’Connell.

Shame that the plotting favours narrative intrigue over character depth, creating a film whose message is witnessed rather than felt.

Barker’s approach starts simplistic but gathers in complexity, insight and moral force with each story.

Despite the warmongering title, focusing on the action would be doing The Battle Of The Five Armies a disservice. Even at its most talky, it's compelling stuff, reaping the rewards of characters built-up over two-and-a-bit movies (sometimes more), all of them flawed and with a convincing agenda.

Jack O’Connell’s, wiry, indefatigable Zamperini holds your attention without effort.

Scott operates on a suitably Biblical scale and grounds the spectacle with rock-solid turns from Bale and Edgerton.

Where family films so often falter, choking on their own contrived sentimentality and/or cool, Paddington is sweet and silly and, at times, edge-of-the-seat stuff.

Looser, more conventional, and highly dependent on the enjoyably rambling bro-banter of NickKurtDale Inc, Horrible Bosses 2 is a mostly-cosy caper that gives off rather less blackly comic energy than its predecessor.

Another shrewdly gauged study of our capacity for deception and self-deception from A Separation’s auteur. Emotionally devastating.

The footage – discoveries made by the Allies in the liberated Nazi camps during 1945 – is graphic, terrible, unforgettable.

A masterpiece of animation and imagination.

An earthy, affecting and droll celebration of the unique alignment of influences that forged a great band – and the thrusting live footage rams Pulp’s greatness home.

One great British artist pays tribute to another in a lengthy but rewarding homage that boasts a titanic turn at its centre. Rarely has watching paint dry been so fascinating.

With measure and muscle, Lawrences Jennifer and Francis nail the job of selling the long, twisting road towards revolution.

It’s left to the leads to keep us engaged, a tall order given their film’s old-fashioned, fusty feel.

Every bit as compelling as any Hollywood political thriller.

Nolan reaches for the stars in spectacular fashion, delivering a mesmerising sci-fi epic that, despite a testing running time and few too many flights of fancy, is grounded by an on-form McConaughey.

Gyllenhaal is sensational headlining a pitch-black satire with its finger on the pulse.

Loud, intense, violent, relentless, Fury doesn’t stop until the credits roll, thanks to Ayer’s cracking direction and a committed cast. The best WW2 movie in some time.

The heart-stopping climax offers no answers: just the lingering unease of uncertainty.

Though its influences (Badlands, early Coens) are writ large, and the denouement disappoints, the performances convince, the dialogue captivates and the sense of backwater boredom is overpowering.

MacKay is marvellous, delivering lines with a Lear-like intensity, in what becomes a fascinating meditation on myth and madness.

It’s nowhere near as subversive, stylish or witty as Guy Ritchie’s debut – hampered by thoroughly unlikeable characters that not even its talented young cast (Ed Speleers, Will Poulter, Alfie Allen) can make you root for.

Doesn’t have the heft of Zodiac or the verve of Se7en but Gone Girl is a masterful adaptation and a superior crime-thriller. As for Fincher changing the ending… See for yourself.

Impressively designed throughout, The Unbeatables also keeps the laughs kicking.

Exciting, in places, though a stranger to subtlety, it ticks all the genre boxes, but there’s something about its knowing noirisms that feels superficial rather than soaked-in.

Hardly the most original film of the year, but one of the most purely pleasurable. The ideal horror intro for fledgling genre fans – scary fun that definitely fills a hole.

Cool as you like one second, camp as Christmas the next, this entertainingly overpumped action-horror will have genre fans (and their mums) grinning from ear to ear.

It’s unashamedly broad, sentimental and clichéd, but Cox anchors proceedings with wit and tenderness, while Smith (who can act and shoot at the same time) adds wonder.

A feel-good charmer with an important message, Pride will have you clutching your sides, wiping your eyes and punching the air in triumph.

Besson is at his balls-out bonkers best in this genre-scrambling, mind-expanding exhilarator.

Lawrence’s mechanised menagerie and the directors’ stereoscopic smarts entertain most.

From the texture of the underground havens to the idea that our leads have to – literally – cling to each other lest gravity tears them apart, it’s a wonder of detail and ingenuity.

Amini’s film offers elegant pleasures and holds the interest – but it never grips as it should.

Rude, crude and packed with more laughs than Jay’s had lovers (6,004, apparently), Inbetweeners fans will lap this up. All this, and a killer twist at the end.

Boasts sporadically electrifying visuals but a frustratingly messy mythology.

Whether visual or thematic, Folman’s bold, eccentric ideas never fail to astound; but they also never truly cohere into a satisfying narrative throughline.

It’s the fully invested leads and graceful, poetic direction that give this study of emotional interiors its subtly heartbreaking power.

Not as groundbreaking as the original, nor as expansive as all the best sequels are. But with some excellent cast additions, and Miller on murky form, this still sizzles to the touch.

A moving morality tale set in a world rarely seen in western cinema, Metro Manila is an underdog drama that feels as authentic as it is original.

Among the blood, sweat and (ahem) salty tears are musings on desire, family and emasculation, but this is Kim at his most mischievous, the laughs drowning all.

The Expendables 3 marks a sizeable improvement on the first two outings.

Taking a cold, cruel plunge into its sociopath’s world, Winterbottom’s latest genre swerve is an accomplished neo-noir.

Mad, marvellous and all kinds of sci-fi magical, Guardians Of The Galaxy is Marvel’s riskiest but most surprising success yet.

By the beard of Zeus! Brett Ratner delivers fast, fun thrills to score a sound victory over Renny Harlin’s laborious The Legend Of Hercules.

Extraordinary in form, ‘ordinary’ in content, Boyhood is ambitious, intimate and unforgettable. It might just be the apex of Linklater’s life’s work.

Writer/directors Fabio Grassadonia and Antonio Piazza’s debut explores over-familiar territory and suffers from fiercely ponderous pacing.

A serious subject receives a simplistic treatment in an ill-conceived thriller in which the emotive (and timely) issue of honour killings becomes just another plot device.