'We Have A Pope' review:

Nanni Moretti's new comedy opens on a grieving Vatican as throngs of Catholic mourners mass in the streets following the death of a pope. They are sombre but also excited because, inside the corridors of power, Cardinals from around the world have gathered to agree upon a new pontiff. After several inconclusive rounds of voting - tied between the bookmakers favourites - the assembled religious leaders turn to a surprise candidate: the humble, shell shocked Cardinal Melville (Michel Piccoli). Melville, succumbing to peer pressure, reluctantly assumes the mantle of pope, but before he can be introduced to the waiting world he suffers a massive anxiety attack, brought on by feelings of inadequacy, and runs away screaming. Desperate to find a quick solution to this crisis, the Vatican's press officer (Jerzy Stuhr) calls in the self-proclaimed world's best psychoanalyst (Moretti), an atheist.

'We Have A Pope' reads like a recipe for high concept comedy and possibly even a ballsy satire of the papacy. Yet those expecting a damning indictment of the institution will be disappointed. Moretti declines to make cracks at paedophile priests or the church's irresponsible position on contraception in Africa. However there is some implicit criticism of the church which comes in two flavours: the first of these is a recurring joke which sees Moretti mix the sacred with the mundane. Here the Cardinals are made to appear slightly ridiculous - if in an affectionate, gentle way - as they play volleyball in full regalia. Elsewhere they are made to behave like slightly naughty schoolchildren. They are not exactly portrayed reverently, though their religious conviction is never placed in doubt.

The second (and much more effective) way in which Moretti critiques the church is in the organisation's handling of Melville. This is effectively the story of a bewildered old man being bullied into spending his last few years sitting in a glass box being waved at. Forgoing a lot of easy laughs, Moretti treats Melville's sudden depressive episode with utmost compassion and, in the second half, tips the film towards drama rather than out-and-out farce. It's possible that a lot of the comedy is in delivery and doesn't carry over if (like me) you can't understand Italian, because Melville's scenes - as he goes AWOL and wanders around Rome - struck me as more sad than funny. Moretti's analyst character certainly is funny, but - beyond one initial (hilarious) scene as he's introduced - his story is quite separate from Pope Melville's belated odyssey of self-discovery.

'We Have A Pope' is a strange film that doesn't go where many will expect it to - or indeed want it to. It could be considered frustrating, toothless and too slight, and I can certainly see all of those criticisms in it. But if taken on its own terms I think it's quite a poignant and faultlessly humane look at how a frail, mentally ill person in such a position would struggle to find compassion or understanding amongst peers who deny the existence of depression - especially in one supposedly selected by God. In their one scene together, the analyst is not allowed to ask Melville any of the questions he might usually ask his patients. Discussions of childhood, repressed sexual desires, his mother and dreams are among those declared off limits by the pope's advisers, who insist the session takes place in the middle of a large room full of Cardinals. It is said you can feel all alone in a crowd of people. Moretti, almost without judgement, is asking us to imagine how it must feel to be pope.

'We Have A Pope' is out now in the UK, rated 'PG' by the BBFC.

'Las Acacias' review:

Pablo Giorgelli's little Argentine road movie 'Las Acacias' tells a simple story with minimal incident and even less dialogue. In it a long-distance lorry driver called Rubén (Germán de Silva) reluctantly drives a stranger, Jacinta (Hebe Duarte), and her baby girl all the way from Paraguay to Buenos Aires at the behest of his (unseen) boss. It's really just these two characters and an adorably smiley baby - probably the cutest on record - sitting in a lorry not talking to each other very much for 85 minutes. They make a couple of short stops, but otherwise the film is comprised of real-time snatches of this epic and awkward drive.

As with all road movies the journey is part metaphor, paralleling the development of the characters, though unlike most road movies there is little, if any, emphasis on landscapes. What we see of the overcast Argentine countryside is gleaned incidentally through the cabin window, with Giorgelli's camera more interested in - for want of a less pretentious turn of phrase - the landscape of the human face. The story takes a predictable arc and is far less compelling the talkier it becomes, as Rubén and Jacinta become more at ease in each other's company, but for the first half the emotional story is told with laudable economy, through glances and emphasis on small details.

For instance, it is notable that Rubén is uneasy when he finds he'll be driving a mother and child. Later Rubén swigs a bottle of water without any thought of offering it to his passengers, which gives us some indication of his reluctance to let them into his life. As he washes we see a large scar across his abdomen, emblematic of the emotional scars he carries - which we will come to understand as he opens up. His gestures become less misanthropic and he realises that his chosen life of isolation on the road is not necessarily where it's at. So it goes.

This reliance on visual metaphor might seem heavy-handed when read on the page but it's carried off with a pleasing degree of subtlety. This premise could probably have made a more compelling, not to mention tighter, twenty minute short without really losing anything other than the sense of time spent on the road. (As a case in point, the above trailer more or less contains all the key events in the narrative (and in order) in around 100 seconds.) Though in spite of this incredibly slight story, Giorgelli's film never really comes close to outstaying its welcome.

