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With the release of Gone Girl, I found myself somewhat torn. You see, I am an avowed fan of David Fincher but the feedback I had received from those who have read the novel on which the film is based has been somewhat mixed. However, having kept my expectations in check, I can report that Gone Girl is good; very good in fact. There is no doubt that Gillian Flynn's novel of the same name is a hugely popular read and I guess I found it hard to reconcile such a populist text with the dark, moody aesthetic for which Fincher (Se7en, Fight Club, The Social Network) is so well regarded. However, clearly my concerns were unfounded as Flynn's story is exactly the type of story that Fincher films so well; morally bereft – but far from simplistic – characters who engage in all manner of dastardly behaviour, seemingly oblivious to the impact their actions may have on anybody else.

The first hour or so plays out very much like a typical police procedural. In fact, there were several moments where I expected Stabler and Benson to arrive on the scene, engage in a little interview-room intimidation and wrap it all up in quick time. Alas, ultimately this is a little more complex than an episode of Law and Order, with a series of twists and turns that take the story in a direction that is as bonkers as it is surprising (although not to those who have read the book I guess) and utterly gripping. When Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) returns home to find his wife Amy missing, it doesn't take long before he is the prime suspect. Whilst he is steadfast in his declaration of innocence, his personality and behaviour make it easy for just about everyone – the media, neighbours, the in-laws – to believe that he may very well be responsible for whatever it is that has happened to Amy (Rosamund Pike). However, whilst Detective Rhonda Boney (Kim Dickens) doesn't necessarily find Nick an easy person to like, she is desperate for more conclusive evidence before she is convinced of anything.

Once we start to delve into the couple's past – the early years of their marriage, their relocation from New York to Missouri, the somewhat strained relationship between Amy and her parents – and the events of the days leading up to Amy's disappearance, things get decidedly more interesting. Other suspects emerge; the most notable of which is Desi Collings, a creepy ex-boyfriend played by Neil Patrick Harris, however none of these ever amount to much. Eventually we learn that the truth is far more complex, sophisticated and messed up than we could ever imagine. Once the truth is revealed and the events play out, audiences will no doubt be divided with regard to where their sympathies lie. In addition to being a crime thriller of the highest order, the film also takes an almighty swipe at both the influence of the media in constructing guilt or innocence – Missy Pyle's television host Ellen Abbott may just be the most vile character of all – and the dangers in relying purely on circumstantial evidence in cases where so much is at stake.

Whilst Affleck is good as Nick, it is the women who steal the show here, with Pike utterly hypnotic as Amy, a spellbinding performance that makes it hard to hate her even when you know you should. In fact, the more despicable she became, the more I found myself attracted to her. Both Dickens and Pyle are fabulous, with Carrie Coon also terrific as Nick's unwaveringly loyal sister Margo. Tyler Perry brings a touch of levity to proceedings as high profile lawyer Tanner Bolt, while David Clennon and Lisa Banes are the detestable parents who seem totally oblivious to their own shortcomings in their treatment of Amy. Patrick Fugit (Almost Famous) also features as a police officer who wants to see Nick fry, while Boyd Holbrook (sans his ridiculous accent from The Skeleton Twins, thank god) and Lola Kirke occupy small roles that ultimately prove significant in determining the fate of our protagonists. It is hard to say much more without giving too much away.

Fincher has a predilection for dark mysteries and in cinematographer Jeff Cronenweth he seems to have found the perfect conduit through which he can deliver his examinations of moral and emotional decay. In all its bleakness, the film still manages to somehow look beautiful and, with a suitably atmospheric music score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, Gone Girl is a haunting story from which nobody emerges unscathed.

James Gray obviously has a strong connection with New York; that much is obvious from watching the five feature films he has directed. Each of these offerings are set in the city that never sleeps and, in each case, the city itself is more than just a backdrop. The social and political fabric of New York during the time in which each story is set always plays a pivotal role in narrative and characterisation. With his latest offering, The Immigrant, Gray takes us back to the New York of 1921 amid the influx of those fleeing Europe in the aftermath of World War 1. Amongst those who have arrived on Ellis Island seeking entry into America are Polish sisters Ewa (Marion Cotillard) and Magda (Angela Sarafyan). When Magda is deemed too sick to be granted immediate entry and whisked away to the infirmary, Ewa is subsequently – and somewhat dubiously – deemed a woman of "loose morals" and is also denied entry. It is only the intervention of the seemingly benevolent Bruno (Joaquin Phoenix) that ensures Ewa is granted leave from the island.

Gray and Phoenix have worked together on three previous occasions (The Yards, We Own the Night and Two Lovers) and there is obviously a kinship between the pair, however it is Cotillard who shines the brightest in a film that is an otherwise dark affair, both visually and narratively. The French actress has a mesmerising screen presence and is blessed with enormous talent, both of which are combined to great effect in her portrayal of a woman forced to endure myriad indignities in her bid for a better life. Gray claims that he wrote the film especially for Cotillard after meeting her over dinner and is also quoted as declaring her the best actor with whom he has worked. Certainly, her performance here as the fragile yet feisty Ewa only serves to justify such ebullient exaltations.

Needless to say, Phoenix's Bruno is not all he seems – charming one minute, prone to fits of rage the next – and soon enough Ewa finds herself mired in his seedy world of low-rent entertainment and prostitution, having been rejected by relatives she thought would lend assistance. Despite everything Bruno puts her through, Ewa remains stoic; spiritually and emotionally off-limits to all and sundry and determined in her resolve. Scheming and scamming when necessary, she remains solely focused on getting her sister out of quarantine to make a fresh start in America. In fact, it is Bruno who suffers from a lack of self-worth, a weakness that Ewa needs to exploit if she is to achieve her objective. When Emil (Jeremy Renner), Bruno's well-intentioned but somewhat hapless magician cousin, enters the fray and instils hope in Ewa, a battle for her affections ensues.

With a look that suggests the influence of Francis Ford Coppola, cinematographer Darius Khondji (Stealing Beauty, Magic in the Moonlight) shot on 35mm film and has drenched The Immigrant with a hazy almost sepia-like hue that very effectively imbues the film with the low light aesthetic of the candles and gas-lit lamps of the time. In fact, all of the period details are quite impressive and whilst the atmosphere of The Immigrant is somewhat bleak overall, the ending – and the final shot in particular – is both haunting and hopeful. Following fabulous performances in the likes of La Vie en Rose, Inception and Rust and Bone, Cotillard has again proved herself one of the finest screen actresses in the world today, somehow presenting Ewa as both dignified and vulnerable with a subtlety that is utterly compelling. Whilst The Immigrant suffers from a lack of context for Bruno's behaviours and the somewhat underutilised narrative opportunities surrounding Emil, such shortcomings are easily overlooked because we are ultimately only interested in Ewa and her steely determination to endure whatever is necessary to reach her objective.

Believe the hype. Richard Linklater's Boyhood is a masterful film; a miraculous achievement that is not like anything that has gone before it. The audacity of the project in itself is one thing, but the execution is exemplary. This is a movie that realises the potential of film as a story telling medium, tracking the lives of the various characters over 12 years in a wonderful exploration of growing up in America. Of course, Boyhood isn't the first film in which a story has spanned such a period of time – heck, some films cover hundreds of years – but it is the first film to do so in real time. Shooting just 4 or 5 days a year over 12 years, Linklater has crafted a film that has more in common with documentary productions such as Michael Apted's Up series than it does with other fictional films. This is the filmmaking equivalent of a tightrope without a safety net and, given the potential for the project to fall apart at any time should anybody involved decide to walk away, what Linklater and his collaborators have achieved is nothing short of remarkable and the finished product is a credit to all those who committed themselves to this unique undertaking.

Linklater is a talented director whose films have often drawn praise from critics without ever necessarily securing audience support or industry recognition at the level they perhaps deserve. From the likes of Slacker and Dazed and Confused – both of which play out in a 24-hour time period – to the animated innovation of Waking Life and A Scanner Darkly, to music comedy School of Rock or the much more serious Fast Food Nation or the Before trilogy (Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, Before Midnight), a series which also collectively track the lives of characters over any years – albeit with significant gaps in time – Linklater has proved himself an accomplished and eclectic filmmaker. At face value Boyhood is such a simple premise; ostensibly about a boy named Mason (Ellar Coltrane) and his life experiences as he grows up. However, there is much more going on here for viewers as we connect the highs and the lows of Mason's very recognisable life with similar moments and milestones from our own experiences. To watch Mason develop from a somewhat typical 6-year-old into a young man of quiet intelligence is fascinating and it is very easy to forget that what we are seeing is not real, despite the recognisable faces amongst the cast. Interestingly, Linklater avoids all the big moments upon which more typical films would focus. There is no plot as such, but plenty happens as life ebbs and flows through changing relationships, homes, jobs, schools and physical appearances; just like real life. There are moments of great humour, heartbreak and the inevitable awkwardness that permeates parent-child relationships (such as conversations about sex) and it is enormous credit to the cast that it all works so remarkably well as a piece of entertainment.

Coltrane is splendid in the lead role and both Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke deliver superbly nuanced performances as Mason's parents, perhaps career-best turns from both. Even Linklater's daughter Lorelei impresses as older sister Samantha. These characters, their experiences and their relationships seem real; these are very normal people, a rarity on cinema screens. None of the characters are perfect – Arquette's Olivia repeatedly makes bad calls in her choice of men, while Hawke's Mason Snr takes a long time to grow up – but they are utterly likable and spending time with them is a joy. There are myriad supporting characters who play roles of varying import in the lives of the characters at particular moments, such as Olivia's husbands (Marco Perella and Brad Hawkins), Mason's high school girlfriend Sheena (Zoe Graham) or Mason Snr's new wife Annie (Jenni Tooley). Even Charlie Sexton, one-time guitar prodigy and long-time member of Bob Dylan's backing band, also features in the ensemble as Mason Snr's rocker roommate.

Linklater possesses the ability to capture the youth experience better than most other filmmakers and that is on display again here as we witness the various interactions and experiences that Mason has in his journey towards adulthood. Whilst full of music, pop culture and political references that signpost the various points in history during the 12 years of production – iPods, Obama, Harry Potter, Star Wars – the film is never maudlin and never privileges one particular period in time over another. In fact, Boyhood is an utter joy from start to finish and the running time in excess of 2.5 hours seems mere minutes because you so much treasure the time spent in the company of these characters. In fact, I never wanted it to end.

If it looks like a Michael Bay film and it sounds like a Michael Bay film, then it probably is a Michael Bay film. Therefore, it was no real surprise to learn that Bay served as producer on this latest screen incarnation of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Although directed by Jonathan Liebesman – whose previous efforts were the very underwhelming Battle: Los Angeles and Wrath of the Titans – this adaptation of the popular comic book characters is chock full of typical Bay bombast; over-the-top moments that only serve to further reduce the credibility of a concept that requires a considerable suspension of disbelief before it even begins. Having said that, these characters have stood the test of time through four previous feature films and as many different television series', numerous video games and myriad merchandise and toys, so there is an obvious affection for the "heroes in a half shell" and the other characters that populate their subterranean world. Given the credentials of those involved, it is no surprise that there is action aplenty as the four eponymous anthropomorphic reptiles set forth to save New York from being infected by a deadly virus.

