When the Palestinian militants Black September took Israeli hostages at the 1972 Munich Olympics, the ABC studio that covered the event was close enough to hear the gunfire. By checking maps and directories, dialling rotary phones, bathing 16mm film, translating German radio, they managed to broadcast one of television’s most tragic stories as it happened.

Since James Mangold’s conventional and sincere Walk the Line graced cinemas in 2005 and the appropriately insincere spoof of the same, Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, released 2 years later, it’s a wonder Mangold still has the confidence in 2025 to serve the same biographical mush in his new Bob Dylan picture.

This immigrant drama about the fictitious Hungarian architect László Tóth has the impression of real history burnt into its bones. Tóth’s story feels like a comes from a biographical tome by someone like Robert Caro, such is the richness of this type of seldom seen literary-cinema.

No Other Land proves the emotional power of visual evidence – of shaking phones running from gunfire, of cameras filming the discriminate destruction of small farming communities. It’s one thing to fight against the forces that mean you harm, but filmmakers Basel Adra, Hamdan Ballal, Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor show us the heartless consequences of occupation upon those least equipped to fight against it.

The story of Lee Miller’s unbridled need to seek the truth through photography may be conventional in the spectrum of other biographies, but the substantive weight of its truth-seeking convictions provide it an importance we seem to have lost sight of, one that stares toward the specter of death.

It’s another occasion to celebrate 86 year-old Ridley Scott’s world building prowess. Again he builds us a very masculine, very brawny Rome with a bigger budget, better technology and a script that’s more summertime trash than awards prestige.

In a time of hopelessness, a film providing hope proves very important indeed.

Your interest in this scrappy biopic of a transactional friendship rests solely on how much interest you still hold in uncovering the faint character building moments of Donald Trump.

For anyone hellbent on defending Joker (2019)’s acclaimed existence, I propose a thought experiment: why does Todd Phillips feel the need to spend $200 million on a movie refuting the morality of the first movie if the first movie did nothing wrong?

It’s about corruptible power, the building of a city, about supernaturally controlling time. If that sounds fascinating, I can assure you the film works very hard to extinguish all excitement.

Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance is the type of viewing experience you need to recover from. It’s a ruthless, intense, pummelling journey into the body-fluid ridden depths of image based beauty standards and their effect on women.

Tim Burton’s fine career has two consistent themes: he’s a visionary and he’s often a poor judge of storytelling.

With it’s mischievous voice over, its smash cuts, its copious use of cocaine and ketamine, it’s a punkish musical biopic laced with the hedonism of being young, male, and continuously high.

If her previous work was a Mamma Mia-esque holiday romance movie, the type you need on a particularly hard day, then Iris et les hommes leans into more sexually provocative material, something closer to Pedro Almodóvar’s morally ambiguous sex-comedies.

With Alien Romulus, Fede Álvarez is entirely here to please audiences by providing them the same conventions – a corridor based monster movie with gruesome deaths, sweaty skin and plenty of heavy breathing.

Trap in many ways is representative of M. Night Shyamalan’s entire career, one showing a clear abundance of talent but also an odd deafness to the music of classic thrillers. He’s a rebel, someone who had always been an outsider to Hollywood, even when he achieved mainstream success within it.

Now with the release of the $200 million blockbuster Deadpool and Wolverine, it seems a franchise that’s supposed to make fun of the Hollywood machine has become it’s headline act. It’s an uncomfortable fit for a character that works best at the edges of the mainstream. Here Deadpool is a superhero so steeped and entrenched in the memeification of popular Hollywood culture that it devolves into a shallow pool of cameos, callbacks, and fan-service.

Twisters continues it’s predecessors strength of providing plenty of cinematic damage. By the end credits, tornadoes get a chance to destroy a rodeo, a power station, a movie theatre, a water tower but from what I can tell, no cows. What is fresh to the formula is the injection of a teenage romance plot straight from a YA novel.

You can’t help but admire the commitment of Costner. Whilst some may call his vision old-fashioned, he is entirely dedicated to a type of classical excess that always strays into literary dimensions. You could be fooled into thinking Horizon was based on a Margaret Mitchell novel.

At 79 years old, director George Miller has the right to slow down, but it’s a tribute to him that Furiosa: AMMS has the same boundless energy we’ve come to expect. This desert is still full of outlandish vehicular combat, playfully imagined and deftly organised, and if it was ever in doubt, Furiosa: AMMS cements Miller’s status as the master of wheel carnage.