JohnWelles

"Hail, Caesar!" (2016), directed by the Academy-award winning Coen Brothers, is a light-hearted portrayal of nineteen-fifties Hollywood, where large film studios are all powerful. In amongst the barbs and repartee, the Coens' clearly feel an affinity with the era, and along with their cinematographer Roger Deakins, recreate the visual look of the decade with an uncanny precision. It's the first film in years to recall the Technicolor brightness of American pictures of that time; it reveals a real affection, while still maintaining a clear-eyed sense of the iniquities of the then-studio system. Studio executives control their stars' lives to the smallest degree, while waspish gossip columnists try to discover any scandal.

The Coens add into this mix a number of pastiches, not just of Roman and Biblical epics, but of Westerns and musicals, with a spot-on musical number featuring Channing Tatum as a sailor (in clear reference to "On the Town", 1949), one of the film's highlights. Being at heart a screwball comedy means the Coens' darker impulses are kept in check so that even the malevolent group the Future, who abduct George Clooney, are seen as charmingly misguided.

Josh Brolin displays fine comic skill and brings a layer of nuance to his serially perturbed studio boss character, while the ensemble cast match the all-star extravaganzas so popular in the nineteen-fifties: everyone seems to appear, from Tilda Swinton to Scarlet Johansson, Jonah Hill to a very memorable Aldren Ehrenreich as a singing cowboy.

Perhaps one criticism that could be made is that it never becomes more than the sum of its parts: the script, by the Coens, offers a wonderful whirlwind of episodes, jumping from Ralph Fiennes' refined director offering Ehrenreich elocution lessons to a distraught Brolin trying to hide the fact his biggest star is missing. Yet it never quite coheres into an organic whole and by the time it concludes, you're left feeling that it is a rather slight, shaggy-dog story: a lot of fun and frequently amusing, but not one of the Coens' masterworks, a minor work by major auteurs.

However, it would be churlish to deny the film's many pleasures, from Carter Burwell's score to the production design by Jess Gonchor, with costumes from Mary Zophres. It's authentically nineteen-fifties and that alone is reason enough to see it; combined with witty performances and deft direction, it almost doesn't matter that the film is about very little. Enjoy the ride and forget about the destination.

"Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens" (2015), directed by J.J. Abrams, is the latest, much anticipated entry in a series that spans 38 years and counting. Every decade since the seventies has had its "Star Wars" and this, the first in a decade, is the start of a new trilogy. George Lucas, the original creator and director of perhaps the most iconic (and financially successful) franchise of all time, sold the rights to the series to Disney in 2012 and it is intriguing to see what "Star Wars" without Lucas is like.

On the whole, it must be said, very good. Abrams, director of the recent "Star Trek" (2009) reboot, working with Lawrence Kasdan (a noted director in his own right) and Michael Arndt, creates a host of memorable new characters: Finn and Rey are standouts, as well as fighter pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) and alien Maz Kanata (Lupita Nyong'o). They're brought to life by a fine cast, with newcomers Ridley and Boyega comparing well to the returning cast, which includes a suitably gruff and laconic Harrison Ford as Han Solo and Carrie Fishers as Leia Organa. In many respects, these performances are the best part of the film. However, not all is so bright.

Adam Driver, as the film's main villain, the masked, petulant Kylo Ren, lacks a distinctive presence and, in a first for the series, the nefarious evil force fighting the Resistance, seem a little colourless. Perhaps this is due in part to Abrams devotion to recreating the original films to such an extent that "The Force Awakens" in much of its plotting operates as a recreation of "A New Hope" (1977), not so much a sequel as a remake by stealth. Consequently, it lacks the wonder, awe and mystery that defined the first film and is more of an affectionate homage, with action scenes directly echoing previous ones. Even two shocking plot twists which it would be churlish to reveal, are not so very distant from previous films.

It's exciting, it's funny and ends on a cliffhanger which will leave you waiting for the next instalment; however, it will also leave you hoping for a more original, creative film next time we visit a galaxy, a long time ago and far, far away...

"Spectre" (2015), the twenty-fourth James Bond film, and directed by the Oscar-winner Sam Mendes, is a remarkably lithe affair. Mendes opens the film with an incredible, five-minute opening shot following Bond as he makes his way through the Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico City. It's a stunning visual coup, unprecedented for the series or in any other similar action film of recent years, and announces that Mendes, after making "Skyfall" (2012), is still interested in innovating within what has become a venerable British institution.

Craig, reprising his role for the fourth (and it has been hinted, final) time, looks more relaxed and at ease as Bond than ever before. While still cutting a gaunt, serious figure, he can also handle the script's wry sense of humour: this is truly the funniest Bond in decades. He's ably supported by an impressive cast: Ralph Fiennes (as M), Ben Whishaw (playing Q) and Naomie Harris (Ms Moneypenny), making for an excellent recurring cast, while Léa Seydoux, Monica Bellucci and Christoph Waltz are very fine. Waltz in particular, relishes his villainous role, bringing a gleeful wickedness to his character. He lacks the visceral impact of Javier Bardem in "Skyfall", but his performance deserves to propel him into the upper echelons of Bond villains.

Hoyte van Hoytema's cinematography is superb, matching Roger Deakins' work on "Skyfall" by taking a very different approach: shooting on film, van Hoytema brings a sophisticated, classical elegance, capturing the blazing light of Morocco and the shadowy, diffused look of Rome. One of Mendes' key legacies during his tenure as director of the series will be how elegant photography defines both of his films.

That's not to say, however, it's a perfect film. It lacks the delicious surprise "Skyfall" provided, uprooting so many of our assumptions of what a Bond film was; "Spectre" is far more deliberately traditional. Worse, the screenplay, by John Logan, Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and Jez Butterworth, introduces a subplot about the potential closure of MI6. While it helps make the film feel very contemporary, the chief component, Max Denbigh (played by Andrew Scott), is disastrously underwritten and frankly, uninteresting, lengthening an already long film. The script also, mystifyingly, constructs a two-part climax which feels unnecessary. It under-utilises a fascinating location in favour of an overly-familiar one and try as Mendes might, he can't pull the broken-backed finale off.

Still, Thomas Newman's score is an improvement over his music for "Skyfall", introducing John Barry-esque strings and horns, while Mendes displays his panache as an action director with a number of thrilling sequences. It's a ferociously entertaining, unrelenting film, and questions of plausibility aside, it's a high watermark for the James Bond series.

"Woman in Gold" (2015), directed by Simon Curtis, is anchored by Mirren's performance. She has the sharp, intelligent, quintessentially Austrian character of Maria Altmann down to the slightest mannerism, Mirren disappearing into her character. It's to the credit of the script, by Alexi Kaye Campbell, that it creates a character so strongly delineated, as well as letting Mirren (who won an Academy Award for her performance in "The Queen" (2006)) suggest the inner vulnerabilities which her tough exterior seeks to hide.