The film opens with television reporter April O'Neill (Megan Fox) desperately seeking a story that will enable her to be taken more seriously by her colleagues, including her cameraman Vernon (Will Arnett) and boss Bernadette (Whoopi Goldberg). When she stumbles across a robbery in progress and encounters the four vigilante turtles – Donatello, Michelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo – O'Neill sees the story as her big chance; except nobody believes her:

Bernadette: There are four six foot talking turtles walking around New York City, and no one has seen them but you? April: That's what I'm telling you. Bernadette: Okay, get out.

Having survived a laboratory fire, the four turtles have been raised by Splinter – a rat who was subjected to the same scientific experimentation and has developed similar human characteristics – who serves as both father figure and sensei. Of course, a connection between O'Neill and the turtles is soon established and they find themselves working together to foil the plot of a – you guessed it – genius scientist with evil intentions. In a role beneath his talents, William Fichtner plays the dastardly Eric Sacks who, of course, also has a connection with O'Neill and the turtles. There is very little character development and none of the performances are particularly noteworthy, with Arnett looking especially bored as a character whose motivation for everything he endures is seemingly to bed April. The Transformer-like samurai Shredder is in cahoots with Sacks to poison the atmosphere and much mayhem ensues in the race against time. A sequence aboard a semi-trailer descending a snowy mountain rates as particularly preposterous.

Despite my reservations, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles seemed to play well with the younger members of the audience, although the violent nature of some scenes – which earned the film an M classification – will make it inaccessible to many TMNT fans. There is certainly nothing subtle about anything that happens and whilst there are a few chuckles to be had as the turtles engage in posturing and one-upmanship in their efforts to impress April, ultimately the film becomes bogged down in extended action sequences that deliver impressive visual effects and little else. An attempt to muse on the importance of family is ham-fisted and half-hearted; playing as nothing more than an afterthought and a poor attempt to add some gravitas to proceedings. This isn't the worst movie you'll see; in fact it isn't even the worst Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie you will see, but there is certainly nothing particularly new or interesting to be found.

Swedish director Lasse Hallstrom has a penchant for making 'nice' films; that is, the type of feel-good films that are unlikely to cause any offence to anybody, except perhaps those who want a bit of substance in their cinematic consumption. Hallstrom's films almost always look beautiful and quite often feature accomplished performers in a range of picturesque locations which, if nothing else, makes them great to look at, even if the story and/or the characters are somewhat lacking. As such, this latest offering from Hallstrom fits the bill. Despite being loaded with melodrama, cultural clichés and a somewhat predictable narrative arc, The 100-Foot Journey is a pleasant enough way to spend a couple of hours but, other than the gorgeous countryside, it is unlikely that much else will resonate with you beyond those moments immediately upon leaving the cinema.

The 100-Foot Journey is set in that most unique of places that only seem to exist on film; a world in which everybody speaks perfect English regardless of where the film is set and/or the cultural or ethnic background of the characters. I mean, this is set in France, but apparently it makes sense that everybody speaks English? Furthermore, the lead 'French' character is actually played by the very English Helen Mirren, so from the outset this film has some credibility problems. Is authenticity even necessary? Certainly, Hallstrom doesn't think so and, whilst there are those for whom Mirren's faux French accent will rankle, I suspect – with head shaking disbelief – that there are just as many more who will not be bothered by it. Of course, anything can be overlooked if the rest of what is on offer is so gobsmackingly good as to overcome such shortcomings, but that is not the case here. This is not an awful film by any means; it just isn't anything particularly memorable. Mirren plays Madame Mallory, the cantankerous perfectionist who runs a Michelin-starred restaurant on the outskirts of a rural French town. She is far from impressed when Papa Kadam (Om Puri) and his family – having fled India when their restaurant is attacked in a political uprising – set up shop directly across the street. Yep, that's right, just 100 feet away to be precise. A clash of cultures ensues as Madame Mallory sets out to undermine the efforts of the Kadam family in establishing their restaurant.

The main thrust of the narrative revolves around Hassan Kadam (Manish Dayal), a talented chef and Papa's pride and joy whose talents both infuriate and ultimately impress Madame Mallory. Will Hassan remain loyal to his family or seek fame and fortune elsewhere? Can Hassan and Marguerite (Charlotte Le Bon) – the sous chef in Mallory's establishment (The Weeping Willow) – overcome the obstacles in their way and become one of the most attractive on-screen couples of recent times? I don't need to be overly cautious about giving too much away here because there are no surprises in the answers to either of these questions. There is some fun to be had along the way though as Puri's Papa refuses to be intimidated by Madame Mallory. The support players are somewhat clichéd – from the dutiful Indian daughter to the arrogant French chef to the gluttonous politician – and it is really the interplay between experienced campaigners Puri and Mirren that provides all of the best moments; their efforts to sabotage each other providing a few laughs. As much as she is all down-the-nose looks of derision and biting quips, he is jovial, boisterous and unwaveringly optimistic in his food, his culture and Hassan's talents in the kitchen.

It all looks lovely – both the food and the lush landscape as we track through all four seasons – and it is when we leave this environment in the third act for a detour to Paris that the film loses whatever momentum it had. There is a remarkable similarity between this story and Hallstrom's 2000 release Chocolat, which does lead to questions about whether the director – whose most recent output has included insipid Nicholas Sparks adaptations Dear John and Safe Haven – has anything new or original to say. Whilst The 100-Foot Journey is not a complete disaster due to the talents of the performers involved, it is certainly a long way from the quality of Hallstrom's earliest films such as My Life as a Dog and What's Eating Gilbert Grape.

Scandinavian filmmakers seem to have mastered the art of telling serious stories with just the right amount of humour and whimsy to prevent their films from becoming bogged down in earnestness. Of course, we can't apply such a sweeping generalisation to every filmmaker from the Nordic regions, but there certainly has been a series of such films in recent years (Simple Simon, The Liverpool Goalie) that have been as amusing as much as they have been insightful. Furthermore, several Scandinavian films of recent times – from Lilya 4 Ever to Turn Me On, Dammit to Let the Right One In and many more besides – have placed young characters front and centre of the narrative, often relying on hitherto unknown actors to carry the film, usually with surprisingly effective results. With We are The Best, Swedish director Lukas Moodysson (F***king Amal and the aforementioned Lilya 4 Ever) continues such traditions in presenting a bittersweet comedy that manages to effectively assay the trials and tribulations of teenage life in Stockholm in the early '80's.

13-year-old Klara (Mira Grosin) is desperate to be a rebel, even if she has no idea what she might be rebelling against. She shares a love of punk music with her best friend BoBo (Mira Barkhammar), a fellow outcast amongst the cliques and social factions of their high school. The girls are all but inseparable and, initially in an effort to spite a group of older boys at the local youth club, they decide to start a band, even though neither of them can play an instrument. Their initial attempts to write a song are farcical and they soon recruit Hedwig (Liv Lemoyne), a quiet Christian girl who just happens to possess considerable skill as a guitar player. There is a great naturalness to these characters as they react and interact with each other and the various other people in their periphery, such as their parents and two well-meaning but utterly clueless supervisors from the youth centre. The girls know that they don't really fit in with the other kids, but they are yet to find their own place in the world. The characters seem very real; laden with the uncertainty and the search for identity that we all experience at that time in our lives. Klara's tough exterior masks her inner vulnerabilities and insecurities, while BoBo is all but invisible to everybody except her best friend. At one point Bobo's mother is so focused on entertaining a potential new boyfriend that she is completely oblivious to the fact that her daughter isn't home; it is only a phone call from BoBo that alerts her to the fact. For Hedwig, meanwhile, these new friendships lead her to question the values and ideologies – instilled by her pious mother – that have thus far shaped her life.

Whilst the film looks a little rough around the edges at times and there are moments that, in the hands of Harvey Weinstein, would have been lost in the edit, it seems a deliberate ploy by Moodysson to linger on the awkward silences and seemingly banal conversations to reflect the everyday-ness of this world in which these girls exist. Much of the humour comes from Klara's attempts to find an outlet for her anger through song. The problem is that she doesn't really have anything to be angry about, or much of a talent for song writing, so it is the school PE teacher becomes the target of her 'fury'. Despite only having one song in their arsenal – Hate the Sport – the girls are given an opportunity to perform at a local band showcase, an appearance that brings the film to a chaotic and downright hilarious end; a climax that is as surprising as it is perfect for these three clueless but utterly endearing wannabe rebels.

As you might expect from a story revolving around three teenage girls, experiments with alcohol and the pursuit of boys form part of the story and Moodyson elicits spirited, engaging performances from his three inexperienced young leads. Whilst the film is certainly not a celebration of punk music as an intellectual exercise – epitomised by the song Brezhnev and Reagan, F**k Off that is performed by the all-male band with whom the girls develop a relationship – We Are the Best most certainly posits the appeal of punk as an outlet for those who don't fit in anywhere else. Delivered with a warm-hearted vitality, We Are the Best is, first and foremost, a joyous, vibrant celebration of adolescent female friendship.

Although he intentionally waited several years after the release of his critically acclaimed Sundance Film Festival Audience Award-winning 2006 effort Once in an effort to avoid being labelled the 'music guy', there is no escaping the fact that it is another music driven narrative in Begin Again that has put Irish writer/director John Carney firmly back in the spotlight. Of course, the lack of success of his in-between efforts – wacky comedy Zonad and supernatural drama The Rafters – outside of his home territory certainly hasn't helped Carney in his efforts to avoid being pigeon-holed. Carney's return to the modern musical genre has resulted in a film that, whilst a romantic comedy of sorts and a celebration of the power of music, is also a far-from-subtle attack on the contemporary music industry. Featuring Mark Ruffalo as Dan, a disillusioned and dishevelled record label executive, the film skewers the industry and presents most of those working within it – Dan notwithstanding of course – as slaves to the almighty dollar who privilege style and image over substance and talent.

For Dan, excessive alcohol consumption, tardiness and a general disdain for an industry in which he was once an influential and inspirational figure has resulted in him being banished from his own company – Distressed Records – a label he founded with partner Saul (Mos Def) some 20-odd years before. Drowning his sorrows in a bar, Dan stumbles across Gretta (Keira Knightley) a British songwriter freshly separated from her on-the-verge-of-success musician boyfriend Dave (Maroon 5's Adam Levine). Whilst both Dan and Gretta share a cynicism about the state of the music industry, he recognises her talents as a singer and songwriter and sees her as a potential shot at redemption. However, Gretta certainly doesn't share Dan's affirmation of her talents and certainly has no interest in releasing any of her music, let alone securing a record deal. Of course, as they must if we are going to have a story, things change and the pair join forces in an effort to make – or remake in Dan's case – their mark; all the while refusing to conform to the conventions that often only serve to constrain creativity. As we have come to expect, Dan's personal and professional disintegration has also left him estranged from his wife and daughter and this new project serves as an opportunity to reconnect with both.