'Las Acacias' is out now in the UK and rated '12A' by the BBFC.

My Top 30 Films of 2011: 10-1

This is the concluding part of my 2011 top 30 films list. You can read the previous entries here: 30-21 and 20-11.

10) Pina, dir Wim Wenders, GER

What I said: "[Wenders'] use of space, the way he stages the action, is just incredible and wholly new, whilst the cinematography and camerawork is beautiful to behold. 'Pina' is a technical masterpiece and a bold piece of work all ways around. Watching it I was struck by how conceivably any film characterised by incredible blocking and interesting use of space would not only work in [3D] but would in fact be enhanced by it... 'Pina' proves there is a place for 3D in the arthouse and in the hands of auteurs."



3D adds depth, obviously, but is that useful and if so how? Its advocates often compare stereoscopy to the additions of sound and colour, yet it seems clearer to us what those advancements have enabled filmmakers to convey from a dramatic or artistic standpoint. A Marx Brothers comedy would simply not work if we couldn't hear Groucho's rapid-fire one-liners, whilst 'The Wizard of Oz' would probably not dazzle us so much if it remained in black and white after Dorothy set foot in the fantasy realm of the title. But, by comparison, what does 3D offer and what do we stand to lose without it? How can the addition of depth be used beyond the initial spectacle, in order to assist a director in telling a particular type of story or giving a very specific experience?

This year 3D has been used by some heavyweight talents, whose movies are perhaps more familiar to arthouse patrons than mass audiences. Werner Herzog used the technique to give us a rare glimpse inside the Chauvet caves in 'Cave of Forgotten Dreams', whilst Martin Scorsese had a lot of fun with its possibilities making 'Hugo' (more on that below). But it's really Wim Wenders who has provided the most compelling evidence that 3D can undeniably add something to a cinema experience that you'd miss greatly if it were taken away. I'd watch most other 3D movies in 2D with minimal complaint, but to me it seems central to what made Wenders' 'Pina' work.

A quasi-documentary, the film is a tribute to the late experimental dance artist Pina Bausch, bringing together a series of dance sequences as performed by her troupe. These expressionistic pieces range from harrowing to comical to downright bizarre and are separated by passionate monologues delivered by those who knew her, talking about Bausch's character and attitude to art. The 3D allows us to appreciate the dances more fully than we might otherwise, giving a proper sense of how the performers negotiate space. Wenders shoots almost every scene from a slightly elevated angle that emphasises the depth of each frame and gives us the best possible view of Bausch's inimitable choreography.

9) The Skin I Live In, dir Pedro Almodóvar, SPA

What I said: "When reviewing so-called "World Cinema" you often encounter brilliant films that you know stand next to no chance of reaching a wide audience. For most 'Of Gods and Men' would be far too austere and ponderous, whilst even 'The Tree of Life' was far too esoteric for the crowds that flocked to see "that Brad Pitt movie". Yet 'The Skin I Live In' has such tremendous, heartening potential for cross-over appeal, thanks to its tight, well-paced and surprise-filled story. It's never less than engaging for a single frame and, with its ruminations on identity and moral complexity (to put it lightly), must also rank among the year's most intelligent and thought-provoking films."



It's a slightly tawdry premise in keeping with the bulk of director Pedro Almodóvar's filmography, handled with the same mix of black humour, cheerful amorality and brightly lit, intensely colourful cinematography. In 'The Skin I Live In' a mysterious prisoner (Elena Anaya) is kept locked up within the mansion of a mad scientist (Antonio Banderas). He's a world class plastic surgeon and it becomes clear that this beautiful woman has undergone extensive, experimental surgery transforming her unrecognisably from whoever she once was. But who is she?

Seldom does a plot twist have this much impact on me, but 'The Skin I Live In' kept me guessing all the way through and, when the big reveal is made, left me gasping. Almodóvar very cleverly misdirects the viewer, making them draw conclusions throughout which, with each passing scene, make events seem more outrageous and Banderas' character seem ever more psychotic. But beyond this guessing game the film is surprisingly profound as an exploration of identity. To what extent are we defined by what we look like and how people treat us? Are we much more than the skin we inhabit?

8) Rise of the Planet of the Apes, dir Rupert Wyatt, USA

What I said: "'Rise' is a dramatic story first and an action film second and this all comes courtesy of [Andy] Serkis and WETA. It is a combination of a skilled character actor and tremendous animators that creates such a compelling and credible character in Caesar. A chimp adopted by James Franco's scientist after his mother is killed in the lab, he is the focus of the entire film and we follow him from newborn to energetic teenager, before he is brutalised and locked away. Caesar then (perhaps reluctantly) takes up the mantle of revolutionary leader to free apes from their human oppressors, grappling with moral and existential concerns along the way. What nuance the film has is in this journey, as key moments include subtle looks in the ape's eyes as we see his worldview change wordlessly."