If it's a powerful, memorable performance, then it's unfortunate that it outclasses the surrounding film. The material, tackling the important issue of the repatriation of art stolen by the Nazis, to their true owners, highlights the complex nature of modern-day Austrian society, still uncomfortable about its role in aiding Hitler during World War II. However, Curtis doesn't seem up to the task. Previously having directed "My Week with Marilyn" (2011), his treatment too often errs on the side of the predictable, bathing flashbacks to the Anschluss (the German annexation of Austria in 1939) in the now customary desaturated palette, providing a gloss on the past. Neither is there the hoped-for dynamism in handling the complex series of court cases that had to be fought against the Austrian government, both in Austria and the United States. The intricacies are glazed over in favour of dramatic speeches, although Ryan Reynolds as the lawyer is surprisingly good and manages to play the moments of humour early on in the film to maximum effect.

There's an extensive cast, including Daniel Brühl as a sympathetic Austrian journalist, Charles Dance enjoying himself as a brusque head of a law firm and Jonathan Pryce in one scene playing the Supreme Court's Chief Justice, William Rehnquist, although Katie Holmes is given nothing to do as Reynolds' wife.

The film's major flaw then, is its script, from which Curtis is tied to. There's no insight into Klimt and the eponymous "Woman in Gold", Adele Bloch-Bauer I, is an exotic enigma, as flat as Klimt's portrait of her. Shot in opalescent golds, in a literal cinematic transcription of her portrait, we never know who she is. Tethered to Mirren's character childhood memories of her, her Austrian past is rendered as a simplistic golden era destroyed by the coming of Nazism. There's no attempt to confront the existing anti-Semitism that was rife in Austria throughout the early 20th century, long before Hitler's ascent to power; ultimately, the film sells the past short. It's on steadier ground with Mirren and Reynolds grappling with the Austrian government's attempts to frustrate their claims to Klimt's masterpiece and these are the best portions of the film, perhaps as it focuses on Mirren and Reynolds, who have an undeniable screen chemistry. It's thanks to their efforts that this film still remains worth viewing.

"Everest" (2015), directed by Baltasar Kormákur who has been known only for generic action films like "Contraband" (2012) and "2 Guns" (2013). Yet here he makes a beautifully-executed film which never takes a misstep, capturing both the awe and terrific danger of Mount Everest. The film sets out to examine the disparate group of people who are willing to pay $65,000 and risk all by trying to reach the summit, which we're solemnly informed by Rob Hall, is at the altitude of a cruising Boeing 747.

Kormákur's strength as a director, allows the actors to imbue their real characters with a sense of naturalism, from the mailman Doug Hansen (John Hawkes) to the Texan bravado of Beck Weathers (Josh Brolin). The script, by William Nicholson and Simon Beaufoy, takes an ensemble approach to its narrative, a mosaic of climbers from which emerges a community with underlying tensions between experienced mountaineers and "tourists" paying to get to Everest's peak. Poor decisions made at over 29,000 feet can be fatal, especially when compounded by the fierce intensity of the Himalyan weather.

Kormákur actually shot at the Everest base camp and filmed climbing scenes in the Italian Alps, giving the film a powerful realism; watching it, you feel the sub-zero temperatures and the vertiginous heights. He's also adept at building tension, particularly in showing climbers crossing a ladder at Everest's Kumbu Ice Fall, where just from the sound alone, we wince at every step taken. It's an extraordinary tense film, especially as, being based on real events, we know some will not survive. Yet Kormákur refuses to sentimentalise the drama, lending a dignity to the ill-fated characters: death is not over-dramatised, instead the fragility of life on the mountain is emphasised. He's aided immeasurably by an excellent cast: Jason Clarke, Jake Gyllenhaal, John Hawkes, Josh Brolin and Emily Watson. If there's a criticism to be made, the film sometimes spreads itself too thinly, and actors like Sam Worthington and Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson are relegated to the background.

The clarity of Salvatore Totino's cinematography enables us to appreciate the savage beauty of the mountains while the editing of Mick Audsley admirably clarifies a complex story, cross-cutting between base camp and the different groups fighting their way back down through a horrific storm. It's a dramatic survival film, rooted in humanity enduring the extremes of nature, but it never looses sight of the individual. It's the rare Hollywood film which believes in character and employs special effects in the service of the story, to create an entirely satisfying piece of cinema.

"Touch of Evil" (1958), directed by Orson Welles, is a great, baroque film noir which marked Welles return to Hollywood after a decade of self-imposed artistic exile in Europe. The man who had transformed theatre, radio and cinema by the time he was 25, took a pulp thriller called "Badge of Evil" by "Whit Masterson" (a nom-de-plum for Robert Allison Wade and Robert Clatworthy) and produced a startling, daring masterwork.

Welles translates the intensity of theatre into cinema with long, mobile takes: the opening three minute shot has become justifiably iconic, a testament to what cinema is capable of. A small film in and of itself, it traces the progress of the car which has a bomb planted in it, along the main street to the border post. This shot introduces us to Vargas and his wife, the geography of the town and establishes the crucial back story. It's the organic integration of the shot into the story which makes it extraordinary. Throughout the film, almost without the audience registering it, whole scenes are composed in one take, and it contributes to the picture's fluid, propulsive dynamism, Welles' formal devices are as exciting as the ostensible thriller elements. The deep focus cinematography Welles had helped to pioneer on "Citizen Kane" (1941) is further refined here by Russell Metty, underlining the visual and moral darkness of the town, a key aspect of the film.

Despite making what was supposed to be a B-movie, Welles imbues his film with a Shakespearean concept of character, with his own character cutting a fascinating figure. Quinlan goes on intuition and plants evidence to get the murder; yet it's revealed that he did indeed get the right man, leading to a muddying of the initial good cop - bad cop dichotomy established between Vargas and Quinlan. In the Wellesian universe, there are no simple answers.

Charlton Heston playing a Mexican is absurd but it does contribute further to the viewer's feeling of dislocation, that within the seedy environs of the border town, anything could happen. He seems to be the film's moral compass, but his error of judgement in abandoning his wife at a motel and later use of underhand methods to try and catch Quinlan leads to a far more complex, multi-faceted character.

Welles called on many of his friends to act in the film as a favour, leading to a phenomenal cast of character actors: Joseph Calleia, Akim Tamiroff, Ray Collins and even a cameo from Marlene Dietrich. It's an incredible gallery of faces, performances, leaving indelible marks on cinematic history.

"Touch of Evil" proved to be one of the last of the classical noirs, but its impact still reverberates through cinema today. Filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich summed it up simply as "a masterpiece - a Goya-like vision of an infected universe". No one else could have made it and it's one of the great artistic achievements of the 20th century.