In the first part of the film, Ruffalo is completely over-the-top in his portrayal of Dan, presenting him as an utterly unlikeable caricature, somebody for whom it is difficult to muster any sympathy. To his credit though, Ruffalo somehow turns it around and by the end of the film you are totally enamoured by his character and the talent, drive and charm that has been buried beneath layers of self-loathing. The under-rated Knightley is charming and naturalistic as Gretta, while Levine is effective enough as the dastardly Dave. As ex-wife Miriam, the always reliable Catherine Keener is equal parts admiration, frustration and sympathy for Dan, while Hailee Steinfeld is teenage daughter Violet, struggling in her search for identity and her own place in the world. James Corden (One Chance) and CeeLo Green bring a sense of fun to the piece as musician friends of Gretta and Dave respectively, albeit at opposite ends of the success spectrum. Unlike Dan, Mos Def's Saul is willing to accept and embrace change; a not altogether unreasonable man who is prepared to put the company's interests ahead of his own. Rob Morrow (Quiz Show and TV's Northern Exposure), meanwhile, makes a brief appearance as a music executive who is an incarnation of everything that is wrong with the industry today.

The songs are fabulous and there is every chance that Begin Again could emulate the success of Once in the Best Original Song category at the Academy Awards with Lost Stars (penned by Gregg Alexander, Danielle Brisebois, Nick Lashley and Nick Southwood) driving so much of the story. The glorious New York locations are a visual feast and also play a pivotal role in the creative process for Dan, Gretta and the merry band of musicians who sign up for their somewhat radical approach to recording. There are plenty of nice moments, such as when a classically trained cellist roped into the group is more than willing to accept a percentage of profits instead of upfront payment "as long as it's not Vivaldi." With musings on how music can invest banal moments with deep meaning and a nod to magic realism, Begin Again is a charming film that is fun and funky despite its flaws.

A ragtag group of rebels are brought together and are forced to overcome their initial mistrust of one another to join forces and save the galaxy from an evil black-helmeted dark lord intent on destroying planets at will. Sound familiar? What if I was to say that one member of the group is a woman; another has a super-being father whose identity is unknown (in the first film in the series at least), while another is a monosyllabic creature who can only be understood by his partner-in-arms. There is sexual chemistry, wisecracks aplenty and spectacular aerial dogfights in deep space as our outnumbered heroes take on the might of the enemy forces. Ring any bells? Yes, of course I am talking about Guardians of the Galaxy, the latest offering from the production behemoth that is Marvel studios. What else could it be?

Make no mistake, Guardians of the Galaxy is undeniably indebted to Star Wars, but if you are going to draw inspiration from another source, it might as well be the best. Directed with gusto by James Gunn (Slither, Super), Guardians of the Galaxy is a heck of a lot of fun; full of witty one-liners and pop culture references galore. Chris Pratt is Peter Quill – or Star Lord as he prefers to be known – a loner who trawls the universe in search of bounty that can be sold to the highest bidder. When a mysterious orb comes into his possession, he finds himself in the sights of notorious villain Ronan the Accuser (Lee Pace), who is under instruction from Thanos (Josh Brolin) to retrieve the orb. Quill teams up with Gamora (Zoe Saldana), Rocket Raccoon and a tall tree-like creature known as Groot in an effort to prevent the orb from falling into the wrong hands. The fact that each of them want the orb for themselves results in double-crosses aplenty before they realise they need to work together if they are to survive. Joined by Drax the Destroyer (Dave Bautista), who has his own beef with Ronan and no interest in the orb, the group endure a series of showdowns that push the CGI action into overdrive.

Pratt is great in the lead role, imbuing Quill with the perfect mix of cocky swagger and a vulnerability that lingers from the death of his mother and subsequent abduction into space some 25 years earlier; a Walkman (remember them?) and a mixtape from his mum serving as his security blanket. Both Quill and Rocket (voiced by Bradley Cooper) provide most of the humour through their ongoing efforts at one-upmanship while Saldana, whose sci-fi credentials also include Avatar and two Star Trek films, has seemingly mastered the art of being alien. With only three words to utter as the voice of Groot, Vin Diesel presents what may be his best performance since The Iron Giant. The stellar supporting cast includes the likes of Glenn Close, Benicio Del Toro, Djimon Hounsou, Michael Rooker, Scottish actress Karen Gillan and a subdued John C. Reilly, while Stan Lee makes his obligatory cameo, this time as a lecherous old man.

The Marvel universe has never been entirely lacking in comedy, as seen in Iron Man and The Avengers, but there has been an overall sense of seriousness in these films that is, for the most part, absent in Guardians of the Galaxy. Aside from a maudlin pre-credits prologue that explains Quill's ascent into outer space in just a couple of minutes, much of the run time is played for laughs. George Lucas's influence is all over the film, from the cityscapes that very much resemble those of the most recent Star Wars films to the Indiana Jones-style adventures of our heroes. Whilst the film will undoubtedly appeal to a young audience, there are many references – such as an ongoing riff on Footloose – that will only connect with older viewers. Unlike, say, Man of Steel, which took itself far too seriously (Russell Crowe's unintentionally hilarious death scene notwithstanding), Guardians of the Galaxy has a playfulness about it that makes it a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Whilst his appointment was perhaps viewed with some skepticism, Gunn has ultimately proved himself capable of handling the expectation and scrutiny that is inevitably attached to any Marvel product. There is nothing deep or philosophical to be found here and it is very easy to enjoy the film for what it is; a fun-filled romp through outer space.

Very much a throwback to the type of movies Hollywood used to make, A Most Wanted Man is that rare breed of contemporary film; a stylish, sophisticated thriller for an intelligent adult audience. Sadly, this latest cinematic rendering of a novel by Jon le Carre (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, The Constant Gardener) is the last film that Philip Seymour Hoffman completed before his sudden death earlier this year and the film serves as a fine testament to his considerable skills as an actor. Directed by Anton Corbijn, A Most Wanted Man plays out in Hamburg, a city on high alert in the aftermath of the September 11 attacks in New York. Hoffman is Gunther Bachmann, the leader of a small German anti-terrorist unit whose role is to infiltrate and monitor the goings-on within the Muslim community. When Chechen immigrant Issa Karpov (Grigoriy Dobrygin) arrives in the city illegally and lays claim to a significant inheritance, suspicions are aroused and he soon finds himself under scrutiny from both Gunther and American security agencies.

This is not an action film. There are no elaborate fight sequences or car chases, yet the story remains gripping until the very end. Rich in subterfuge, A Most Wanted Man is atmospheric and ambiguous. Surviving on cigarettes, whiskey and coffee, Bachmann is an unkempt yet highly capable figure; an old-school operative relying on a network of informants rather than sophisticated technologies to keep tabs on any potential threats. Whilst Bachmann is content to keep Issa under surveillance in the hope that it will lead to something of significance, his American counterparts are far less patient and set about undermining his efforts. The film is actually very critical of America in their approach to handling such situations; their determination to make arrests at all costs and their willingness to undermine the local authorities for immediate results is at odds with Bachmann's longer term surveillance strategy. Robin Wright is cold and calculating as CIA representative Martha Sullivan, while Rachel McAdams is the idealistic human rights lawyer caught in the middle.

Hamburg, the city from which the World Trade Centre attacks were orchestrated, is presented as a very bleak locale in which all Muslims are under constant scrutiny as potential threats. The screenplay from Australia's Andrew Bovell combines very effectively with Benoit Delhomme's cinematography to create a murky world in which right and wrong are not necessarily oppositional constructs. This world is very much in keeping with le Carre's deglamorised vision of spying and intelligence gathering, presenting it as a taxing – both physically and psychologically – and somewhat thankless job that, like any other, is often compromised by the so-called superiors whose own agenda is far removed from the efforts of those on the front line. Willem Dafoe also features as a bank executive and therein lies my only real beef with this film. It is not Dafoe per se, who is fine, but rather the use of American actors as German characters who speak in accented English which only serves to undermine the credibility of the piece. Don't get me wrong, all of the cast are strong and Hoffman really personifies the jaded yet morally upright Bachmann, but surely, at the very least, the dialogue could (should?) be delivered in German in all situations in which it would be logical to do so?

Language choices aside, this is a stylish film that ends with a most unexpected flourish. Determinations of innocence and guilt are driven by factors other than the facts at hand – such as a desire to be seen to be making inroads into terrorist networks – and the film very effectively conveys the different approaches to what is supposed to be a shared objective, namely "keeping the world safe". The Dutch-born Corbijn, whose previous features are the fine music biopic Control and the George Clooney-starring thriller The American, has crafted an engrossing,unsettling, and highly provocative film. Unlike most films set within a post-9/11 anti-terrorism landscape that present events from an American perspective in which the goodies and the baddies are clearly defined, A Most Wanted Man is a reminder that there are, in fact, myriad shades of grey that sometimes make it very hard to separate the righteous from the reprehensible.

Whilst this latest sci-fi actioner from French filmmaker Luc Besson is utterly bonkers, it is also, for the most part, an enjoyable romp. A science-fiction story set in the present day, Lucy is an attempt to combine action sequences with deep philosophical questions about the untapped potential of the human mind. The action elements are fine and certainly nowhere near as overblown as many of the bloated Hollywood hack jobs that are churned out each year. Having directed the likes of the fabulous Leon: The Professional and The Fifth Element, this a return to form of sorts for Besson, whose recent efforts such as The Lady and The Family have not been well received. A prolific writer and producer with more than 100 credits to his name, Besson also wrote the screenplay for Lucy, in which Scarlett Johansson takes on the title role as a young woman whose unwitting involvement in an international drug smuggling operation brings unexpected consequences for all concerned.

Forced to take on an errand for her boyfriend and deliver a suitcase to a mysterious entity, things turn sour very quickly with Lucy to be used as a mule to transport the contents of the suitcase, an experimental new designer drug called CPH4 which, as our protagonist quickly discovers when the bag inside her bursts, unlocks those previously untapped portions of the mind. You see, the science of the film revolves around the notion that humans only use 10% of their brain capacity – a much refuted theory mind you – and as the excessive amounts of this chemical flood her body, Lucy gains access to the previously dormant areas of her brain and develops all manner of physical and psychokinetic powers. Whilst the science may be somewhat dubious, Besson uses the most tried and true method of making something like this more believable; casting Morgan Freeman as the kindly Professor Norman, a scientist whose research Lucy turns to in an effort to understand what is happening to her.