The human characters - who include James Franco and Freida Pinto - might be a little bland, but 'Rise of the Planet of the Apes' is all about the titular chimps as they get smart and begin a revolution which will (eventually) lead to the crazy, upside down world of the original 60s movie. As nominal head of the ape revolution, Caesar is the focus of the story - as played by Andy Serkis in a masterpiece of motion capture performance - and we see events through his eyes, coming to empathise with the apes rather than our own kind. But it's more than just an animal welfare story, with the apes' rise emblematic of how a mistreated underclass may act if pushed too far. That the press screening I attended coincided with the London riots was lost on no one.

I think a large part of my loving it also came from the film's use of the city of San Francisco, where I had been only weeks before the screening. Hitherto unknown director Rupert Wyatt shoots the city in a way which is entirely consistent with the real layout and - although the climactic (magnificently staged) battle takes place on the Golden Gate Bridge - he doesn't overdose on landmarks. I was also really amazed by how credible Wyatt's movie is able to make the entire 'Apes' premise. How is it possible for chimps to organise the overthrow of mankind, with all our guns and helicopters? This is how.

As the marvellously dystopian credits rolled, my cheering for the apes gave way to the realisation that it would soon be curtains for mankind. Proof if it were needed that we will basically root for anything if asked to by a filmmaker.

7) Hugo, dir Martin Scorsese, USA

What I said: "'Hugo' is not the most exciting, consistent or perfectly structured children's film you'll ever see. In fact it often seems like a slick piece of educational programming rather than a fun family movie - with the slapstick chases around the station the least effective sequences. It's almost as if Scorsese has engineered a self-indulgent piece of fan fiction as a clandestine way to educate children about the art form he loves and give some of his favourite film clips a fresh airing for a new audience. But as a fellow lover of cinema I find this entirely admirable. It's heartening to see such an unabashed celebration of art."



It's perhaps not an entirely successful family film, seeing as how every person I've spoken to saw it with only half a dozen middle aged men for company, but 'Hugo' made me smile with its brazen, unapologetic love for cinema. It's less a children's adventure story than an excuse for Martin Scorsese to show us all his favourite silent movie clips and even stage an overdue lifetime's achievement evening for cinema's first magician Georges Méliès. Though it hardly matters when the result is this joyful and affirmative about the importance of art - as well as the preservation, history and criticism of that art.

I worry that it's ended up only preaching to the converted, though I fancy a lot of kids would find themselves inspired by Martin Scorsese's beautiful cinema history lesson, even if just as many were bored to tears. And whilst not as experimental or accomplished as that in 'Pina', the use of 3D here is another powerful statement of intent from a respected pro. Scorsese may be approaching 70 but he's clearly still every bit as excited about the future and the possibilities of his medium as anyone.

6) Hanna, dir Joe Wright, GER/UK/USA

What I said: "The first time we hear anything of the intricate, energetic Chemical Brothers score is when Hanna makes a conscious decision to leave the safety of life with he father and accept her deadly mission. The music makes her anxiety and excitement palpable, and every time we hear it subsequently – such as when she is escaping from a military facility in a spectacularly choreographed light show – it forms part of a hyper-stylised representation of Hanna’s psyche. When soldiers surround her log cabin near the start of the film, the score stands for the nervous anticipation of first contact with people other than her father. In this way 'Hanna' is an example of proper cinema which, rather than being a slave to dialogue, tells its story through the harmonious marriage of sound and image – and with magnificent economy."



An exuberant, hi-octane modern fairytale, 'Hanna' is a coming of age story about one young woman whose years in near isolation are ended suddenly, opening up a new world of senses, sounds and experiences. The titular teen assassin (Saoirse Ronan) spans Europe, running for her life to a breathless Chemical Brothers score, chased by a wicked witch (Cate Blanchett's obsessive CIA operative) and her campy German goons (led by Tom Hollander). Director Joe Wright tells a very simple story with singular vision and confidence, with sound and image merging together in a way that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I liked it the first time I saw it, especially because of its immensely capable if socially challenged heroine, but only really started loving it on repeat viewing where it all started to make much more sense. It's the sort of film I find literally mesmerising, in that I'd be compelled to continue watching it if I saw a single scene.

5) Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, dir Tomas Alfredson, UK/FRA

What I said: "This is not a glossy, establishment picture of Britain we're being sold. It's a world very alien from that James Bond inhabits, as our spies juggle with mundane concerns and petty office politics as well as the very real risk of death at the hands of enemy agents. It's a film where our heroes spend most of the movie secretly investigating their friends and, in effect, battling their own government whilst (ironically) trying to catch out one charged with doing the same. Seldom have the words "we're not so very different you and I" seemed less like hollow cliche as they do here, as [protagonist George] Smiley - not an idealist or ardent anti-communist by any standard - ponders on the moral equivalence of it all."