"Tomorrowland" (2015), directed by Brad Bird, is a science fiction film that tries to be bold, original and optimistic, to translate the hope for the future felt in the 1950s into 2015. It's a brave attempt, but sadly Bird isn't successful. Formerly the director of the animated films "The Iron Giant" (1999), "The Incredibles" (2004) and "Ratatouille" (2007), before making his live action film debut with "Mission Impossible - Ghost Protocol" (2011), Bird has always been hailed as an unique filmmaker, someone who helped seal Pixar's reputation as the finest animation studio in America, but here something has seriously gone askew.

It's perhaps the script's fault, authored by Damon Lindelof with Bird, which insists on a bright, cheery optimism as its rasion d'etre and then tells its audience this, repeatedly. Hugh Laurie as Nix, the principle villain, is presented as such a ridiculous, doom-mongering character that it is hard to take the character's threat to the protagonists seriously. What is normally a thematic undercurrent to a movie becomes a hyperbolic statement, expanded upon by character's being given speeches as clunky as the retro design of Tomorrowland itself is sleek and smooth. There's no subtlety in the script at all and talented actors like George Clooney and Britt Robertson have an uphill task when their roles are defined in single, non-changing character traits. Only Raffey Cassidy as the android Athena manages to imbue her character with any nuance and depth.

This might be all the more easily forgivable if Bird handled the scenes with the wonder and awe the script continuously rhapsodises about, but the design of the future, in keeping with the 1950s roots of the film, is predictable and is more likely to inspire waves of familiarity rather than astonishment, even when Tomorrowland is introduced to Casey via a continuous six minute shot. The computer-generated effects here are frequently more banal than extraordinary; only two sequences, at the decommissioning of a NASA shuttle launch pad and a scene at the Eiffel Tower really work in terms of special effects. These highpoints contrast with the film as it nears its climax, which becomes rushed and unclear, with the editing of Craig Wood and Walter Murch (who cut many of Francis Ford Coppola's films, including "Apocalypse Now" [1979]), becoming depressingly reminiscent of television commercials.

Many of these defects might have become mitigated in fact, if, like Bird's finest films, it had been animated. With another script rewrite introducing much needed doses of humour, it wouldn't be hard to imagine it as a successful Pixar film. As it is though, this is an extended misfire.

"The Man from U.N.C.L.E." (2015), directed by Guy Ritchie, is a recreation of the hit 1960s American television series which originally starred Robert Vaughn and David McCallum. For the 21st century version however, we have Henry Cavill and Armie Hammer, who are both remarkably effective at communicating the initial distrust and then, later, grudging respect for each other. This central dynamic helps make the film never less than entertaining and several set pieces are memorable precisely due to the tensions and unexpected similarities between the two.

In keeping with the Cold War setting, Ritchie recreates the 1960s with a nicely chosen soundtrack (Roberta Flack, Nina Simone) to a fun opening title sequence (reminiscent of Maurice Binder's titles for early James Bond films). However, just as in Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes pictures with Robert Downey Jr., he never truly captures the atmosphere of the sixties beyond the fashion of the period. Yet Ritchie demonstrates his ability to put together a very good action scene with Solo's extraction of Gaby from East Berlin at the start of the film. Ritchie though, does understand that it is the shifting relationships between these three which is the most engaging aspect of the film, with the character scenes being handled with a deft touch.

Ritchie's visual pyrotechnics at times, such as the tiresome flashbacks and over-edited chases, keep interrupting the flow of a film whose script (by Ritchie and Lionel Wigram) is uneven to say the least. High comedy and grave seriousness alternate, not always comfortably, highlighted no more so than by the tonally misjudged torture scene of Napoleon Solo which ranges from the Holocaust to slapstick comedy.

The cast though, can't be faulted, with Jared Harris, as Solo's controller, delivering a creditable Brooklyn accent, and Hugh Grant does his perfected debonair English gentleman impression. Alicia Vikander is fine, as is Elizabeth Debicki as the principle villain. With most of the film set in Italy, it looks, due to cinematographer John Mathieson, excellent, although some ugly digital inserts do mar the aesthetic.

"The Man from U.N.C.L.E." went through many production difficulties and permutations of director and cast (George Clooney and Tom Cruise were both cast at different points to play Napoleon Solo) and the sometimes generic plotting (particularly the climax) seem like below par Bond material. Ritchie, to his credit, does maintain an enjoyable style and it's a film easy on both eye and mind, even if it only ultimately makes a shallow impact.

"Selma" (2014), directed by Ava DuVernay, is a snapshot of the US Civil Rights Movement in the early 1960s and its attempts to get black Americans the vote in segregated southern states.

DuVernay has crafted a film which consistently refuses to take an idealistic perspective, ensuring the movie remains on a human scale throughout. It takes King as a significant but fallible figure; the British actor David Oyelowo perfectly captures the rhythms and cadence of his speech, although one of the strongest scenes in the film is where he is confronted over his marital infidelities by his wife, Coretta Scott King (Carmen Ejogo). This mixture of the historical and the personal is the film's most impressive asset, refusing to succumb to a hagiographic awe and thus bearing comparison in approach to Spielberg's "Lincoln" (2012).

Oyelowo embodies King throughout with admirable intensity and conviction; no better performance could be asked for. He's ably supported by a cast including Tom Wilkinson as President Lyndon Johnson, Tim Roth as Alabama governor George Wallace and various other recognisable faces such as Martin Sheen and Giovanni Ribisi. However, it's clearly Oyelowo's film from the very beginning and is actually at its weakest when the film shifts it's focus, such as the scenes between Lyndon Johnson and J. Edgar Hoover (Dylan Baker), director of the FBI. Not only have issues been raised about their historical credibility, but they fail to have the same emotional resonance and momentum as the sequences showing how King and his associates actually go through the complex problems of organising the march. The infamous attack on the protesters by the police and civilian militia on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, shows DuVernay's skills as director, the fog of tear gas and the wounded, running people, shot and cut like a war scene.

Cinematographer Bradford Young shoots with a palette of warm brown and golden tones and DuVernay certainly isn't afraid of letting Young's camera sit unobtrusively in medium shot, letting the audience experience the actors' interactions and performances, most notably when King and another activist just cruise along the darkened Selma streets, reflecting on recent, tumultuous events.

The film is at its weakest when trying to cover too much, such as factional in-fighting in different civil rights groups or when it starts to resemble standard Hollywood biopics with the final triumphant scene at Alabama's state capitol: it's undoubtedly stirring but feels a little formulaic. "Selma" is at its best when it takes an alternative tack to the usual Hollywood formulations and delivers an intimate portrayal of a crucial moment in American history.