Yes, the plot is pretty silly, but Besson stages all the action well enough that it is far more enjoyable than the likes of Transcendence, which took itself way too seriously. You need to accept the lack of logic and simply enjoy the ride. Of course there are the typical genre clichés, such as the exotic other as the bad guys (Asians on this occasion) and a wild car chase in which our hero somehow emerges unscathed despite driving the wrong direction along a crowded freeway. It is the philosophical musings about evolution, the meaning of time and the true potential of the human species that are the less effective aspect of the narrative, despite Freeman's best efforts to convince. There is violence aplenty as Lucy evolves into somebody devoid of emotion and unable to feel pain. Some might draw parallels between Lucy and Bradley Cooper's Eddie Morra in Limitless, although the former transforms in ways that extend way beyond mere intelligence. Unlike Eddie, Lucy never revels in her predicament and when she realises that her death is inevitable, it becomes a race against time to connect with Norman and provide the necessary evidence to render his theories as more than just hypotheses.

Following Her and Under the Skin, this is another interesting choice of project for Johansson and she is fabulous, effortlessly making the transition from scared patsy to detached super-human and as sexy as hell to boot. Hers is a performance that elevates the film beyond the ludicrousness of the premise into something eminently watchable. Freeman is as reliable as ever in a role that resembles so many he has taken on recently – (Transcendence, Now You See Me, The Dark Knight series), while the multi-cultural supporting cast – which includes Min-sik Choi (Oldboy), former model Analeigh Tipton (Warm Bodies) and Egyptian actor Amr Waked (Syriana) – are lumbered with somewhat one-dimensional characters.

Also serving as editor, Besson uses title cards to keep us updated with the amount of brain capacity Lucy is using and he also intercuts many scenes with footage that serves as a metaphor of sorts; a mouse approaching a trap and leopards stalking gazelles as inferences to the dangers Lucy is facing. Besson is no mug and he has been able to construct a film that at least aims for intelligence while still likely to strike a chord with mainstream audiences. Yes, the ending is a mess but, at a very succinct 89 minutes, Lucy never overstays its welcome and overall there is plenty to enjoy.

One can't help but admire the ambition of writer/director Zak Hilditch in bringing These Final Hours to the screen, even if the execution is lacking somewhat at times. Whilst the film shares many similarities, particularly visually, with post-apocalyptic movies such The Road or 28 Days Later – albeit there are neither zombies nor cannibals anywhere to be seen – this story is actually set in the hours before Armageddon, very much akin to the 1959 made-in-Australia Hollywood production On the Beach. With Nathan Phillips in the lead role as the somewhat self-absorbed James, These Final Hours is exactly that; the final hours of life for the people of Perth, Western Australia. Created on a minuscule (by today's standards) $2.5 million budget, These Final Hours is certainly concise at just 86 minutes and whilst Hilditch has made good use of the available funds in presenting a version of Perth never before seen on screen, my engagement with the film was compromised by a distinct lack of tension (perhaps due to the sense of inevitability that pervades the action) and a group of characters that it is almost impossible to care much about.

Phillips (Wolf Creek, You and Your Stupid Mate) is serviceable enough as James, a young man who abandons Zoe (Jessica de Gouw), the woman carrying his never-to-be-born baby, to spend his final hours on earth at a hedonistic party across town at which is other girlfriend Vicki (Kathryin Beck) is waiting. Of course, myriad obstacles intervene along the way, including several encounters with crazed citizens who, devoid of any hope, are seemingly intent on destroying each other. In one such encounter, James rescues a young girl named Rose (Angourie Rice) from the clutches of two predators and reluctantly finds himself responsible for returning her to her family. Needless to say, his initial disinclination to assist beyond removing her from immediate danger is swept aside as the pair develop an emotional connection. Whilst the abandoned streets are eerily effective and there are some really nice touches, such as the wall constructed of shopping trolleys that serves as the initial obstacle that sets James' trajectory into motion.

It is the characters that let the film down because almost everybody we meet is strange, but never in an endearing way. Given the effort expended in getting there, the party is actually the weakest part of the film. Yes, the idea that people might decide to spend their final hours imbibing all manner of substances and engaged in myriad sexual shenanigans seems reasonable enough, but the problem is that the only characters we meet here are utterly unlikeable; so much so that the end of the world would be preferable to spending any more time with them. Freddy (Daniel Henshall), the host of this orgiastic farewell bash, is James' grotesque, psychotic best friend, while Vicki is presented as nothing more than a shrill nut job consumed by jealousy and fear. There is not an ounce of subtlety or nuance in either of these individuals. Even the usually reliable Lynette Curran struggles to bring much verisimilitude to her role as James' mother.

Yes, the fact that young Rose is exposed to all of the debauchery, including a game of Russian roulette that ends badly for one participant, is provocative, but it seems as though Hilditch was reluctant to really push the envelope with regard to sex or violence, which would be fine if the film was stronger in other areas. The end result is a film that is too slow moving at times to work as a thriller or an action piece and lacks sufficient depth as a character study; after all, we never really find out anything much about James and therefore don't really care too much about where he ends up or with whom he will spend his final moments. With a radio DJ voice-over (David Field) used as the device by which we are kept informed about how much time remains, typical race-against-the-clock clichés abound, such as a car breaking down at the most inopportune time.

On the plus side, 12-year-old Rice is terrific as Rose, bringing much more complexity to her character than any of her adult co-stars, which may, of course, have more to do with the screenplay than the performances. On a technical level, the film bats well above its meagre budget, with Bonnie Elliott's cinematography and Emma Bortignon's sound design both eerily effective in creating a sense of unease and abandonment in the suburbs of Perth. Furthermore, the final frames, in which the advancing tsunami of fire descends on the Australian coast, are actually quite impressive; it's just a shame that the journey through These Final Hours to reach this point wasn't more riveting.

With only his second film as director, Italian filmmaker Uberto Pasolini has produced an exquisite character study of a man we never actually meet. With Still Life, Pasolini presents a story that seems so serene and simple on the surface, yet offers so much more in its exploration of themes such as friendship, memory and death. Furthermore, the film examines the lasting implications – both medically and psychologically – for those in the military upon returning from combat. Remarkably, Pasolini takes on some serious subject manor with a film that features two of the nicest characters you could ever hope to meet. Eddie Marsan is wonderful as John May, the cypher through which we learn the story of the recently deceased Billy Stoke.

You see, John works for a London council, charged with tracking down the friends and relatives of those who have died within the municipality. Despite the meticulousness with which he goes about his job – and every other aspect of his daily life – the sad reality is that, in many cases, nobody is to be found and it is often left to John to organise the funerals and burials for the deceased. An opening montage features a series of funeral ceremonies at which John is the only attendee, having made every effort to ensure that each service accurately reflects the history and interests of the departed. John is a solitary man, living alone in a small apartment and working alone in a small office; he is a creature of habit and somewhat pedantic in the way in which he maintains his living and work space. However, his attention to detail has made him the target of council cost-saving measures and it is his last job that lures him down the rabbit hole that is the life of Billy Stoke.

There are times when you are certain you know where this story is going, such as when John meets Kelly (Joanne Froggatt) and is obviously smitten, but Pasolini avoids the predictable and it is his decision to take the narrative road less travelled that makes the film such a surprise. As John learns more about Stoke through various characters from his life, the story veers into interesting territory and the film that emerges is a wonderful celebration of humanity. John is the type of character whose quirks could easily become an object of annoyance in the wrong hands, but Marsan finds the perfect balance between oddball and endearing. His retrenchment frees him somewhat and he starts to change his staid ways. In fact, with the exception of John's supercilious boss Mr Pratchett (Andrew Buchan), Pasolini presents all the characters with great affection, including a couple of homeless guys who bring much humour to the piece.

Poignancy pervades this movie, from that opening montage to scenes of John rummaging through the meagre belongings of those who have died, trying to piece together their life. The score from Academy Award-winning composer Rachel Portman is affective yet unobtrusive and the cinematography courtesy of Stefano Falivene is terrific; many of the shots evoking a beauty and serenity reminiscent of the best examples of the artwork of the type referenced in the title. There are brief visual interludes, often cutaways to objects seemingly unrelated to the narrative, that elevate Still Life to something that is a cut above the ordinary. There are numerous sweet touches, yet it never becomes saccharine or maudlin or melodramatic. Marsan (Happy-Go-Lucky, The World's End) appears in every scene and it is perhaps his best performance thus far, relying more on mannerisms and actions (rather than dialogue) to articulate his character's tender, compassionate nature. Likewise, Froggatt (Filth and TV's Downton Abbey) is wonderful as Kelly, a woman who, like John, leads a somewhat solitary existence.

Ultimately, Still Life is about much more than either John or Kelly, or Billy Stoke for that matter. It takes a swipe at a society in which so many people are left to die alone and the indifference that we demonstrate towards each other, even to those with whom we exist in increasingly close proximity. Whilst Pasolini, the nephew of Italian director Luchino Visconti, is perhaps best known as a producer with The Full Monty and 2012's Bel Ami, he has proved himself a dab hand as a director with a film that is very sedate yet never dull and utterly engaging from beginning to end.

Without a doubt, Metalhead is the best film about a heavy metal-loving Icelandic farm girl that I have ever seen. Given the lack of access to Scandinavian films for Australian cinema audiences, films such as Metalhead remind us that film is a universal medium and that interesting screen stories can emerge from anywhere. Set in rural Iceland, Metalhead is a film that explores love, grief, family, identity, community and the healing power of music; heavy metal in particular. Director Ragnar Bragason has successfully melded humour into a story that is ostensibly about the lingering after effects on a family following the tragic passing of one of their own. The film opens with the death of teenager Baldur in an accident that is witnessed by his 12-year-old sister Hera. In the aftermath of Baldur's death, Hera finds solace in the music her brother loved so much, immersing herself in his world of heavy metal. Years later, the young adult Hera is an obsessive, posters adorning every inch of wall space in her room, Judas Priest and Dio blasting from her tape deck and a wardrobe that is exclusively black.

Haunted - both literally and figuratively - by the death of Baldur, Hera struggles to get her life in order. She is seemingly desperate to move away from the stifling confines of her family home, but is unable to actually do so whenever the opportunity arises. Hera is stuck in neutral, unable to move forward and forge her own path, unwilling to sever ties with the connection to Baldur that is the farm they grew up on. The recurring theme throughout the narrative is Hera's failed efforts to break free – either emotionally or geographically – from her memories of the tragedy. She acts out against her parents and the community as she struggles to find any meaning to her life beyond her music. In her early 20's, Hera is seemingly on a road to nowhere despite the best efforts and patience of her family and others, including new-priest-in-town Janus (Sveinn Olafur Gunnarson) and her childhood best friend Knutur (Hannes Oli Agustsson). This is not to say we can't sympathise with her though and it is great credit to the performance of Thora Bjorg Helga that she instils likability in Hera that belies her behaviours.