The source of more violent disagreements than any other on this year's entire top 30 list, Tomas Alfredson's follow-up to 'Let the Right One In' is not to everybody's taste. It's cold, slow, complicated and packs little action. There isn't much to be gained here by trying to guess who the Soviet spy is either, with little effort made to plant seeds, and I don't think that's the intention anyway: the reveal is supposed to be anti-climactic and disappointing (a fact which is clear in the novel). For a film which, on the face of it, promises to be a Cold War thriller, it isn't exactly thrilling. It's in many ways the anti-Bond, where spies live quiet, unfulfilled lives and never get the girl. Yet as a study of isolation and faded idealism it can't be beat.

I enjoyed Afredson's adaptation so much that I read John le Carré's original novel (which I also enjoyed greatly) straight afterwards and discovered, to my delight, that the film version still holds up incredibly well. The novel is, of course, much bigger: with more detail, more incident and a greater number of characters. But viewing the film subsequently I don't think there's anything important missing, as Peter Straughan's screenplay combines with Alfredson's eye for the smallest detail to ensure everything is there, even if it's only captured in a glance or a brief close-up. 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' is a film that rewards those who watch films with both eyes open and their brain switched on. It desires to be read, studied and actively engaged with - not merely because of the labyrinthine plotting, but because Alfredson shows all and tells almost nothing.

It needn't be said that Gary Oldman gives a performance of understated brilliance as protagonist George Smiley (a man of more advanced years than his own), whilst everyone else, from Colin Firth to Mark Strong, is also terrifically cast and linger in the memory even with minimal screen time. Especially Tom Hardy as cocky maverick Ricki Tarr and Benedict Cumberbatch as Peter Guillam, here re-conceived as a closet homosexual.

4) Captain America: The First Avenger, dir Joe Johnston, USA

What I said: "The best thing about Johnston’s Captain America is that it’s completely earnest... Chris Evans’ Steve Rogers is played almost completely straight. Other characters make jokes about his shrimpy pre-experiment figure, but Steve himself is on the level. When asked why he wants to kill Nazis he delivers what is, for me, the film’s key line of dialogue: “I don’t want to kill anybody. I just don’t like bullies.” Laugh if you want but that’s a glorious sentiment at a time when cold-hearted revenge movies are at a premium. It also serves to ensure that Steve’s wish to go to the front isn’t because he is some kind of wide-eyed boy adventurer who never read any Wilfred Owen... He isn’t an alpha-male douchebag, he’s a little guy motivated by a desire to protect the weak from the strong. His motivations are pretty much that simple and it makes for a likable, surprisingly compelling character, with Evans a thoroughly engaging presence from beginning to end."



My most controversial choice here, by some distance, 'Captain America: The First Avenger' is not a film I suspect will register on the best film lists of even the most blockbuster-friendly critics. But it's no fluke that I've put it here. I've seen it four times since release at the time of writing, and I've enjoyed it just as much on each occasion. In fact the last time I saw it I was moved to tears (I honestly was) by its simple, honest charm and unimpeachable good nature.

You see, as someone who was bullied and carries a certain amount of insecurity and anxiety with him as a result, a hero like Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) means a great deal. He's a man defined by weakness of body and faltering health; a man whose every day has been lived as the butt of every punchline. Yet he's kind and compassionate to a fault in spite of it all. This is his greatest strength: he is basically a nice guy. Living in 40s New York, Steve believes in everything America represented and without question. He believes in the idea of America regardless of the reality and this is something Joe Johnston's comic book adaptation allows this unambiguous hero to do without sniggering and covering its ass with irony.

It's completely earnest and totally lacking in cynicism. Which is - beyond being admirable - disarmingly brave in an age where ironic distance is a knee-jerk response for so many. When Rogers is made a beefcake super soldier, and assumes the mantle of Captain America, we don't hate this newly muscle-bound Adonis because he remains at heart the same weedy kid with wide-eyes and good intentions, not intent on killing enemies but solely set on protecting the weak against the strong.

But beyond the fact it clearly touched me on a personal level, it also made me smile - almost more than anything else this year. Alan Silvestri's triumphant score accompanies daringly stylised visuals from Johnston, reminiscent of his 90s flop 'The Rocketeer' and with a definite Steven Spielberg's 'Amazing Stories' vibe. There is even a song, with lyrics by Disney veteran Alan Menkin, sung by chorus girls during a sparkly USO show (my favourite section of the film). In 2D the special effects look somehow much less impressive - and the ending is more about setting up next year's 'The Avengers' than closing Johnston's movie - but I could care less. I just plain love this movie.

3) Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai, dir Takashi Miike, JAP

What I said: "With '13 Assassins' Miike playfully mocked Japanese tradition and criticised the country's historic cultural values. He questioned why honour and death are so often linked and had his heroes kick dirt in their enemies faces - fighting for survival rather than as part of some slickly choreographed pageant. Here these criticisms are foregrounded. Social class, poverty and a culture of obligation are targets, as well as the wisdom of bushido. And just as the child-murdering, woman-deforming lord in '13 Assassins' represented all that's contradictory about a society which saw swordplay as equivalent to penmanship and poetry - outwardly representing all that was considered beautiful - in 'Hara-Kiri' such vanity is attacked again."