"Jupiter Ascending" (2015), directed by the Wachowskis, is an intergalactic science fiction film that seeks to provoke awe and exhilaration but falls short on both counts. The Wachowskis have struggled in the sixteen years since making the trend-setting "The Matrix" (1999), not quite recovering their reputation after the critically disappointing sequels and their financially-underwhelming films "Speed Racer" (2008) and "Cloud Atlas" (2012). This means "Jupiter Ascending", originally scheduled to be released in July 2014 but pushed back to January 2015 to complete the work on the computer generated special effects and to allow its studio Warner Bros., to mount a more effective marketing campaign, has so far struggled critically and commercially. It's not hard to see why either, with a clunky and exposition-filled opening that betrays a lack of confidence with its subject and further hampered by at times poor dialogue. The script, an original, is all plot and forward momentum, clearly influenced by a number of literary sci-fi sources including Frank Herbert's "Dune" series and some half-baked allegorising on capitalism. The Wachowskis' eagerness to create a blockbuster franchise means they rely too heavily on the expected genre traits of epic odysseys, with silent, brooding heroes (Channing Tatum) and hysterical, manic villains (Oscar-winner Eddie Redmayne, who alternates between quivering whispers and exploding uproar) with an ingénue female lead to be rescued and have the plot explained to (a rather wooden Mila Kunis).

The script is an unsatisfactory mess that manages to conform to every expected reversal in the plot and the Wachowskis compound the feeling of familiarity with a quick editing rhythm (with Alexander Berner doing the actual cutting) that is redolent of many other mainstream action films. The only distinctive directorial set piece is an eight minute aerial battle over the dawn skies of Chicago that allows John Toll's cinematography to truly breathe and deliver a genuinely thrilling moment in a film that otherwise has little time for Toll's photographic magic. The other memorable sequence is when Kunis must claim the title to Earth from a galactic bureaucracy; it's a rare moment of humour in an otherwise po-faced filmed. The production design (by Hugh Bateup) and costume design (by Kym Barrett) is inventive and excellent, from a planet created with a Frank Gehry aesthetic to incorporating Ely Cathedral into the spaceship of Titus Abrasax (Douglas Booth in an amusing, self-deprecating performance, the best in the film). It's visually extraordinary but almost too much; combined with the unrelenting special effects, the rich textures become suffocating, especially when their isn't the script or characters to sustain it.

In thinking the audience are engaged with its stolid characters, it fails to find any fun in itself, even when Sean Bean is supposed to be half man and half bee. Instead, we're left to dwell on its ephemeral pleasures, from the costumes and sets to Redmayne's twitching mannerisms and one well-done action scene. It's not enough to sustain the picture, leaving the film ultimately hollow and superficial; the Wachowskis were once renowned as original, visionary filmmakers, but now it seems they're as over-enamoured with special effects and franchise-building at the expense of depth as the rest of Hollywood.

"Exodus: Gods and Kings" (2014), directed by Ridley Scott is a return to the oft-told Biblical story, most famously filmed by Cecil B. DeMille in "The Ten Commandments" (1956), of Moses liberating the Israelites. However, Scott, currently cinema's foremost director of historical epics with "Gladiator" (2000), "Kingdom of Heaven" (2005) and "Robin Hood" (2010), attempts to bring a fresh approach to a sporadically revived genre that has lain largely dormant for decades.

"Exodus" though, only partially succeeds. Despite running for two and a half hours, the film still feels abbreviated and characters unnecessarily abandoned (Scott has claimed his preferred cut would another ninety minutes). Many of the fine supporting cast, including Aaron Paul, Ben Kingsley and Sigourney Weaver, have little development and merely deliver exposition of the picture's plot, serving more as ciphers than real characters. Even the adventurous decision of having God portrayed as a petulant child by Issac Andrews backfires, lacking the requisite gravitas. The film is left feeling oddly diminutive despite the massed thousands of slaves or Egyptian soldiers, brought to life by some uneven computer generated imagery. Worse still, the script (by Steven Zaillian amongst others) seems to evade Moses himself; Bale is convincing but he's asked to create nuances that just aren't there. Joel Edgerton, as Ramesses, and John Turturro, playing Seti, fare better, embodying the complex court politics of the pharaohs' rule.

However, all is not lost. If the cast are left to fend for themselves by the script, then at least we can regale in Scott's beautiful craft. Early scenes, of Ramesses extracting venom from snakes or Mosses visiting a slave encampment run by Ben Mendelsohn, show his grasp of the power of images, the positioning of the camera, the instinctive knowledge of when to cut, revealing Scott's visual complexity. Cinematographer Dariusz Wolski uses digital photography to convey the harshness of the desert light, the unblinking intensity of the North African sun (the film was shot on location in Morocco as well as in Almería, Spain), that admirably shows the dirt and grit of the ancient world. Scott's movies always look extraordinary and this is no exception: the film's stand-out sequence is the ten plagues overwhelming the Egyptian capital of Memphis, the Nile turning red and the waves of all-consuming locusts and flies, a visual coup that belongs to a better thought-out film.

"Exodus: Gods and Kings" is undoubtedly a flawed film, belonging to the lower tier's of Scott's filmography, and yet in its pictorial richness, it becomes strangely fascinating despite the neglect of a host fine thespians and the erratic quality of its special effects. An intriguing misfire then, that becomes more interesting than more tonally consistent studio pictures. Maybe the Director's Cut will be worth waiting for.

"Interstellar" (2014), directed by Christopher Nolan, is a wildly ambitious science fiction film, an original film that seems an anomaly in contemporary Hollywood, not based on a franchise or well-known book. With a screenplay written by Nolan and his brother Jonathan, it belongs to the tradition of inquisitive sci-fi, following in the path struck by Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968) and Roger Zemeckis' "Contact" (1997), seeking to explore deep space and what it holds for humanity. It would be churlish to reveal too much about what McConaughey's crew find through the wormhole, but suffice to say that the planets they do explore feel grounded in reasonable conjecture that reflects the real risks of interplanetary travel. The film in particular captures both the frightening beauty of space, courtesy of Hoyte van Hoytema's luminous, beautiful cinematography. One of the film's most powerful scenes is McConaughey watching twenty-three years worth of recorded messages sent by his children, seeing his daughter Murph grow up in a matter of minutes (played as a child by Mackenzie Foy and as an adult by Jessica Chastain), a devastating commentary on what is known as "spacetime".

The scenes on Earth are equally compelling, the first act shows a world not so far in the future suffering from a blight that has ravaged crops across the globe. McConaughey and his family live in the American Midwest which is dominated by dust storms; Nolan cleverly intercuts reminiscences from those who survived the dustbowl during the Great Depression to underline the connection with the past.

It's a sign of Nolan's standing that he can pull together such a fine cast: Oscar-winner McConaughey is supported by Anne Hathaway, Academy-award nominee Jessica Chastain, Casey Affleck, Michael Caine with Bill Irwin providing the voice of the dryly acerbic robot TARS. Nolan deftly juggles both the spectacle (provided by both models for the spaceships and computer-generated imagery) and the characters, creating a fully-rounded film where we're invested in the drama of McConaughey longing to return to his children: it's this trust in emotion rather than the shock and awe of visual effects that gives the film its heart and soul and sets it apart from other Hollywood blockbusters.

Nolan's film has an aspiration to greatness that shames all other films in its league; daringly original and ultimately moving, propelled by its organ-driven Hans Zimmer score. Its conclusion though may be too pat, more wish-fulfilment than reality. Yet taking the movie as a whole, it's a forgivable slip in the scheme of a much grander vision.