Of course, Hera is so absorbed by her own grief that she fails to see the impact Baldur's death has had on her parents, Karl (Ingvar Eggert Sigurdson) and Droplaug (Halldora Geirhardsdottir), who are suffering in silence, more successful at putting on a polite facade, despite being trapped in their own isolation. Karl is stoic on the surface, keeping his suffering buried deep within, focused on his responsibilities to the family dairy operation. Droplaug meanwhile, continues to struggle in her grief and, despite the passing of 10 years, simply cannot let go of her son, refusing to make any changes to his bedroom that serves as a shrine of sorts; she is often lost in her memories and oblivious to what is happening in her immediate vicinity. It is only when both Karl and Elsa are able to re-connect with each other that they are able to move forward from the pain that has haunted them for too long.

Despite the serious nature of the themes explored in the film, there are many moments of great humour, most of which revolve around the reaction of people (and animals as well for that matter) to Hera's extreme music and/or appearance. A trio of characters who appear towards the end of the film are hilarious and Bragason never opts for the predictable. Just when you think you know where the story is going and how it might all end, Hera finds herself on another path that may, or may not, enable her to find some kind of contentment. Janus and Knutur are great characters who perhaps show Hera more compassion than she deserves given the way she treats them both.

The film provides considerable insight for the uninitiated into the difficulties endured by those living in an environment in which the weather is a constant nemesis. Despite the aggressive nature of the music from which it gets its title, Metalhead is ultimately a temperate family drama set against the most striking of backdrops. The rugged, isolated landscape and the harsh climactic conditions of rural Iceland serve as a fitting locale for a film that threatens to topple into the darkness, but never does.

As an avowed fan of the original Planet of the Apes films and the 2011 reboot Rise of the Planet of the Apes, it was with some anticipation that I awaited this latest instalment in the prequel series. Maybe I had my expectations too high, or maybe the film is just missing that something special, but I left the cinema feeling a little underwhelmed. Of course, the motion capture effects are amazing, the post-apocalyptic atmosphere is suitably bleak (power supplies have almost been exhausted and the human populace is in panic mode) and there is action aplenty, which might very well be the problem. You see, as strange as it may seem given that the majority of characters are apes, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is very typical in both its characterisations and narrative structure.

Directed by Matt Reeves (Cloverfield, Let Me In), Dawn of the Planet of the Apes picks up the story 10 years after the events of the previous film with the vast majority of the earth's population having been wiped out; either by the ALZ-113 virus or the violence that broke out as panic set in. A group of survivors have etched out an existence amongst the remnants of what was once San Francisco, but fuel supplies have been exhausted and an alternate power source must be found. Meanwhile, in the forests north of the city, the burgeoning ape population is living peacefully under the rule of Caesar (Andy Serkis), a benevolent dictator of sorts. When a group of humans led by Malcolm (Australia's Jason Clarke) head into the forest in an effort to repair a dam that could potentially generate power for the city, conflict ensues. Despite the best efforts of Caesar and Malcolm to hash out a peaceful co-existence between the two groups, ignorance and distrust abounds and the tensions escalate. There are the requisite bad guys on each side – Gary Oldman's Dreyfus for the humans and the scarred Koba (Toby Kebbell) for the apes – whose actions ultimately result in war between the two groups.

The attitudes and actions of key characters are a reflection of what has been happening around the world for as long as we can remember. Koba's experiences in captivity have left him with a bitter hatred of all humans, an attitude that reflects ways in which certain groups today (such as the Islamic community) are marginalised because of the actions of a few. Dreyfus, on the other hand is of the arrogant belief that they are "just apes" and thereby don't pose a serious threat. Again, how many times in history have we seen such situations where one group has such an overwhelming sense of superiority over another that they feel utterly justified in their desire to use force in an effort to secure what they want. Of course Caesar and Malcolm, who have developed a mutual respect and know that such conflict is completely unnecessary, are caught in the middle as war breaks out. The parallels to conflicts such as those in the Middle East are obvious and it is this distinct lack of subtlety that prevents the film from soaring as an engaging narrative. Reeves was obviously conscious of the need to appease an action-obsessed audience desperate for a fix of mayhem and chaos and such a focus prevents the film from offering any genuine insight into what is an utterly intriguing premise.

There is still much to appreciate in what has been achieved on a technical and aesthetic level. The motion capture work is brilliant and, even if there are a few moments where some of the apes don't look quite real, the creation of the forest world and the apes who inhabit it is remarkable; certainly a far cry from Roddy McDowall in costume in the first Planet of the Apes in 1968. As Caesar, Andy Serkis is fabulous and it is great to see that he is duly credited as the star of the film. The casting of Clarke as Norman is a good choice because he doesn't bring any pre-conceived audience expectations or the baggage of previous roles that might burden a higher profile actor. Whilst Clarke is quietly effective as Norman, fellow Aussie Kodi Smit-McPhee has little to do as his son Alexander, while Keri Russell's Ellie is the convenient love interest with requisite medical training. Perhaps the biggest disappointment amongst the cast is seeing a talented actor like Oldman confined yet again to a one-dimensional role as a bombastic, narrow-minded douchebag. Whilst there are elements that impress, Dawn of the Planet of Apes possesses neither the intelligence nor the heart of its predecessor.

The last 12 to 18 months or so have produced some fabulous Australian films - from The Rocket to Mystery Road to Tracks to 52 Tuesdays to The Rover - but it might just be that Charlie's Country usurps them all. Anchored by a superlative performance from David Gulpilil as the titular character, Charlie's Country is a beautifully realised film that explores the plight of Indigenous people living in central Australia through the experiences of a man who finds himself fed up with white fella ways yet somewhat removed from his own family, culture and community. Directed by Rolf de Heer, who co-wrote the screenplay with Gulpilil, this third collaboration between the pair – following Ten Canoes and The Tracker ¬– is perhaps the best work yet from both director and star.

Charlie is a man on the margins. He is becoming increasingly disillusioned with his circumstances and his seemingly good-natured banter with the local police carries a bitter undertone. Malnourished and in need of somewhere to live, his resentment deepens when his gun, which he uses for hunting, is confiscated by authorities because he doesn't possess a licence. When a spear he has made is also deemed a 'dangerous weapon' and taken by the same police who call on him to serve as a tracker without ever offering to compensate him for his time, it is obvious that such actions are more about the exertion of authority and power than any genuine desire to keep the community safe. With his patience stretched to the limit, Charlie heads bush in an effort to live like the old ways; a solitary self-sufficient existence. However, with his health failing, he struggles to survive.

The second half of the film takes place in Darwin, where Charlie finds himself in trouble with authorities. Some may find de Heer's approach preachy and not particularly balanced, but it is not hard to imagine that the events depicted here are a somewhat accurate representation of how this clash of cultures continues to play out today. Alternating between English and Yolngu, de Heer has created a wonderful portrait of a generally gentle man at odds with the world around him. The cinematography from Ian Jones is lush and evocative, while the sound design of Tom Heuzenroeder and James Currie and the musical score from Graham Tardif combine splendidly to complement the sparse dialogue. In fact, there are myriad shots that seem like still images, the merest of movement within the frame allowing us to absorb the naturalistic soundscape in all its subtle beauty.

What the Dutch-born de Heer delivers is an indictment of the relationship between white law and the traditions of Australia's first peoples. It is a slow burn in which the audience is asked to reflect; not only on Charlie's circumstances but how the fallout from this clash of cultures continues to impact upon Indigenous people today. Charlie is searching for something, but he doesn't really know what it is. The drama is laced with genuinely funny moments and the film is never dull despite the languid pace of many scenes. Gulpilil is mesmerising and even the extended shots of him staring silently, seemingly in deep contemplation, are a joy to behold. There is good support from Peter Djigirr as Black Pete and cameos from the likes of Gary Sweet and Dan Wyllie, with Luke Ford burdened with the role of a two-faced policeman. While Bojana Novakovic makes a welcome late appearance as the only white person who affords Charlie any courtesy or respect, this is very much a showcase of Gulpilil's considerable talents.

Despite enduring his own well-publicised battles with alcoholism and the law, Gulpilil's reputation has remained intact and this performance only serves to confirm his status as one of Australia's finest ever actors; his Best Actor nod in Un Certain Regard at this year's Cannes Film Festival bringing deserved international recognition. Given that much of what transpires is supposedly drawn from Gulpilil's personal experiences, the events depicted are easy enough to believe if not particularly nice to witness, even from a distance. Having made provocative films such Bad Boy Bubby and Alexandra's Project, this is a much more sedate but no less confrontational effort from de Heer, one of the few contemporary filmmakers to have enjoyed an extended career working in Australia. With Charlie's Country, de Heer has produced a compelling cautionary tale.

Yes, Words and Pictures includes many of the clichés that typically populate both romance films and movies in which the lead characters are teachers, however such clichés do not necessarily render a film ineffective if the broader context of the story allows us to look beyond the obvious and appreciate what else is going on. In that regard, veteran Australian director Fred Schepisi has done a really good job in crafting a film that has many easily identifiable genre conventions, yet still has plenty to say on all manner of subject matter, including art, language, technology and the purpose of education. With accomplished performers such as Clive Owen and Juliette Binoche in the lead roles, this is a film that defies its rom-com leanings and becomes something much more intelligent. The narrative trajectory of the characters is most definitely predictable, but because we already know what is going to happen on that front, we can focus on other elements of the story, including questions raised about the value of words and images and notions of what defines a good teacher.

Shot in Vancouver but set in a New England prep school, Words and Pictures is the story of two teachers with oppositional personalities and approaches to teaching who engage in a battle of wits that, inevitably, leads to romance. Binoche is new-teacher-in-town Dina Delsanto, an acclaimed artist battling rheumatoid arthritis, while Owen's Jack Marcus is the popular (with the students at least) English teacher with a drinking problem and a passion for language. Whilst the two present as polar opposites with regard to their teaching styles, they both have very high expectations of their students. Dina refuses to accept that a work of art being deemed " very good" by the masses is a satisfactory achievement and she demands that her students aim higher than that, particularly the talented Emily (Valerie Tian). Jack, meanwhile, is less interested in allocating formal grades than he is in inspiring students to use language in intelligent and creative ways to understand and appreciate the power and influence of words. The problem for Jack is that the school is losing patience with his unorthodox approach and his job is under threat; drunken run-ins around town doing little to curry favour with the school administration.

Of course, the school board are more interested in image and reputation than they are student outcomes, so Jack sets out to convince the powers-that-be of his "worth" to the school, a value that has little to do with his ability as a teacher and more to do with restoring his tarnished reputation as a writer of some repute. Needless to say, Jack finds himself drawn to the reclusive Dina, who is struggling to come to terms with the impact her illness is having on her ability to paint. Whilst the two central characters are typical of all screen teachers – from Gabe Kotter to Erin Gruwell – in that they apparently only have one class, there is some honesty in the way they and the other teachers (which include Bruce Davison as Walt, Jack's only ally) are presented. The film explores what constitutes a good teacher: Does it matter if Jack is an alcoholic? Is being a nice person a requirement for being a good teacher? Does being a popular teacher make you any more, or less, effective in the classroom? Words and Pictures also serves as a celebration of both the visual and language arts and explores the influence of technology on young people, with Jack's witty and impassioned rants bemoaning social media proving particularly amusing.