Takashi Miike is fast becoming one of my favourite active filmmakers, having produced two masterful samurai epics (probably the greatest of all genres) in as many years. I find it hard to choose between this and '13 Assassins' (high up on last year's list) but at the moment I'm leaning towards regarding 'Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai' as the superior film - even if it's far less exciting in terms of visceral bloody action.

What I really like about 'Hara-Kiri' is that it takes Miike's subversion of tradition and satire of violence to new levels as he abandons his usual fun, anarchic sensibility to make a heartfelt and passionate period melodrama. In this deeply humanist film, Miike contrasts real honour and courage with the pretence of honour, found in ritualised (dehumanising) behaviour. I don't want to repeat myself, so I'll just put a link to my review here - if you're interested in how he subverts feudal Japanese values and why I loved it so much.

The film is also notable in that it's the first straight drama I've seen designed for 3D (in fact it's the first 3D film in history to play in competition in Cannes) and it works very well. It seems entirely appropriate that a film involving the elaborate and precise staging of a ritual should wish to fully exploit depth and create a sense of space, though this also has a dramatic effect, distancing our hero from those who sit in judgement and occupy more lofty positions in society.

2) A Separation, dir Asghar Farhadi, IRN

What I said: "[A Separation] is a tightly made ensemble piece that is as enthralling as it is tear-inducing. It is quite simply the best film I have seen so far this year and the first film to really knock me for six at [this year's Berlin Film Festival]. A human story of great social relevance as well as unmatched depth of feeling. Sincere, passionate and intelligent."



I feel as though I've been going on about this one all year - since even before it had a localised English title and I was still calling it 'Nader and Simin: A Separation' - following its triumph in Berlin. It was, without doubt, the best film I saw at that festival, though that's taking nothing away from the competition because 'A Separation' is a film of singular greatness. It tells a morally complex story populated by well-rounded, fully-formed characters. It would be possible to pick any character and side with them fully in this feud between two families (divided by class and religion) who go to a "family court" in Tehran to solve a highly complex dispute.

Director Asghar Farhadi reserves judgement on proceedings almost entirely, allowing his camera to act as an impartial observer and in doing so gives us a very humane, apolitical account of life in his country. It isn't as stylishly shot as many of the other films on this list, though it's certainly handsomely made, but in this case the content more than justifies the form (making it pretty much the opposite of 'Drive').

1) Melancholia, dir Lars Von Trier, DEN

What I said: "Von Trier has long been able to dazzle critics with his technique and 'Melancholia' is an immensely beautiful film, comprised of haunting and truly spectacular images from start to finish. Taken at face value the impending apocalypse plot is also dramatic and terrifying. But more significantly, what we have here is his most candid and revealing film. It's thought-provoking, personal, earnest and far less oblique than some of his previous work."



A highly personal choice, as I hope you'll appreciate from my review (and my evangelical, hyper-passionate podcast on the subject), 'Melancholia' has divided critics this year but I was among those deeply moved and inspired by it. Having struggled with depression myself over the years I find Kirtsen Dunst's star turn here as deeply affecting as Von Trier's stunningly realised story, which works in its own right as intriguing doomsday sci-fi. Here the imminent destruction of the planet by another heavenly body is a potent metaphor for the suffocating, world-ending effects of the illness.

But forgetting my personal attachment to the themes, 'Melancholia' is also a beautiful experience full of droll satire and deftly-observed social observations. The art design and special effects are jaw-droppingly gorgeous, whilst there isn't a bad performance among the terrific cast. I can't think of a more perfect film this year. It beats out long-time frontrunner 'A Separation' by virtue of Von Trier's virtuosity and because of the deep, personal connection I feel to every minute I spent locked in this world.

'Melancholia', for me anyway, perfectly captures what it feels like to be depressed and, as a result, I can't imagine a film less depressing or more life-affirming. Often knowing that someone else is going through a similar thing can be helpful and there is no greater thrill than seeing my own scattered thoughts and feelings distilled in this way, far more competently conveyed than I could hope to do in words. He might have pissed a lot of people off with his daft comments at Cannes earlier this year, but Lars Von Trier has helped me a great deal and I will be forever thankful.

'Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows' review:

Since surpassed in the imagination of the British public by a (by all accounts) brilliant BBC TV series, Guy Ritchie's 'Sherlock Holmes' was something of a surprise box office smash back in 2009, despite coming out in the shadow of James Cameron's world-conquering 'Avatar'. The script was alright, Ritchie's direction mercifully restrained and the action marginally above average, so I suspect the chief reason for its success was the appeal of charismatic "women love him, men want to be him" leading man Robert Downey Jr as a scruffy, debauched version of literature's most celebrated detective. His on-screen chemistry with Jude Law's Dr. Watson certainly helped matters and the material was elevated substantially whenever they appeared together, becoming damned funny. The film took over $500 million worldwide and revived Ritchie's flagging career in the process. A sequel was inevitable.