The final part of "The Hobbit" trilogy, "The Battle of Five Armies" (2014), directed by Peter Jackson, is a hard film to judge. Shot at the same time as its two antecedents, "An Unexpected Journey" (2012) and "The Desolation of Smaug" (2013), for a speculated total cost of $745 million, it really has to be seen in the context of the entire three films. Certainly, Jackson seems to feel this way, the film opening with a direct continuation of Smaug laying waste to Laketown, offering no introduction for those unversed in the saga.

There's further development of Richard Armitage's character, Thorin Oakenshield, leader of the band of dwarfs seeking to claim the gold under the Lonely Mountain, who descends into megalomania and greed. It's an intriguing turn and one based in character, which gives an emotional centre that might have otherwise have been lacking. That's due to the fact that, as per the title, the series' climatic battle dominates the film. It's thrilling, masterfully choreographed and the special effects utilised are impeccable but there's always the danger that the vast armies clashing can become distinctly impersonal. Jackson confronts this by a memorable fight between Thorin and the orc Azog (Manu Bennett) on a frozen river that reduces the conflict to a more thrilling, intimate level.

It seems perverse to comment once more on the scriptwriters (Jackson, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens and Guillermo del Toro) lack of faithfulness to J.R.R. Tolkein's original 1937 novel. From the start, it was clear they weren't interested in making an accurate version but rather an expansive Middle-Earth epic and the detail surrounding its fantastical environment has always been the films' strongest suit. Here, the veracity of the characters' surrounding is compounded by the 3D and the high frame rate (48 frames a second as opposed to the standard 24 used for all other films) that puts the audience truly within the drama unfolding.

The performances are fine, although one wishes that Martin Freeman's Bilbo Baggins, ostensibly the main character, had more screen time. Jackson is cutting between so many story strands that it feels as though Bilbo gets lost in amidst the web of plot lines. Yet it's the most succinct of any of the films in the trilogy or The Lord of the Rings for that matter, which this acts as an extended overture to, and there is a certain satisfying quality to the final epilogue bringing to an end a series that has lasted thirteen years. Taken as a whole, "The Hobbit" films may not have reached the same mythic resonance of their forbears, yet when viewed without such retrospective judgement, the films themselves come alive and dazzle the viewer like nothing else.

"Mr. Turner" (2014), directed by Mike Leigh, is an unconventional biopic of one of Britain's finest landscape artists in the Victorian era. Its exceptional on two counts, structurally, when compared to Hollywood biographies, Leigh (who also wrote the film) doesn't endeavour to fit Turner's life into a neat three acts, instead, he assembles a morass, a mosaic, of scenes, chronicling the final quarter century of his life. It returns to some characters and not to others, allowing viewers to forge their own understanding of Turner. This leads us to the second unusual aspect of the film: Turner is not a likable character. Leigh has made no attempt to soften his lead character, from forsaking his illegitimate children to helping having his mother committed to a mental institution, mistreating those around him. Yet this is the film's strongest trait, Timothy Spall entirely lost in his character, revelling in a performance dominated by a series of richly toned grunts and groans. We're forced to reconcile the self-centred and insensitive man on screen with the extraordinary art he creates.

The greatness of Leigh's approach is that he refuses to the separate the two: Turner's genius as a painter is rooted in his own intense self-interest. In one of the film's best sequences, he astonishes his contemporaries by impulsively painting a red buoy onto a seascape of his at the Royal Academy; yet this masterstroke is motivated by his egoistical rivalry with Constable (James Fleet), his enmity fuelling his art.

The acting is strong throughout and Spall deservedly won the Best Actor prize at the Cannes Film Festival for his work here. Leigh's direction is incredibly nuanced and his script has an ear for the verbose, ornate language of the 19th century. Only his caricature of John Ruskin (Joshua McGuire) as a buffoon who misses the point of Turner's art seems like a misstep. The cinematography by Dick Pope though, cannot be criticised: the whole film is shot and lit so as to appear in the same style as Turner's painting and this results in a cascade of incredible moments (particularly the appearance of the Fighting Temeraire battleship, which inspires Turner to create one of his masterpieces).

This is a long film and it's verisimilitude is unimpeachable. If it's ever impossible to truly like the man then it's a tribute to Leigh and Spall's success that at the end of the film, as he lies on his deathbed, for the audience to feel something towards this endlessly contradictory, frustrating, exasperating, brilliant artist.

"The Book Thief" (2013), the début film of Brian Percival, who previously directed episodes of TV shows like "Downton Abbey" and "North & South", is adapted from the 2005 novel by Markus Zusak. In its telling of a coming-of-age story of a young girl, growing up in Hitler's Germany during World War Two, the film works amiably enough. Certainly, Percival elicits fine performances from his cast, particularly Nélisse as the precocious heroine, Rush as the kindly surrogate father and Watson playing the frosty mother. They provide an emotional centre that's crucial to the picture's success and while their characters are never as sketched-in as one would hope, the capable actors allow the audience to identify and empathise with them as they undergo wartime trials and tribulations.

For a first feature film, Percival brings an eye for the small-scale from television; despite taking place in a limited location (mainly the Heaven Street where Liesel lives), he avoids any feeling of constraint. He crafts a slow rhythm to the life of Liesel that's appropriate for the small town it's set-in, a commendable illusion of verisimilitude immeasurably aided by Florian Ballhaus' cinematography. The wide-angle shots of snowy landscapes and dramatic red-and-white swastika flags all contribute to grounding the movie in the atmosphere of its specific epoch.

However, the film suffers from a number of different elements. The rather arch conceit of having Death narrate the movie (voiced by Roger Allam), while it might work on the printed-page, seems out of place and ultimately places a comfortable distance between us and the tragedies on screen. In particular, the sugar-coating of its downbeat ending removes any real pain, leaving only a vague pathos. This is compounded by John William's Oscar-nominated score, redolent of his soundtrack for "Schindler's List" (1993), and in its heavy emphasis on string instruments, blatantly attempts to emotionally manipulate the viewer and push the sentimentality to the extent that it feels forced and un-earned.

So many clichés, from stiff Nazi villains to the triumphant message of the power of reading, are presented unquestioningly, as po-faced as possible and without the saving grace of irony. This is fundamentally a gentle film; the horrors of war are delicately kept out of the way and even when the family is apparently starving, Liesel looks the epitome of a healthy young child. If taken on its own terms and in a receptive mood, "The Book Thief" plays well enough, but its lack of any bite means that it will likely grow hazy in memory.

"Billion Dollar Brain" (1967), directed by the iconoclastic Ken Russell, in the 1970s a firebrand of British cinema. This was the third and final Harry Palmer spy film, following "The IPCRESS File" (1965) and "Funeral in Berlin" (1966), based on Len Deighton's popular novels, Palmer had been pitched as an anti-James Bond. Michael Caine as the bespectacled and cockney hero was certainly far away from the suave glamour of Sean Connery's Bond movies and seemed to inhabit a recognisable Swinging Sixties London. Yet after the dour realities of the previous two films, which are closer to le Carré than Ian Fleming, Russell makes a spy film that is as much a parody of the genre as it is a thriller.