Owen embodies Jack as a blowhard fighting a losing battle against both the system and his own self-loathing, while Dina has little desire to ingratiate herself with her students or other faculty members. The chemistry between Owen and Binoche is terrific and, despite the somewhat cantankerous personalities of their characters, these are two teachers that any school would be lucky to have. With several subplots thrown into the mix, such as Jack's strained relationship with his son Tony (Christian Scheider, son of Roy, in his screen debut) and the cruel harassment directed at Emily by a boorish male student, there is enough going on to make Words and Pictures a cut above the warm and fuzzy fluff that saturates so many romance narratives. Yes, of course it ends pretty much how we expect, but with good performances and characters that are multi-layered, Schepisi has managed to create a genre piece that, unlike so many others, is both entertaining and intelligent.

If you like your comedy black, then Calvary is a film you will want to see. Likewise, if you prefer your movie viewing experience to encompass philosophical musings on life and death, good and evil and faith and retribution, then Calvary is also the film for you. Following their partnership on The Guard, director John Michael McDonagh and leading man Brendan Gleeson have again teamed up for another story of a good man battling dark forces, this time in a small community in County Sligo on Ireland's west coast. On this occasion, Gleeson is Father James Lavelle, a priest battling to save his own life whilst remaining diligent in his service to a community in which everybody is damaged in some way, whether it is physically, emotionally, financially or psychologically. Whilst this is definitely a comedy, there are plenty of times when you feel uncomfortable finding amusement in what is transpiring, particularly given what is at stake.

The film opens in a confessional when Lavelle is told, in no uncertain terms, that he will be killed the following Sunday; the unidentified confessor seeking to avenge years of sexual abuse at the hands of the church. However, Lavelle has not been chosen because he is a perpetrator of such crimes. On the contrary, the confessor is adamant that only killing a "good priest" can serve as retribution for the pain and suffering that he has endured and, as such, Lavelle is seemingly the ideal target. Whilst we don't know the identity of the person making the threat, our protagonist most certainly does, yet he never offers any clues to the audience, refusing to let the threat keep him from his parish responsibilities, which means ostensibly trying to help a group of people that seem beyond redemption; from Dylan Moran's misanthropic millionaire to Aidan Gillen's deranged doctor, to an unrecognisable Domnhall Gleeson (About Time, Frank) as a remorseless serial killer. Chris O'Dowd also features as a man suspected of assaulting his wife (Orla O'Rourke), who just happens to be having an affair with the local mechanic (Isaach De Bankole).

This film certainly does not celebrate Catholicism or religion generally for that matter. This is an examination of an honourable man who just happens to be a priest. It is his attitude, values and compassion that make him a decent person while it his vocation, rather than anything he has done, that is the reason for the untenable position in which he finds himself. The story is told in daily episodes as we count down to the fateful Sunday. When Lavelle's daughter Fiona (Kelly Reilly) arrives back in town fresh from a failed suicide attempt, our protagonist is afforded an opportunity to reconnect and reflect upon his own shortcomings in the face of what could be his last days. Lavelle is certainly no saint and struggles to keep his own demons at bay.

This is a powerfully evocative film in which everything has been meticulously crafted. The dialogue is sparse yet affective and the landscape is captured in all its glory. In fact, the behaviours of the various characters serve as a toxic infection amongst an otherwise idyllic locale. There is nothing hurried in anything that happens, yet it is utterly riveting. Gleeson is superb in the lead role, delivering a nuanced and captivating performance as a man whose tolerance towards the myriad indulgences and indiscretions of his parishioners is stretched to breaking point. The supporting performances are also fine for the most part, although Gillen's Dr Frank Harte is a particularly strange construct. Hollywood veteran M. Emmet Walsh is good fun as an aging writer preparing for his own impending demise, while the under-rated Reilly (Chinese Puzzle) impresses again as a woman who feels abandoned by all and sundry.

McDonagh, who also wrote the screenplay, has managed to make this somewhat sombre story a bewitching and thoroughly engrossing experience. There is absurdity and mirth mingled with moments of solemnity and grace that, as unlikely as it sounds, are combined splendidly to create an utterly profound cinematic experience. Whilst Calvary is a film about religion, it is certainly not evangelical in style or content. After all, it is the flaws of the Catholic Church, the impact on victims of abuse and the (lack of) consequences for perpetrators that kick-start the narrative. Furthermore, the film presents faith, for many in Sligo at least, as nothing more than a concept of convenience. Charming yet confronting, slow but never dull, Calvary is an intelligent and thought provoking film of the highest quality.

In many respects, this biopic of the titular fashion designer is everything you might expect. It is full of beautiful people wearing beautiful clothes in beautiful surrounds. Fortunately though, Yves Saint Laurent is much more than that and we do get some insight into a man whose demons very nearly threatened to derail his reputation and career on more than one occasion. Too often, biographical films try to cram too much into the limited running time that a motion picture necessarily demands, so it is very pleasing that director Jalil Lespert has avoided the temptation to cover every stage of Saint Laurent's life and career, opting instead to focus, for the most part, on his emergence as a pre-eminent figure in French fashion circles and the ensuing bouts of self-destructive behaviour that threatened to overshadow his creative genius. The film does touch on the later stages of Saint Laurent's life, but primarily to contextualise the relationship with lifelong partner Pierre Berge, who we first meet in a pre-credit sequence set after Saint Laurent's death. The story is then told as a recollection of events from Berge, who provides a second-person narration as though it is being delivered to Saint Laurent himself.

Pierre Niney takes on the role of the Algerian-born Saint Laurent, who we first meet at home in Oran on the Mediterranean coast. Whilst still in his teens, Saint Laurent finds himself working for Christian Dior, whose death in 1957 propelled Saint Laurent into the role of head designer at Dior's fashion house at just 21 years of age. Already encumbered by a social anxiety that he attributes to childhood bullying, Saint Laurent finds it difficult to cope with the aura of expectation that surrounds him. When he is drafted into the French military, Saint Laurent finds himself unable to cope, is confined to a psychiatric hospital and subjected to electroshock treatment. Sacked by Dior as a result, Saint Laurent establishes his own brand with the help of Berge (Guillaume Gallienne), a cash settlement secured from his former employer and the support of an American investor. From this point, Saint Laurent emerges as a superstar of the fashion world; each new collection met with adoring enthusiasm. However, whilst his professional profile explodes and he cements his reputation as one of the truly great designers, he sets out on a path of self-destruction; partaking in drugs, excessive alcohol consumption and infidelity in an effort to combat the depression, anxiety and insecurity that plague him.

This is very much a film that examines the relationship between Saint Laurent and Berge, with the latter emerging as a stoic hero figure who stands by Saint Laurent throughout the tumult that was their personal and business relationship. If what we see is to be believed (and I have no reason to suggest we shouldn't), then Berge was a guardian angel for the troubled designer, serving as manager, constant companion, lover and lifesaver. It is hardly surprising therefore that the real life Berge has endorsed the film, which is based, in part, on his book Letters to Yves. Furthermore, Berge has praised the performances of both actors, telling Vogue magazine that he was "blown away by Pierre Niney's performance. It really disconcerted me. It even upset me, because it's very difficult. At times, I thought it was Yves Saint Laurent himself. That's huge." On Gallienne, Berge declared "I think he's an extraordinary actor." Of course, as a result of Berge's ties to the project, the filmmakers were granted access to Saint Laurent's original design studio and more than 70 of his vintage outfits and, it must be said, the clothes are stunning. Another key figure in Saint Laurent's life during his rise to fame was model Victoire Doutreleau (played by the stunning Charlotte Le Bon), who was one of Saint Laurent's few close friends until forced out of his life by Berge, who considered her a bad influence.

Yes, the film is a celebration of Saint Laurent's creative genius, but it certainly doesn't shy away from the darker side of his personality. It is a reminder of the destructive nature of disorders such as depression and anxiety, even amongst those who seemingly have it all. The film looks elegant – sumptuous even – and the musical score draws upon classical, jazz, rock and opera at different times, to mostly good effect. Ultimately, Yves Saint Laurent is an engaging, if somewhat genteel, examination of the life (or part thereof at least) of a talented yet troubled individual. Lespert has crafted a film that explores the darker side of Saint Laurent's personality without diminishing his legacy as a fashion icon.

Few filmmakers have successfully been able to weave absurdist humour into an affecting story about friendship, mental illness and the power of music in quite the same way that Director Lenny Abrahamson has done with Frank. This is a funny yet moving story about a group of flawed individuals who find solace and security in the collective of a band whose mere existence is more important than anything they may achieve. This is a wonderful movie that will no doubt be dismissed by many as just another quirky independent film, but it is so much more than that. With Frank, Abrahamson has crafted a film that is everything a movie should be. It is thoroughly entertaining, emotional, thought provoking and powerful in its examination of an aspect of the world in which we live that is rarely represented with any insight or compassion. It is emotional without being manipulative and it is funny without mocking the characters and/or their circumstances.

Domhnall Gleeson (About Time) is Jon Burroughs, a wannabe songwriter and musician who still lives with his parents and spends his days at a mind-numbingly boring office job. When the keyboard player in the band Soronprfbs is hospitalised after attempting to drown himself, Jon is in the right place at the right time and is drafted in as a substitute. Although the gig is a disaster, Jon makes an impression on Frank Sidebottom - the enigmatic leader of the band who wears an oversized head at all times – and is offered a permanent place in the band. When the group, which also includes Don (Scoot McNairy), Clara (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Baraque (Francois Civil) and the all-but-mute Nana (Carla Azar), head to an isolated cabin to record an album, Jon struggles to understand the motivations of the band and finds himself at loggerheads with the protective Clara. As the recording process drags on interminably, Jon takes to posting regular updates on social media that ultimately result in an offer to perform at the prestigious South by Southwest Festival in Texas. Whilst Frank is excited by the opportunity, the rest of the group are less enthusiastic, with good reason as it turns out.

Frank never removes the fake head; even to sleep, eat or shower and, as a result, the audience, like Jon, spends a lot of time trying to work out exactly why Frank refuses to reveal his identity. What is he hiding? What is his story? Jon's fixation is very much a statement about contemporary society; the fact that we seem to think we have the right to know everything about an individual and can find out anything we want at the click of a button. Conversely, Frank's papier-mache appendage is a challenge to modern celebrity culture in which the face – and the image – of musical artists is often more celebrated than the music they produce. None of the other band members share Jon's curiosity, they simply accept Frank how he is and are deeply suspicious of this newcomer to whom Frank has taken a liking. Although Frank is vague and dismissive anytime Jon tries to delve a little deeper, the reasons for the mask become clearer as the film progresses. Beginning as a hapless interloper who we initially find amusing as the fish out of water amongst this group, Jon ultimately morphs into a somewhat unsympathetic character in his determination to fulfil his own dreams of musical success with little regard for the rest of the band.