Two years later that sequel has arrived in the form of 'Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows'. It's basically the same film again with a bigger budget, more action, less restrained direction from Ritchie (whose handling of action is cumbersome and over-reliant on slow-mo) and with Rachel McAdams traded in for Sweden's Noomi Rapace (of 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' fame) as a stock fiery gypsy. Stephen Fry is an amusing if underused addition as Holmes' brother Mycroft, whilst 'Mad Men' actor Jared Harris is terrific as long-term adversary Professor Moriarty - the detective's intellectual equal and evil opposite. But all the superficial changes and cast additions are ultimately irrelevant. What matters is that Downey Jr and Law are together again, playing the characters as barely repressed homosexual lovers.



If in the first film the duo's status as quarreling lovers was arguably just a gag: a riff on the incongruity of two ostensibly straight men having "domestic" arguments. In the sequel this subtext is much more pronounced, being felt in the plot as, for instance, one catalytic event sees Holmes, in drag, preventing a newlywed Watson's honeymoon. McAdams reprises her love interest role at the beginning but, tellingly, she is removed from the equation before the credits.

Rapace is nominally her replacement, yet there is never even the pretense of a romance this time round. Holmes even cuts short a dance with her in favour of his handsomely moustached friend. Holmes, who is vocally opposed to Watson getting married, is even openly pleased when he is forced to delay the consummation of Watson's marriage, announcing that their own "relationship" is not over. "Relationship?" queries Watson. "Partnership", says Holmes as though to correct himself - though we know the best mind of his generation never misspeaks.

This conflicted, unspoken love is deeply embedded in Holmes' character arc and the resolution of the story. He only bothers defeat Moriarty because he refuses to leave Watson alone and it is only through Holmes exiting the picture that Watson might be able to go along with married life. The filmmakers of course will tell you this love is Platonic, but through their sly delivery and knowing glances Law and Downey Jr infuse this otherwise rote action flick with a delicious hint of sexual ambiguity. The implicit romance between these male leads is what gives the film its slightly subversive energy, allows the madcap bits to work and provides the emotional bits some semblance of weight.

'Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows' is out now and rated '12A' by the BBFC.

My Top 30 Films of 2011: 20-11

This is the second part of my 2011 top 30 films list/shameless vanity exercise. If you haven't already read through entries 30-21, then do so here.

20) Midnight in Paris, dir Woody Allen, USA

What I said: "It is fair to say my expectations for 'Midnight in Paris' were set extremely low - especially given that Allen's last film ['You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger'] was utterly abysmal. But for the first time in what feels like a decade, I absolutely loved a new Woody Allen film, almost without qualification. For the first time since childhood I laughed at one of his movies: not knowing laughs of polite recognition, but hearty, belly laughs. For the first time in around a decade, here is a Woody Allen film with imagination."



"Return to form" is an overused phrase critics have trotted out to describe almost every Woody Allen film since the early 90s. His fall from talent has been exaggerated in part because, however enjoyable 'Whatever Works' might be, it's never going to measure up alongside the man's most iconic 70s masterpieces, 'Annie Hall' and 'Manhattan'. Allen has gone from being mentioned in the same company as Fellini and Bergman, to being merely considered occasionally brilliant. Had an unknown director given us 'Deconstructing Harry' or 'Sweet and Lowdown', perhaps critics (and audiences) would have been more enthusiastic.

In any case, this year's Woody Allen film, 'Midnight in Paris', not only warrants the phrase "return to form" but also, for the first time in a long time, lives up to its billing as a comedy. Unlike the banal dramas that have followed in the wake of the dreary 'Match Point', here is an Allen movie that has the sort of bizarre premise he used to be known for, with time travel central to the plot as Owen Wilson's Gil Pender travels between modern Paris and its boisterous 1920s past. Allen's shooting of the city itself could be dismissed as the dreaded "tourist's eye view", but he shoots Paris as romantically as he's ever shot his beloved New York. It exists here as Pender imagines it, without cynicism: as a place of unimpeachable beauty and radiant charm.

19) Caves of Forgotten Dreams, dir Werner Herzog, FRA/USA/GER

What I said: "It seems clear to me that the man who once pulled a steamboat over a mountain is again revelling in a self-imposed impossible challenge, perhaps as a reaction against the fact that he is forced to use amateur cameras for the expedition. It is entirely possible that [Herzog] only considered making the film [in 3D] due to the fact that it wouldn’t even have occurred to anyone else that it could be. “One small, inexpensive camera? I bet I can do a 3D film this way” I can imagine him saying to himself, as if for his own sense of pride and amusement. It’s bonkers and brilliant, especially when he attaches a small RC helicopter to his camera in order to pull off a series of sweeping 3D aerial shots of a ravine, all on a micro budget."



