Karlovy Vary International Film Festival — A–Z of films

Wells shows how interactions that were solid within their own moment become more ambiguous as time has gone by and the adult understanding of Sophie has grown.

The performances are subtly realised by the three main stars.

What makes Art Talent Show special is the way it captures human moments: a snippet of interpersonal communication in a meeting; a conversation; someone stretching off and doing a little half-hearted dance after a long day.

The way doubt starts to enter into everything we hear from any of the characters is subtly orchestrated.

One of the most deservedly popular movies in cinema history.

Much of the film’s raw effectiveness is due to the young cast’s wisdom and effortless on-screen chemistry.

Nikki has a light touch with a script that is able to see the funny side of things but which doesn't make light of the medical and societal situations that Jaakko and Sirpa are facing.

Covert glances and dauntless gestures between the three protagonists, that keep us guessing about who knows what, weave a web as diaphanous as the stitching on fine cloth.

Densely packed as this film is, only so much can be squeezed into an hour and 47 minutes. Menkes succeeds, however, in delivering a pretty thorough primer.

Lilya’s treatment while captive is only glimpsed in brief flashbacks, which avoid voyeurism and suddenly occur like glitches in the film, the image pixellating as though it is buffering, to reveal a scrap of memory.

Vicky Krieps...is in excellent form and up to the task of presenting to us the icon in all her idiosyncrasies.

Cronenberg, a seemingly gentle soul on the surface, remains tortured by the possibilities of technology and how it may tear us apart.

Built on strong imagery rather than substantive narrative.

Park does it the hard way, building up a complex psychological and intellectual relationship in which sexual desire feels like an emergent characteristic rather than a starting point.

In their quietly devastating manner, Groeningen and Vandermeersch examine the fluid nature of our confusion and confidence over our place in the world.

The beast of burden’s travails seem to be a thinly veiled criticism of Polish society which erupts in one sequence into mindless violence.

Everything Everywhere All At Once is bravura, high concept, unhinged and beautifully crafted.

The force of nature comes to stunning, searing life thanks to the Kraffts' footage, whether it is rivers of magma or gouts of smoke, with the film gradually building the case that they knew exactly the impact of what they were committing to camera would be.

While it's a road well-travelled, here it's a road travelled well.

Feels more like an amuse bouche than a full meal, while at the same time all proving a bit too much.

The screenplay by Kazejak and Filip Kasperaszek produces believable and well rounded characters, with plenty of humour to leaven the psychological torments on view.

Forest Whitaker's presence is so forceful that you don't want to think about the absurdity of his character.

To refer to something as ‘pure cinema’ is uninspired, but Godland is one of those rare films that has some untranslatable quality that speaks for itself.

Inevitably, there is a slight air of the stage about this and an emotional gear change at the midway point doesn't quite feel fully earned but the actors so fully inhabit these roles that they carry you with them.

The multi-layered emotional consideration of themes, in particular the clash of cultural traditions and modernity - the building up of the city mirroring the destruction of the people within it and the natural landscape - are resonant and engaging.

A cri de cœur on behalf of all those from who hope has been stolen

The group of speleologists in Il Buco are housed in the storage room of a church, a sublime decision by the filmmakers that gives Berta ample opportunity to visually connect the scientists of the early Sixties with the splendour of Renaissance paintings.

It is not so much individual people who cause the problems but rather the constricting cultural circumstances that dictate everyone must play their allocated role.

A compelling yet gentle ride.

Although there is a lot of humour, crowd-pleasing fun and some award-worthy performances, there seems to be a lack of edge and darkness here.

Gorbach presents war as an insidious and dangerous beast, prowling about the edges of people's lives, swiping at those who aren't directly involved just as easily as those who are.

Shows that escapist films can serve every bit as valid a purpose as anything else when it comes to uniting people.

Walker-Silverman is in no hurry to reach that encounter and he makes slipping into the rhythms of Faye's day a thing of gentle joy.

Though it’s nicely drawn and the performances are good, especially from Sánchez, this is all fairly familiar stuff.

While an impressive exercise of modern horror craftsmanship that could easily flirt with a cult film status, Men’s overcrowded and facile symbolism is as transparent as it is confusing, leaving much to be desired from an otherwise very good storyteller.

If there’s a single word to describe the latest film from Signe Baumane, it’s vibrancy.

Dazzles from the opening song and dance number to the final credits.

There’s an increasing sense of the unnatural impinging on the natural.

The film could not be more Swiss if it were made out of chocolate, yet it feels real, organic, a natural expression of the world in which it is set.

The film is full of sharp little observations, made in passing, which tell us about this society and the experience of people living it.

Kaufman's recreation of early 19th century Paris is more theatrical than real.

A cross-pollination of tough Dirty Harry and Frankenstein - often startles the viewer with imagery and ideas.

If you like this sort of thing, you’ll like this.

It takes messy and unresolved dynamics and finds their poetry. Can’t say sexier than that.

Transcendental is often a pretentious word, but Miyake’s cadenced, Ozu-reminiscent, directorial style has a talent for sensing tensions and charging shots with profound meaning and sereneness.

There is a complete disregard for any kind of consequence or continuity in this film, and you know that the rug could be pulled from under you at any second.

Stephen Gaghan's script covers the territory with brutal honesty. The actors respond in kind.

A roller-coaster of the effects of absolute power corrupting absolutely.

Singer and McQuarrie expertly sustain a rich and tantalising conceit, keeping the reader guessing to a superb climax – and beyond.

The stories that bloom here are rooted in the real, jacketed in the bruised flesh of familiar harms.

Grisi has a background in photography and though the images are moving here, there's often a stillness to them and they are no less perfectly composed.

A story which is, ultimately, about learning to think differently, to change the way that we direct our attention and resources in order to open up the possibility of renewal.

The Wizard Of Oz has something fresh and intangibly pure for me every time I see it.

We quickly see the more poignant emotional landscape is every bit as important as that manufactured by pixels and bytes.

The meandering pace can get tedious at times, but cinematically it's a masterpiece.

It presents a radically different cinematic language, childlike, initially amoral, lyrical.

Pourfaraj is superb in the lead, his Massoud stiff-backed, primly moustached, yet achingly human.