The spectre of mental illness runs throughout the narrative, sometimes tragically, but Abrahamson avoids sentimentality. There are damaged people here, but in many ways this is a celebration of those people who exist on the margins of what we generally accept as being 'normal'. Watching this, I couldn't help but wonder how somebody like Frank would be treated in the real world. As the enigmatic, insecure titular character, Michael Fassbender (Shame, 12 Years a Slave, X-Men) is forced to speak with his body; communicating his emotions and state of mind via posture, tics and mannerisms. He does a fabulous job in presenting Frank as a man whose talents are undermined by significant psychological distress, perhaps much in the vein of Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett. With Frank, Abrahamson has produced a highly original film that leaves you amused and moved in equal measure. A comedic, tragic, satirical, poignant paean to those who dance to a different beat. It's weird, but it works. In fact, it is something rather exceptional.

Given the reception his debut feature Animal Kingdom garnered upon release in 2010, there was always going to be much speculation, anticipation and expectation surrounding whatever Australian filmmaker David Michod did next. Opting to forego opportunities in America to complete his second film on home soil, Michod's follow-up project is somewhat removed from Animal Kingdom but still packs a punch. Mired in the barren nothingness of the remote Australian outback "10 years after the collapse", The Rover is essentially a pursuit narrative set in a lawless world of crime, violence and desolation. It is never made clear what the collapse is exactly, but it is obvious that the world's economy has turned to crap. The titular Rover is Eric (Guy Pearce), a man who is plagued by the sins of his past and does not take too kindly to his car being stolen. In a nutshell, this is a movie about a man who just wants to get his car back. Of course, in this most hostile of environments there are myriad obstacles along the way that ensure such a simple objective becomes a much more complicated mission.

Pearce's Eric is a loner who emerges from a dusty, decrepit bar in a two-bit outpost somewhere in central Australia to find his car has been jacked by a trio of crims – Henry (Scoot McNairy), Caleb (Tawanda Manyomo) and Archie (David Field). With Henry's injured brother Rey (Robert Pattinson) in tow, Eric sets out to track the thieves. There is violence aplenty as Eric and Rey fight for their own survival in a world where even those responsible for law enforcement are motivated by money rather than any desire to see justice done. Eric is single-minded in his desire to find his car and deal with those who took it from him and anybody who gets in his way pays the ultimate price. Both Pearce and Pattinson are equally impressive in their roles, the former with a dispassionate view on almost everybody he meets and the latter all tics and incoherent mumbling. It is the changing nature of their relationship and their shared resolve – Rey was abandoned by Henry and left for dead – that drives the narrative as they are forced to rely on each other in order to reach their objective.

It is actually not hard to imagine this world Michod has created as a future reality. With most of the world's economies having collapsed, desperate characters from around the globe have landed in Australia seeking opportunities in the mining industry, which continues to operate. However, with the desperation of the populace leading to violence at every turn, trains carting iron ore to the city are manned by armed guards. American dollars are the preferred currency and nobody can be trusted in a world in which survival is the daily objective. With telegraph poles serving as crucifixes, it is almost as though Australia has gone full circle; returning to the primal savagery of more than 100 years ago as depicted in John Hillcoat's The Proposition (which also featured Pearce). Argentinian cinematographer Natasha Braier has captured the isolation of central Australia in all its gory glory, presenting an outback much more menacing than that presented in the likes of Wolf Creek. The ramshackle towns are populated by folks who seem utterly debased by what has transpired and are desperately eking out an existence by any means possible, with any outsider viewed with suspicion, if not derision.

As good as so much of The Rover is, the fundamental failing of the film lies with the ending. It is at this point that we find out why Eric is so desperate to get his car back and I found myself asking "what the?". In fact, it is the idea that Eric wants the car back purely as a matter of principle that makes his relentless pursuit so interesting. When we are presented with the motivation for his actions, it seems designed purely to manipulate us into accepting Eric's behaviour as justifiable and only serves to undermine everything that has got us to this point. Ultimately though, with solid supporting performances from McNairy, newcomer Manyomo and the always reliable Field, along with the likes of Anthony Hayes and Susan Prior, there is still plenty to recommend here in what is yet another example of quality Australian filmmaking and, despite the flawed final moments, The Rover is very much worth watching.

I could never have imagined that Richard Ayoade's second feature film as a director would emerge as a cross between the film version of George Orwell's 1984 and Mike Judge's classic workplace comedy Office Space, but that is what sprung to mind as I watched this most unusual of pieces. Having established himself as a comic actor in television series' such as The Mighty Boosh and The IT Crowd, Ayoade made a very impressive debut as a feature director in 2010 with Submarine, a film that was well received by critics and audiences alike. For his sophomore directorial project, Ayoade has followed in the footsteps of Bernardo Bertolucci, David Fincher and Denis Villeneuve, among others, in turning to a 1846 novella by Russian writer Fyodor Dostoyevski for source material. In fact, it's probably fair to say that all doppelganger film narratives are inspired by Dostoyevski's work.

Although Submarine isn't possessed of the over-the-top outlandish humour that is a staple of Ayoade's television work, there are still plenty of laughs to be had. With The Double, Ayoade delivers a much darker tale – both visually and narratively – that is as much psychological as it is satirical. Jesse Eisenberg plays Simon James, an industrious worker for an unnamed organisation run by a somewhat mysterious entity known as The Colonel (James Fox), a character not far removed from Orwell's Big Brother. In fact, the colourless cubicles in which the employees work and the primitive equipment they operate to undertake dreary meaningless tasks is so reminiscent of John Hurt's Winston Smith in 1984 that I found the similarities uncanny. Despite his commitment to his work, Simon is all but invisible to his boss Mr Papadopoulos (Wallace Shawn) and his co-workers, including Hannah (Mia Wasikowska), the object of his affection. Furthermore, his mother (Phyllis Somerville), who resides in a nursing home for which Simon, of course, is being overcharged, derides him at every opportunity. When James Simon (also played by Eisenberg) arrives on the scene as a wunderkind new employee, Simon's fortunes go from bad to worse. Despite the fact that Simon and James look identical and wear the same beige suits, the latter oozes confidence and charm and uses both to ingratiate himself with Papadopoulos and Hannah, sending Simon further into the throes of despair.

The world created by Ayoade, production designer David Crank and cinematographer Erik Wilson is very much devoid of light and any modern technologies, with suicide so prevalent amongst the populous that there are dedicated police teams charged with investigating each such incident. It is an oppressive, drab existence in which serving The Colonel is the primary objective of everybody. Although what it is exactly that Simon, or anybody else for that matter, does is difficult to fathom, Papadopoulos is adamant that Simon is not doing it well enough. We are never sure where or when the story is set, although the workplace could easily be something that might have existed in the Soviet Union in the 1950's. The lack of information that is forthcoming may infuriate some people, but I don't think it matters in the end because Eisenberg keeps you interested with his portrayal of two characters who are equally flawed, albeit in vastly contrasting ways. Everything is easy for the smarmy James and he finds himself on the fast track to success, while Simon has to battle every morning just to get in the building because there is seemingly no record of his existence. At one point, co-worker Harris (Noah Taylor) tells Simon "You're pretty unnoticeable. Bit of a non-person really."

Having filled the leads in Submarine, Craig Roberts and Yasmin Paige take on much smaller roles here as a detective and Mr Papadopoulos' daughter respectively, with the likes of Sally Hawkins, Chris O'Dowd and Dinosaur Jnr's J. Mascis also making cameos of varying import. As Simon, Eisenberg initially presents like he has done in so many of his other films; a highly intelligent yet socially awkward outsider. However, once James enters the picture, we see another side to the actor that is refreshing, even if the actions of this character are somewhat nefarious. Needless to say, Wasikowska is luminous amid the gloom as the quirky Hannah, continuing her upward career trajectory with another interesting role that she executes to perfection. Ayoade is to be commended for refusing to comply with genre or audience expectations, crafting a blacker-than-black noir comedy that references (intentionally or otherwise) many other films and filmmakers yet still presents as a somewhat original vision.

Shailene Woodley is so hot right now. Young adult fiction is so hot right now. Put them together and you should have a solid gold certified success, right? Well, not quite. Don't get me wrong, Woodley is terrific as cancer-stricken teenager Hazel in Josh Boone's The Fault in our Stars, the cinematic adaptation of John Green's popular YA novel of the same name, it's just that the movie doesn't always live up to the quality of her performance. Woodley wowed all and sundry with her Golden Globe-nominated performance as George Clooney's recalcitrant daughter in The Descendants and then backed up with a sparkling turn in The Spectacular Now before detouring into blockbuster territory with Divergent. With a screenplay by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber – the duo responsible for writing The Spectacular Now and the excellent (500) Days of Summer – The Fault in Our Stars is about real teenagers doing real things and therein lays its strength.

Of course, many real teenagers can be very annoying and teenage boys in particular are often cocky and self-assured to the point of being obnoxious. Gus is such a creature. Played by Ansel Elgort, who also featured in Divergent, Gus has good looks, charm and confidence in spades, all of which he uses to ingratiate himself with Hazel. The two meet in a cancer support group; he has lost a leg to the disease, while she has damaged lungs that requires her to be permanently attached to an oxygen tank. By no means a shrinking violet, Hazel is intelligent, witty and self-deprecating. She demonstrates maturity in balancing the seriousness of her situation with her desire to experience life to the fullest. Furthermore, she understands and appreciates the burden that her illness has placed on her parents, both financially and emotionally. Gus, on the other hand, is prone to make light of his circumstances and seems happy enough to grasp every advantage that comes his way as a result. Having survived a brush with osteosarcoma, perhaps Gus has every reason to embrace life to the full and can therefore be excused if he occasionally comes across as a bit too glib about his experience and what it has cost him (such as when he allows his friend Isaac to smash the basketball trophies that adorn his room). His so-called metaphor though, which consists of an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth almost all of the time – "you put the thing that does the killing right between your teeth, but you never give it the power to kill you!" - comes across as pretentious and is infuriatingly annoying.

The duo bond over vocabulary, Venn diagrams and literature, but it is their mutual love of a novel titled An Imperial Affliction that seals the deal. The story resonates with them through their shared experience with the central character, but they are frustrated by the ending and set out to contact the author in search of answers. Gus cashes in on the benevolence of an organisation akin to Australia's Make-A-Wish Foundation to enable him and Hazel to meet Peter Van Houten (Willem Dafoe), the author of An Imperial Affliction, who is living in self-imposed exile in Amsterdam. However, Van Houten is a bitter man with no interest in indulging these two young people in their quest for answers. Dafoe is great as the rude, dismissive Van Outen and it is somewhat disappointing that, late in the piece, there is an attempt to redeem the character somewhat in the eyes of Hazel and the audience. Why do filmmakers (or authors for that matter) find it necessary to dilute the venom in such characters when they are almost always more interesting and believable when they are at their most despicable?

