Cannes Film Festival — A–Z of films

Martelli carefully crafts an air of almost casual dread.

Sen could easily just have made an observational documentary about the brothers' day-to-day work or simply focused on the kites themselves but he stretches its wings much further than that.

The film is full of beautifully observed and detailed conversations as well as silences that speak volumes.

More pedantic than poetic, making for an unfulfilling watch.

Desplechin fires off too many salvoes which hit wide of the mark

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.

Loose camerawork from Frank van den Eeden enhances the intimate, raw spirit.

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.

Where Luhrmann and Butler score are in the concert sequences in which the King truly comes alive.

It has a Wicker Man feel but without the flamboyant histrionics

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

Le Bon’s world is so intimately constructed that it’s easy to be immersed in the present moment, as the characters are, and lose sight of the rest.

In throwing a spotlight on these neglected and unsung heroes Vadepied does an invaluable service to their memories that no amount of medals and ceremonies could achieve.

An homage to truly bad film-making - but it sails perilously close to self-parody

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

Looks at the ways the younger generation seek ways to live in peace rather than perpetual conflict.

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.

What, you might ask, is at the heart of the mystery? It's a good question and one that Pariser barely articulates.

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

Moroccan-born Faucon directs with understated skill, never flinching from unpalatable truths.

This is less about the puzzle of who the murderer is... than about the way he slots into society and, after his arrest, is viewed by the public.

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.

Everything flows with the flourish of an expensive ink pen on paper, as sketches are made to bloom with colour or a bicycle ride turns into a mini adventure, all given additional life by the zippy score from Ludovic Bource.

Director Fabian Hernández, making his feature début, demonstrates a fondness for close-ups and keeps the narrative close to Carlos as well.

It might be that my empathy was miscalibrated that day, but I came out of Mediterranean Fever feeling worse than when I went in.

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.

Belcu doesn’t need to show us much violence in order to indicate how the mere threat of it can become an effective tool of oppression.

In this kaleidoscope life, montage becomes an essential tool, illustrating not only the artist’s own work but his many influences, along with the immediate context in which he was living.

Filled with strong sentiment but without sentimentality.

Seydoux is superb as she runs the emotional gamut with subtlety and empathy, demonstrating an extraordinary survival spirit in complicated circumstances.

The languid mood contrasts with the most dangerous topics.

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

The combination of Efira and Magimel proves magnetic.

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

There are astounding moments of audio visual density that make Scarlet so wonderful a film - especially because we are bestowed with a generosity in spirit and utter lack of prejudice.

The film is less about ambition or striving for success, as it’s about the fetishisation of that image of success, and how striving for the perfect image can destroy you.

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.

The romantic, the familial and the geopolitical are inseparable here.

The music is an easy choice, but Serebrennikov has found its counterpart in image and in theme.

Cruise, doing many of his own stunts, owns the territory with stellar charisma.

While exploitation is expertly outlined, the directors are never exploitative themselves in the way it is depicted.

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

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

Although the drama itself has a generally naturalistic feel, striking visuals embellish the spirit of all those things that are just beyond that realm.

Better in its subtler moments, when it explores not just the difference between what is being filmed and reality by the fictions the characters are also inventing for themselves, the film is made compelling by its own immaculate casting.