Caine looks consistently bemused by the intrigues and betrayals after encountering his old friend Leo Newbigen (an excellent Karl Malden who conveys his character's unease and unreliability). Once Midwinter's plot emerges (Ed Begley who overacts outrageously), the entire facade of the film threatens to crumble. Russell constantly undercuts our expectations: the Soviet authorities, represented by a faintly ridiculous Oskar Homolka, are seen as essentially reasonable and as keen as MI5 to avert World War Three, while Midwinter's base, run by a giant computer that is coordinating his plan, is so over the top that it could be production designer Syd Cain commenting on his own work for "From Russia with Love" (1963). Russell extends the none-too-serious tone with Caine getting beaten up and knocked out more than everyone else and the entire climax is a replication of Sergei Eisenstein's "Alexander Nevsky" (1938) ending, with its battle on a frozen lake. There's no denying the skill with which Russell directs the whole farrago, particularly the scenes with Caine stumbling across the frozen Finnish landscapes, benefiting enormously from shooting on location.

Other treats are Billy William's elegant cinematography, the entire title sequence with its elaborate computer motifs and Richard Rodney Bennett's thundering, highly romantic piano score, borrowing liberally from Rachmaninoff and Stravinsky, strangely fitting the action on screen and helps maintain the tension when it seems as if Russell is engaged with other tangents such as the subplot of Françoise Dorléac and her ambiguous relationship with Karl Malden. The film as a consequence, isn't brilliant, its energies dissipated by too many digressions, but "Billion Dollar Brain" still provides a lot of entertainment, partly as it playfully rejects so many of the clichés of the genre that it's nominally a part of.

"John Carter", directed by Andrew Stanton, his first live action film after having previously made Pixar animations like "Find Nemo" (2003) and "WALL-E" (2008), found himself entrusted with a $250 million budget to adapt Edgar Rice Burroughs' 1917 pulp sci-fi novel "A Princess of Mars". The studio, Walt Disney, was certainly confident of Stanton despite his relative inexperience in actual directing on set. While from a financial point of view this conviction in him was misplaced, the film a heavy flop, making $160 million loss, which was only alleviated for Disney by their record-breaking "The Avengers" (2012), the movie itself, has a lot to recommend it. Stanton shows himself to be eminently capable, managing an even tonality from the abrupt shift of its post-American civil war prologue to the Martian terrain of the rest of the picture.

He's aided by a script, written by Stanton, Mark Andrews and Michael Chabon, that approaches its century-old source material with a refreshing lack of irony or self-consciousness. In playing it entirely straight, Taylor Kitsch as the titular character brings a sense of a 1930s serial updated to the present day with the latest advances in the special effects. If that description makes it sound like "Star Wars" (1977), the similarity is far from accidental. Stanton has spoken of being inspired by George Lucas' space opera, and the old fashioned heroism, romance and feeling for adventure certainly aligns it in the same tradition. Originality is not the film's strong point, but nor is it meant to be; in a world of post-modern, self-referential blockbusters Stanton intends to craft a thrilling, retro sci-fi picture.

The plentiful action scenes are well-handled, although perhaps not as memorable as they should be, and bolstered more by Michael Giacchino's stirring score than the editing rhythms of Eric Zumbrunnen. Superior is the Martian aesthetic, from the splendid landscape vistas (in reality a digitally enhanced Utah) to the design of the two races, the four-armed green Tharks and the elaborately costumed humans. The architecture of cities like Helium is accordingly impressive, rising out of the stark desert environment.

The large cast, including Lynn Collins, William Dafoe, Dominic West, Mark Strong, Ciarán Hinds and Bryan Cranston, invest a lot in their roles, even if Strong is really only called upon to be evil towards everyone. Perhaps the idea that we've seen films like this before, if not put up on the screen with so much gusto, and the shortage of unforgettable moments prevent this from advancing further from being anything other than a very enjoyable family science fiction film.

"Edge of Tomorrow" (2014), directed by Doug Liman, is a military science fiction film that revolves around Cruise's character endlessly repeating the same day, always dying, to explore his evolution from coward to hero. By deftly showing Cruise's changing responses to the same people and events in the run-up to landing in the battle zone, he undergoes a subtle metamorphosis. From attempting blackmail on General Brigham (Brendan Gleeson) in order to avoid action to eventually realising he alone can combat the alien threat, it's a well-written character arc. He is allowed to handle a complex role which can switch deftly from seriousness to black humour (stemming from him being able to predict what other characters' are about to say and do due to his multitude of deaths). It's his best performance in a long time, benefiting from the intelligence of the material he has to work with. It's also a testament to the script that the time loop never becomes tiresome, but instead is constantly inventive in its repetition, the storytelling enlivened by the elliptical editing of James Herbert and Laura Jennings. Scripted by Christopher McQuarrie, Jez and John-Henry Butterworth (based on the Japanese novel "All You Need Is Kill" by Hiroshi Sakurazaka), they handle the variety of plot threads and main duplication of the same day very well.

Emily Blunt, playing a renowned warrior, has the more limited role, her character 'reset' every time Cruise dies, but nevertheless shows her ability to project external strength and an admirable lack of sentiment in her training of Cruise. Bill Paxton as a tough Sergeant Major is fairly one-note, but it's a fun note all the same, Paxton clearly enjoying himself in his constant admonishing of Cruise.

Director Liman is able to deal with kinetic action scenes as well as quieter, character-orientated moments, whilst cleverly altering how he films repeating sequences. The main battle scene on the French beach is a good example, initially staying with Cruise's point of view, but gradually revealing more information each time, until around midway through, Liman pulls his camera back and reveals in a long shot the enormity of the military operation. Visually, he and his cinematographer Dion Beebe are aided by the interesting production design, in particular the exoskeletons the soldiers wear and the design of the aliens themselves, which creates a neat dichotomy with the contemporary appearance of much of this near-future world.

If its final act is slightly weaker, preventing it from becoming truly excellent, this is certainly a far sharper, original and more intriguing sci-fi action film than is normally found.

"Willow", directed by Ron Howard, who won the Academy Award for "A Beautiful Mind" (2001), is a fantasy film that seems to have been influenced not just be legends but by various veins of filmic popularity in the 1980s. In a way, the films and books it 'borrows' from (or steals, depending on your point of view) paint a picture of Hollywood's landscape in the late eighties and was considered a blockbuster.

