Leeds 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.

Simón takes a loose approach to the narrative, letting the small dramas of family play out alongside larger ones, giving as much value to the transient pleasures of fresh peach juice and cooked snails as the tensions between siblings.

The intimacies are staggering.

The performances are subtly realised by the three main stars.

It's one where the camera less becomes a fly on the wall than a sleeping dog in front of the fireplace, one where the comfort of the subjects gives us a better insight into them.

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.

Everything about McEwen’s performance sings with stress, from the way she reacts to casual comments to the manner in which she lights increasing numbers of cigarettes.

More pedantic than poetic, making for an unfulfilling watch.

Becker trusts his actors and their small movements and gestures to portray meaning beyond the dialogue.

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

Both leads are excellent.

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

Where it could easily have been gimmicky or relied on comedy, instead it achieves something magical and illuminating.

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.

Storywise, there’s not a great deal here which hasn’t been done before, but it will be new to the young audience it’s really aimed at, and it’s beautifully told.

Skilfully crafted, The Harbinger is a rightly distressing, melancholy take on the events of the recent past and the troubles we still live with today.

Told in an incidental, roundabout sort of way, a knitting together of assorted observations such as one might make whilst browsing, not yet certain what one wishes to buy.

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.

Wonderfully uncomfortable.

What makes all this work is the very straightforward and matter-of-fact way in which Dupieux approaches the story.

An important film.

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.

Vitija rarely gets distracted from her approach, and this is a strength – not easy to achieve with so much material to pull together.

While the choreography of all this is audacious, Hardiman is equally interested in dialogue. He loves an intricately worked sentence as much as a finely coiffed barnet.

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.

Guzmán doesn’t need to hunt for symbolism as the protesters are often supplying their own.

Arashi is a model with Middle Eastern roots, making her screen début, which is difficult to belief given the quality of her performance in this complex, multifaceted role.

Set in a futuristic Rwanda, the themes are as old as the hills - with colonialism, identity and self-determination chief among them.

There’s a real sense of fury behind this film.

At one point it seems “Panahi” could easily step from one country to the other, but as his film shows, leaving is not always an easy option.

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 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.

Čadež employs the gouts of smoke to disturbing effect, fogging up the action and making passive aggression feel like a punch.

Writer/director Carmen Jacquier explores this ideological and psychological clash with confidence and visual flair.