For me the release of a new Werner Herzog documentary is a keenly awaited cinematic event that never disappoints. He asks strange and profound questions that wouldn't occur to anybody else, seeking out odd, often dangerous, subject matter armed only with a grim Teutonic stare. Yet for all the bad impressions of his distinctive narration, Herzog manages to seem sincere and unpretentious even when he chooses to end a documentary on pre-historic cave paintings musing on the significance - and possible future proliferation - of "mutant albino crocodiles".

'Cave of Forgotten Dreams', filmed innovatively in lo-fi 3D, takes us into the Chauvet cave in southern France - thought to be home to the earliest examples of human art, hosting elaborate cave paintings over 30,000 years old. It's a revealing documentary which, like the best history, explores how similar our ancestors were to us as opposed to sensationally playing up superficial differences (what I like to call the "how did Henry VIII go to the toilet?" line of enquiry). Here Herzog suggests the paintings provide us a glimpse into the aspirations of the artists who painted them - showing us how they perceived the world around them: a Europe filled with bears, tigers and rhinos, yet familiar in surprising ways. At one point he describes the paintings as a kind of "proto-cinema", projecting dreams onto the walls of a darkened room. Whatever you make of that, it's difficult to watch this existential documentary in anything other than a state of awe.

18) The Tree of Life, dir Terrence Malick, USA

What I said: "'The Tree of Life' offers a simplistic and idealistic version of nature and of our place within it, where spirituality is unchallenged from its dominant Hollywood position where it stands for "depth" and "truth". In this way Malick has made a movie which supports the dominant ideology almost wholeheartedly, however ambitious it might be in scale. It's a seductive tapestry and, in a few instances, it is genuinely heartfelt, yet something is missing. The anti-war sentiment of 'The Thin Red Line' and its critique of capitalism ("the whole thing's about property") or the nihilistic, satirical edge of 'Badlands', seem like they come from a very distant place from 'The Tree of Life', which unambiguously advocates an intelligent design view of life on our planet. Religion has always formed a large part of the sub-text, and even the text, of Malick movies - but never to the same extent as this passionate hymn."



I'm deeply conflicted about where I stand on Terence Malick's 'The Tree of Life'. I don't share its creators reductive, idyllic view of nature - which reaches its nadir during one preposterous sequence in which carnivorousness dinosaur shows a wounded herbivore compassion. Nor do I particularly care about the questions he is asking in relation to the increasingly trite concept of "faith", let alone God and/or heaven (tweely presented as a beach where we can hang out with all our favourite people). It's a sappy, sun-soaked, slightly ponderous film, however technically accomplished, and its place at the apex of so many other "best of 2011" lists will likely always be a thing of mystery to me.

So why is it on my list? Why have I placed it higher up than, say, 'Midnight in Paris', which I adored? Simply because no other film has inspired as much debate this year and because few other films (and I mean in history) have been as ambitious. This is a movie which gives you the beginning of time, the end of time (by far the most impressive sequence emotionally and cinematically), Sean Penn living in the future, Brad Pitt living in the 1950s and CGI dinosaurs. It's a film that exists purely to ask big unanswerable questions like "why are we here?", "what is there next?", "do our finite (mortal) existences have meaning?" and, more to the point, trusts cinema at its most visual as a tool to explore them. I applaud the scope of 'The Tree of Life' and the boldness with which it was made. I like that you can spend hours discussing it when the vast majority of movies are forgotten days after leaving the cinema.

17) Attack the Block, dir Joe Cornish, UK

What I said: "Far from being the sustained, middle class wink that I'd feared, 'Attack the Block' is the smart, funny and slickly produced feature that I'd hoped for. As a first time director, Joe Cornish has displayed a level of assuredness that is encouraging and - if he can resist the inevitable overtures of Hollywood - his brand of eye-catching, socially conscious and unpretentious comedy could be a sizable boon for British cinema for years to come."



Thanks to people like Owen Jones - author of one of 2011's best-selling books: Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class - use of the word "chav" is increasingly unfashionable. For the best part of a decade it has been the acceptable face of bigotry in the UK to make glib jokes at the expense of the urban poor, with the fashion, patois and even leisure choices of the country's most disenfranchised social group providing years of material for middle-class, millionaire comedians like Jimmy Carr.

With social class now returning to political discourse, Joe Cornish's 'Attack the Block' could have been ill-timed: the latest tired re-hash of a joke that peaked with Little Britain almost ten years ago (and even then wasn't very funny). A comedy-horror about an alien invasion of a council estate, I worried it might be little more than a series of jokes about people saying "innit blood". Instead it's one of the most timely and significant British films of the year, taking these urban boogie men (young, hoodie-wearing males) and humanising them without condescension.