Starring Warwick Davis as Willow Ufgood, the titular dwarf, and Val Kilmer as a mercenary swordsman, the script written by Bob Dolman is based off a story by George Lucas. The screenplay is very obviously inspired J.R.R. Tolkein's novels of Middle Earth and Lucas' own "Star Wars" trilogy (1977 – 1983). From the hobbit-like characters in Davis' village to the design of Bavmorda's castle, one can trace Lucas' frustrated attempts in the eighties to make a never-realised film adaptation of "The Hobbit". Kilmer's cynical but ultimately loyal swordsman is heavily redolent of Han Solo from "Star Wars", as is the mask-wearing supporting villain (played by Pat Roach) suspiciously similar to Darth Vader and the horse-and-cart chase is reminiscent of the speeder chase in "Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi" (1983). The episodic, quest-nature of the overarching story shares common traits with both of them, while the initial hunt for the baby by the Queen's soldiers seems to be inspired by the New Testament. So, coming as it does near the end of the 1980s cycle of sword and sorcery films like "Dragonslayer" (1981), "Krull" (1983), "Legend" (1985), and "Labyrinth" (1986), this is not an original film, but one that incorporates a myriad of influences.

However, this does not limit its ability to entertain. Shot on location in Wales and New Zealand by cinematographer Adrian Biddle, it captures the epic scope of the fantasy genre, while the special effects by Industrial Light and Magic are of a very high quality, creating a believable world of massing armies and fearsome monsters.

Howard's direction though, is remarkable only for its lack of dynamism: he just lets each scene play, sticking close to the script. Only the scene at the crossroads where Davis and Kilmer see an entire army march by displays any directorial panache in capturing the armoured hordes. Nonetheless, the journeyman direction never tarnishes the fun and the leads carry their roles well. It might not be Peter Jackson's "The Lord of the Rings" (2001 – 2003), but for those who want a film in a similar vein, this delivers effectively.

"The Monuments Men" (2014), directed by George Clooney, his fifth film behind the camera, makes use of an irresistible premise: recover art works looted by the Nazis during the dying days of World War II. Not only is this a story never told before in the cinema (leading to an aura of uniqueness not often found with Hollywood studio pictures), but Clooney has assembled an enviable cast alongside himself with Matt Damon, Bill Murray, John Goodman, Jean Dujardin, Bob Balaban and Cate Blancett.

Yet as a war film about art, it rarely seems too concerned about the specifics of the paintings and sculptures they're trying to rescue. Jan Van Eyck's Ghent Altarpiece and Michelangelo's "Madonna and Child" are the main focus of the film, providing a narrative thread for the script (written by Clooney and Grant Heslov), but the thousands upon thousands of other pieces of art (emphasised by frequent shots of warehouses or mines stacked with canvases) are generalised into anonymous cultural property in the need of preservation. It's frustrating, as are many parts of the film.

It lacks a strong narrative drive, being, until the last third, very episodic – some are fine, like Murray's and Balaban's encounter with a young German soldier at night, but others, such as discovering barrels of gold teeth taken from Jews exterminated by the Holocaust, show the film's inadequacy dealing with the horrors of war. The pathos of members of the team dying and the mass destruction of art in impromptu bonfires lit by the German army are themes it finds hard enough to grasp and make the audience appreciate their impact. It keeps bumping into these big, important topics, the occupation of France and the role of collaborators say, pursuing them for a little while in subplots before backing away, unsure how to proceed, like over the use of child soldiers by the Germans, which is turned into almost an amusing anecdote.

This dichotomy between seriousness and a lighter, caper feel, reminiscent at times of late sixties and early seventies war films (think "Kelly's Heroes" (1970) and their ilk, a feeling reinforced by Alexandre Desplat's bass-heavy music score) leads to an uneasily balance not solved by Clooney's at times uncertain and uneven direction. It always looks good thanks to cinematographer Phedon Papamichael's eye for framing, but the characters' speeches, justifying the importance of art even during wartime, sits awkwardly with the more cinematic moments, particularly the climactic race against time to liberate a huge storage of art.

It remains entertaining and well-acted throughout, but it's clear that this is a film which could have been a more powerful exploration of its subject than it is. A missed opportunity then, enjoyable though, despite its failings.

"The Lego Movie", directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, is a 3D animated film that exists in a world created out of Lego. This Danish company, 65 years old, is an iconic favourite and perennial feature of the children's toy market. This might be a reason for cynicism, fears of a 100 minute advertisement perhaps well founded. However, instead, it is a clever, sly subversive comedy that keeps the innate charm of the toy, while having fun at mocking business and a consumerist society of uniformity. The animation style is slightly clunky, replicating with striking fidelity the limited articulation of the original figures and the almost stop-motion quality aesthetic of the world created. The computer generated imagery is extraordinary in mirroring the plastic blocks' texture and helping make the Lego city a wonder of imagined production design.

This would all be without point though, if it were not for a very witty and humorous script, written by the directors, Phil Lord and Christopher Miller. They gleefully send-up the corporate world and the Lego brand's film tie-in ranges such as Star Wars and D.C. superheroes. They're ably abetted by a talented vocal cast, featuring Chris Pratt, Will Ferrel, Morgan Freeman, Liam Neeson and a whole host of guest voices, from Jonah Hill to Billy Dee Williams. The jokes range from popular culture to very specific references to past Lego ranges, slapstick to in-jokes, satire to one-liners, in a melange designed to appeal to all ages. Lord and Miller know well that the finest children's movies are ones that attract adults as well, and here they achieve their goal with aplomb.

Still, the film never quite avoids a sentimental, good-intentioned moral which so many films of this genre are saddled with. Its plot twist, influenced by "The Matrix" (1999), whilst initially surprising and amusing does eventually lose some of its ingenuity. Some of the action scenes go on far too long, excessive demonstrations of versatility that are never as fun as just the pure moments of comedy. The script eventually has to resolve the conflicts it sets up, leading to a slightly weaker second half overall.

Yet this is never enough to sour "The Lego Movie", which, on the contrary, is mainly a delight, always funny and far cleverer than any movie based on a children's toy has any right to be.

Director Martin Scorsese is best known for his searing portrayals of urban life and its corruptions, as detailed in acclaimed films like "Taxi Driver" (1976), "Raging Bull" (1980) and "Goodfellas" (1990), but here, in the first of many directorial moments where he demonstrated his verisimilitude, he lovingly crafted a musical with a twist. "New York, New York" (1977) has the glorious look of an MGM Technicolor musical of the late forties or early fifties, from the plentiful sets recreating the artifice of the Big Apple in large sound stages in Hollywood, to the costumes and makeup, Scorsese flawlessly imitates the style, the look of another era of cinema. Yet if this was all there was, the film would be an empty, hollow stylistic exercise; instead, the characters that populate this entirely synthetic world are completely real, De Niro and Minnelli creating complex, fascinating characters. Working like the great improvisatory director John Cassavetes, Scorsese coaxes flowing performances from his two leads, detailing their relationship and the conflicts that stem from their deeply musical, creative personalities. Lionel Stander has a memorable supporting role, his distinctive, strong New York accent dominating his scenes. However, this film is defined by the trio of Scorsese, De Niro and Minnelli who collectively define the film.