Woodley seems much more at home in smaller-scale productions such as this which rely more on acting than acrobatics. She is a naturalistic performer who articulates the emotional roller-coaster of Hazel's experience to perfection. Whilst Elgort is serviceable as Gus, the problem lies in the character more so than the performance. Sure, Gus seems like the type of boy you would want your daughter to bring home, but he is just too good to be true. Laura Dern and True Blood's Sam Trammell are fine as Hazel's parents, while Nat Wolff provides comic relief as Isaac, a fellow cancer patient who is more upset at losing his girlfriend than he is about losing his eyesight. There is nothing showy about Boone's direction of the drama and he lets the story, which no doubt will have people reaching for tissues, play out without it ever becoming manipulative or overly melodramatic.

The X-Men series has been one of the most consistently impressive of all the cinematic comic book franchises of recent times. Whilst there have been a few missteps along the way, these films have generally proved to be sophisticated and thought provoking as well as thoroughly entertaining without the over-the-top bombast to which so many other films of this type fall victim. By and large, X-Men: Days of Future Past fits the bill in this regard, with story and characters holding their own against the tsunami of special effects and action sequences that we expect in a science-fiction film of this type. A star-studded cast helps considerably and the return of Bryan Singer to the director's chair lends the film a sure hand that puts it on par with the best in the series thus far. Obviously, there is a silliness to it all, but Singer wrings plenty of tension from the series of events and ultimately delivers a film that allows you to overlook the preposterousness of the premise to actually give a damn about the characters.

This seventh film in the series offers the best of both worlds in that the established X-Men regulars link up with their younger selves from X-Men First Class to change the course of history and save the mutant population from extinction. As such, X-Men: Days of Future Past begins with the X-Men under attack from robots known as Sentinals, developed by millionaire scientist Bolivar Trask (Peter Dinklage) to eliminate all mutants. In the face of obliteration, Professor Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart) and Magneto (Ian McKellen) bury the hatchet and join forces to hatch a survival plan. With an ability to transport a consciousness back in time, Kitty Pryde (Ellen Page) is called upon to return Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) to 1973 with a mission to thwart Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence) in her bid to assassinate Trask. Along the way we meet several new mutants, easily the most interesting and amusing of which is Quicksilver (Evan Peters), whose lightning speed proves vital in helping Wolverine and the young Professor Xavier (James McAvoy) break the young Magneto (Michael Fassbender) out of his underground cell beneath The Pentagon in a sequence that is a lot of fun.

Through the course of the film we discover that mutants served in the US military during the Vietnam War and that President Kennedy was himself a mutant, killed despite the best efforts of Magneto to divert the bullet. Yes, it is a silly premise, but we are willing to accept it because the film never takes itself too seriously and is certainly devoid of the earnestness that tends to pervade contemporary superhero narratives. Perhaps it is the fact that these characters are not heroes per se that allows the filmmakers to make them much more morally ambiguous and thereby more interesting. Whilst the film contains plentiful political and historical references aimed squarely at older audiences, there is no doubt that the current cultural cache enjoyed by the likes of Lawrence and Dinklage will also lure in younger viewers who might not ordinarily be drawn to such films. Nicholas Hoult features prominently as the 1973 version of Beast while, in the present, Storm (Halle Berry) and Iceman (Shawn Ashmore) team up with Blink (Bingbing Fan), Colossus (Daniel Cudmore), Warpath (Booboo Stewart) and Sunspot (Adan Canto) in trying to keep the Sentinels at bay. The beguiling Famke Janssen makes a late appearance as Jean Gray and there are blink-and-you-miss-them moments from the likes of Kelsey Grammar, James Marsden and Anna Paquin.

It is Wolverine, the only character to appear in each film played by the same actor, who again proves the central figure in driving the narrative. He is charged with alerting the younger incarnations of Magneto and Professor Xavier to what the future holds if they do not work together and, as such, Jackman is the only performer who appears in the past and present sequences of the film. However, McAvoy and Fassbender are equally effective in their portrayals of their somewhat complicated characters, which bodes well for the future of the X-Men series. The return of Singer (who helmed the first two films in the series) has resulted in a film that is both entertaining and thought-provoking, exploring the two things that, perhaps more than anything else, motivate people to act badly towards others; ignorance and greed.

Terry Gilliam's career as a filmmaker has been a roller-coaster ride of highs and lows, perhaps more so than any other contemporary director. From the comedic genius of Monty Python and the Holy Grail to the masterful Brazil and other fine films such as Time Bandits, The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys, Gilliam is responsible for some of the most interesting movies of the last 40 years, yet he has continually struggled in recent times to secure the necessary financial support for his projects. I generally like Gilliam's work, even those films derided by almost everybody else, such as 2005's Tideland, because even his most flawed films offer something that is interesting and thought provoking. Of course, his fruitless attempt to make The Man Who Killed Don Quixote is the stuff of legend and whilst he has refused to allow the myriad setbacks and disappointments to curb his output, it is obvious that, despite his considerable talents, his vision has been compromised by his inability to secure the backing needed to craft his projects into something truly great. With his latest effort, Zero Theorem, Gilliam again demonstrates a flair for the absurd and a willingness to address the big issues, albeit in ways that are not necessarily easy to understand.

The film is a visual feast, particularly the external scenes of an urban landscape dominated by garish neon and talking billboards spouting all kinds of messages, very similar to the world created by Ridley Scott in Bladerunner, while the elaborate costuming is reminiscent of Luc Besson's The Fifth Element. Set in the near future, the narrative revolves around Qohen Leth (Christoph Waltz), a misanthropic data crunching computer programmer with agoraphobic tendencies who spends most of the film in the former church that now serves as his home; resplendent with a steam punk aesthetic. When he is drafted by Management (a bleached blonde Matt Damon) and tasked with finding the reason for human existence, Qohen insists on working from home. However, much to his chagrin, his progress is interrupted on several occasions by unwanted visits from a cast of wacky characters, including the flirtatious Bainsley (Mélanie Thierry), his supervisor Joby (David Thewlis) and digital therapist Dr Shrink-Rom (Tilda Swinton). The final indignity comes when Management sends his wunderkind son Bob (Lucas Hedges) in to assist when Qohen finds himself on the brink of madness.

As Bainsley, Thierry brings a terrific sense of fun to this pixie dream-girl force of nature determined to roust Qohen from his malaise. Of course, Qohen is suspicious of her presence – has she been sent by Management to test him in some way? - yet finds himself unable to resist her charms and the promise of a peaceful paradisiac existence away from all the things that rankle him so much. Thewlis is very annoying as Joby and perhaps that is intentional to enable us to understand why Qohen is so irritated by him, while an almost unrecognisable Swinton provides comic relief as the online therapist who seems more bonkers than anybody. Gilliam presents a vision of the future that may, or may not, be too far removed from reality. One of the most amusing moments is a scene in which Qohen is sitting on a bench in front of a wall of signs that declare all of the activities that are prohibited, no doubt Gilliam's way of critiquing a society in which rights and freedoms are being whittled away.

It is very difficult to give any definitive explanation of what The Zero Theorem is about exactly and it is this elusiveness that is perhaps its biggest drawback. However, there is a clear message about the futility in waiting for answers rather than simply accepting life as it comes. Shot on location in Romania, this is an ambitious and personal film that many will find difficult to embrace. Whilst The Zero Theorem is a long way from being Gilliam's best work, this vision of the future – candy-coloured yet bleak - is certainly not a disaster and is better than so many of the cookie-cutter releases that clutter cinema schedules. We need original filmmakers like Terry Gilliam and it is really important that filmmakers like him are able to realise the full extent of their artistic vision, unhindered by the vagaries of a funding model that privileges the asinine over the intelligent when it comes to cinema stories.

Australian genre films are a rare breed. Particularly those that secure a wide international release on the back of critical buzz emanating from the likes of Sundance and other festivals. For those reasons alone, The Babadook has already achieved much more than many of the Australian made horror films that have preceded it. Of course, the ultimate test will be bums on seats and there is no reason to think that the film won't muster strong audience support. Shot in Adelaide and funded partly through Kickstarter contributions, The Babadook is the first feature for director Jennifer Kent, who also wrote the screenplay derived from her own short film. There are no big frights here and it could even be argued that the film is as much a psychological thriller as it is a horror, but the story draws you in and piques your curiosity in a way that has you constantly trying to guess what will happen next. There is much ambiguity in the story and the characters that inhabit it, but there is sufficient spookiness to satisfy those who like their films dark and twisted.

Essie Davis, perhaps best known for her television work in The Slap and Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, plays Amelia, the fraught mother of six-year-old Samuel, a child who is driving her to the point of despair with his demanding behaviour. Amelia's husband Oskar (Benjamin Winspear) was killed driving her to the hospital on the night Samuel was born and it this tragic turn of events that has defined the mother-son relationship ever since. You see, despite her best efforts to outwardly hide such feelings and be the mother she is expected to be - publicly defending Sam's petulance at every turn - Amelia really doesn't her like her son all that much and it is this tension that serves as the catalyst for what follows. Juggling the demands of Samuel with her work in an aged care facility, Amelia's state of mind starts to deteriorate to the point where she finds it difficult to separate her reality from the hallucinations that haunt her. When a mysterious children's book titled Mister Babadook seemingly unleashes a sinister presence in the house, things become decidedly disturbing. Using the picture book as the source of the terror enables the use of simplistic, yet effective, design in the creation of an almost cartoonish presence that still manages to exude the requisite level of menace.

Whilst the film does rely on horror clichés to a certain extent - from the suitably sinister-looking house with the obligatory out-of-bounds basement, levitation, creaking floorboards, flickering lights, shapes in the shadows and people being flung around the room by forces unseen – it certainly shies away from the gore and bloodshed non which so many other movies rely to compensate for their shortcomings in other areas. Similarly, most of the minor roles consist of stereotyped characters – the disbelieving police, the angry school teacher, an overbearing boss, the nasty sister – all of which serve to isolate Amelia even more in her state of anguish. However, it is this sense of isolation, combined with the uncertainty over the nature of the threat, which causes so much of the tension. Is there really a supernatural presence or is Amelia simply in a state of psychosis? Ultimately, Kent leaves it up to the audience to decide. There are other characters introduced who it seems might play a significant role - such as elderly neighbour Mrs Roach (Barbara West) and co-worker Robbie (Daniel Henshall) – however their significance in the story amounts to very little.

Davis endures a lot as Amelia, a pale, exhausted figure who unravels in the most extreme way. In his first ever screen role, Noah Wiseman is equal parts cutesy and creepy as Samuel, alternating between volatile and affectionate on a whim, constructing all manner of weapons to ward off the monsters he believes are lurking under his bed. Kent draws upon classic imagery from the likes of Georges Melies to provide a visual representation of Amelia's state of mind as she spends night after night unable to sleep, staring blankly at the television. On many levels, The Babadook is a success and should appeal to horror aficionados as well as those more interested in psychological drama. This is a more than satisfactory addition to the horror oeuvre and is proof positive that Australia can do genre just as well as anybody else.