The production design by Boris Leven, who himself had designed "West Side Story" (1961), is excellent; the cinema's view of the Big Apple circa 1945 once more brought to the screen and counterpoints the realism of the characters in a satisfying contrast. Famed Hungarian cinematographer László Kovács shoots in the characteristically Baroque style of the forties while employing some incredible crane shots to remarkable effect.

However, one of the key facets for any musical to be a success is its score, and with songwriters John Kander and Fred Ebb, who wrote the music for the original stage productions of "Cabaret" (1966) and "Chicago" (1975), the film achieves magnificently. The title song, subsequently covered by Frank Sinatra, is justifiably iconic, but "The World Goes Around" and the lavish ironic musical number "Happy Endings", invoking the extravagant set pieces of Busby Berekly in the 1930s musicals also help assure the picture's position as the finest original musical of the last forty years.

A passed over classic, a forgotten great of New American Cinema of the 1970s, this deserves to be seen once more and appreciated for its tremendously fresh achievement.

"The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug" (2013), directed by Peter Jackson, is the middle film of the three part adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkein's novel "The Hobbit", first published in 1937. Surprisingly, it manages to avoid most problems associated with a second film of three, such as a sense of redundancy, maintaining interest throughout and actually surpassing "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey" (2012), the first part in the series. The prolonged introductions and establishment of the major plot line of the first film, while embraced by some, where criticised by others. Here, with the clarity of a straightforward aim for the multiple characters, there is a new sense of direction and lucidity in Jackson's storytelling. Jackson's aided by the script written by himself, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens and Guillermo del Toro.

While the acting throughout is never less than fine, and Martin Freeman continues to impress as Bilbo, the true star is Middle Earth, a world that Jackson has managed to transform into a living, breathing environment that thanks to the wonders of modern special effects, never looks less than real. From the dark Mirkwood forest to the seemingly 15th century Northern European inspired architecture of Lake-town, this is an incredibly rich and diverse setting for any tale that like all the great fantasy films, transports you into another world, another time, helped in part by the high frame rate 3D. The production design, by Dan Hennah, and the costume design, by Bob Buck, Ann Maskrey and Richard Taylor, is extraordinary in realising and texturing Jackson's world (which is filmed on location in New Zealand).

The screenplay however, isn't quite as perfect as one would wish, superior though it is to the first film, continuing the introduction of elements not present in the novel. A divisive move that does tend to reinforce more conventional action elements along with an underplayed romantic triangle concerning Orlando Bloom (reprising his role as Legolas from "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy [2001 – 2003]), Evangeline Lily (as the Wood Elf Tauriel) and Aidan Turner (as Kili the dwarf). This perhaps reveals a lack of confidence in the source material stretching across three films.

These doubts don't dispel Jackson's major directorial achievement on display here and it is his grasp of Middle Earth, taking it from J.R.R. Tolkein's imagination to the silver screen that leaves this one of the best films of 2013.

"The Long Goodbye" (1973), Robert Altman's deconstruction of Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe by placing him in a strange, bizarre environment, LA of the seventies, is an excellent film, probably the best that I've seen from Altman. As an adaptation of the source novel, it of course fails, as it intends to, for as ever with this director, character takes precedence over plot. While on paper, apart from the updated setting, it might sound fairly faithful, the elimination of characters, the reducing in importance of others, and the final inversion of the novel's original climax serves to underline that the now much reduced, actually quite straightforward plotting is really only there so Altman can explore this man Marlowe. Aided by a superb Elliot Gould in his best performance, he gets under the skin of him, the mess of contradictions that define him and his resolute refusal to change with the times, leading him ultimately to failure (it's hard to see the finale as a triumph for him). His "other time" characterisation results him in being the only moral person in the film, Altman using Marlowe's utter disbelief at what the world has become to also transform into a critical commentary of America during this time period, a world populated by Terry Lennoxes and Marty Augustines (Mark Rydell whose shocking "That's someone I love. You, I don't even like." scene is the most powerful in the picture).

Vilmos Zsigmond's unique cinematographic appearance, all diffuse, soft lighting, that looks "blown out" is incredible and gives it a haze of the past, as if it were Marlowe's sleepy, laidback "It's okay with me" view of life that we're seeing. Yet it would be wrong to deny that it's a perfect film; the friendship with Lennox that the film pivots is never established very convincingly. It's hard to see this Marlowe liking the sleazy Californian charm of Terry Lennox (Jim Boulton) here, and Nina Van Pallandt, while not as bad as I feared, doesn't stand up to roaring Sterling Hayden as the alcoholic writer Roger Wade or Gould himself. Still, these unbalances don't sabotage the film, and while I'm far from an Altman fan, this is certainly one of the essential American films from the seventies, a decade full of them.

"Gravity" (2013), directed by Alfonso Cuarón, is at its heart, a film of survival, of battling an inhospitable environment against all odds, with no help and little chance of success. Framed like this, the film looks less like a science fiction film and more like a tale of survival. Cuarón has endeavoured to make the space environment as realistic as possible, from the interior of space stations to the movement of the human body in zero gravity. Imaginatively utilising 3D, he shoots the many scenes set in the deathly silence of space to simulate the appearance of the camera "floating". The audience feels like they too are in the midst of space, buoying alongside Clooney and Bullock. This creates a sense of credibility throughout and makes the peril the characters face even tauter. Cuarón has crafted a milieu that is ideal for showing the fragility of humanity against the vastness of the cosmos; writing the screenplay with his son Jonás, they populate the drama with only two characters to reinforce the emptiness of space.

These two characters though, are the audience's anchor, and are refreshingly well-written, recognisably human, reacting to events in a way that conforms to reality. Both Clooney and Bullock are excellent, never letting the extensive CGI dominate, while being appropriately ordinary enough to allow the viewer to identify with them, particularly Bullock. This is crucial for a film that concentrates on so few characters.

The cinematography by five time Academy Award nominee Emmanuel Lubezki perhaps acts as another character in the film, being the prism through we which enter the drama. Starting with a bravely held shot of Earth, it permits us to slowly make sense of the conversation over the radio between the astronauts and NASA (represented by an un-seen Ed Harris, one of the stars of "Apollo 13" [1995]). It continues with an extraordinary, thirteen minute long, continuous shot that is supremely virtuosic, their incredible duration carried on throughout the entire film. Yet this isn't done for its own sake; in doing so, Cuarón brings you into the film and introduces a sense of claustrophobia with people stuck inside their spacesuits and the cramped interiors of escape shuttles and space stations. This had to be worked out in immense detail far in advance of shooting, meaning cinematography and editing (by Cuarón and Mark Sanger) is intimately linked.

The music by Steven Price is very good, allowing for silence where there needs to be, and overall this exemplar of pure cinema, with no villain except the harshness of the universe, is probably the best original film of the year. It masterfully builds tension and character simultaneously and remains resolutely human throughout.

Hollywood can still surprise.