In fact Cornish manages a very difficult balancing act which involves presenting the kids both as threatening examples of gang culture, not sanitising their manner or attitude to violence as they begin the film robbing a woman at knife-point, whilst also making us care for them and - hopefully - understand their concerns. It's a cultural minefield navigated with preternatural skill and no lack of cinematic flare. There are jokes about the culture, of course, but they are gentle and affectionate rather than just plain derogatory. For instance, one of the gang responds to the alien invasion by saying, without irony, "I wanna go home, lock my door and play FIFA." That's probably the single funniest line of 2011.

16) Thor, dir Kenneth Branagh, USA

What I said: "'Thor' is good value entertainment with its share of climactic fist-pumping moments. It's also not as shallow as you might expect, with pretty well-rounded characters and a sympathetic villain. Its director is best known for adapting Shakespeare for the screen and, had the Bard penned a treatment of the screenplay, it would be easy to imagine this story from the point of view of Loki (Tom Hiddleston) as a great tragedy."



For me the year's two biggest surprises have been Marvel comic adaptations, with the unsung and potentially ridiculous 'Captain America' and 'Thor' both far exceeding my meagre expectations. Both exist, primarily, to set up next year's 'The Avengers' superhero team-up movie and, as such, could have been little more than glossy, two hour long trailers (just like 'Iron Man 2'). But both were actually incredibly good blockbusters, far better than the average shlock served up to "the kids" and made with a genuine sense of style. Tightly paced, intelligently realised entertainment.

'Thor', directed by Kenneth Branagh, is made with a great deal of care, love and attention to detail, working from a smart script populated by interesting characters. The story arc of the titular god of thunder (Chris Hemsworth) must go on that familiar trajectory of growth and discovery, yet it doesn't feel contrived or hokey in the least. The performances (notably from Tom Hiddleston, Anthony Hopkins and Natalie Portman) are terrific, the action is exciting and Branagh even manages to suspend audience disbelief enough that we accept an alien world of Viking gods is connected to our own without sniggering. It's a colourful, fun superhero movie that proves you can stick closely to the source material without being either campy or knowing.

Making a big-budget movie version of 'Thor' was a risk on Marvel's part, with the blockbuster success of niche superhero franchises never a sure-fire thing. History is littered with the corpses of 'Daredevil', 'The Fantastic Four', 'The Punisher', 'Hulk', 'Ghost Rider' and, lest we forget, this year's universally panned 'The Green Lantern'. So to make a movie about an alien in a red cape, who comes riding on a rainbow from a world of Viking gods in order to "find himself" with a group of plucky tornado chasers in the New Mexico desert - and to play that concept almost totally straight - was a ballsy move. A move that could have even jeopardised other now co-dependant franchises, such as 'Iron Man'. To greenlight that movie and assign it to a director primarily famous for Shakespeare adaptations? Sometimes the studios get it right.

15) Blue Valentine, dir Derek Cianfrance, USA

What I said: "'Blue Valentine' isn't that sad little emo poem of a movie you might think it is from the poster. It's a riveting film that says as much about love and romantic relationships as any other film I've seen as it bravely and skilfully jumps between emotional extremes with great economy and even subtlety. If it doesn't resonate with you on some level then I can only surmise that you haven't ever left the house. It's one of those movies that makes two hours feel like twenty minutes and leaves you feeling satisfied by the art form you love so much, despite the fact it so often breaks your fragile little heart."



Kicking off "the year of the Gosling", which has since seen the internet meme/indie heartthrob star in 'Drive', 'The Ides of March' and 'Crazy, Stupid, Love', 'Blue Valentine' is the story of a tempestuous relationship between a blue-collar high school dropout (Gosling) and a troubled medical student (Michelle Williams). Williams - as the reining queen of American independent film - is Gosling's female equivalent and the duo brood, pout and sigh through their ups and downs, pausing only to look moodily handsome.

As I contemplated in my original review, 'Blue Valentine' is easy to poke fun at in these terms, especially if you haven't seen it. The thing is it transcends this stereotype and becomes something much more emotionally affecting and much less preening. It was hyped at the time of its American release for supposedly being sexually explicit, though what's striking about the film is actually the rawness of both actors emotional commitment to each new argument or moment of exquisite joy. Unlike the relationships depicted in a lot of lesser movies, the married couple here convince as best friends in the early stages, with genuine chemistry, and do just as good a job portraying the later bitterness as strangers sharing a bed, tied together by a sense of obligation.

14) The Forgiveness of Blood, dir Joshua Marston, USA/ALB

What I said: "It’s old testament justice in the age of Facebook, mobile phone videos and PlayStation games, and the film shows this problem of a country straddling two eras by highlighting the divide between young and old people. Mark [Refet Abazi] is an agricultural worker and yet his eldest son, Nik (Tristan Halilaj), dreams of opening an internet cafe. However, Nik’s dreams – along with those of his siblings – are put on hold after [Mark commits] murder, as custom dictates that they stay in their homes on the understanding that any male who leaves is open to a revenge attack. The children are therefore no longer allowed outside and can not attend school. And though women are generally considered immune from the threat of violence, Nik’s little sister Rudina (Sindi Lacej) is also forced to abandon her dream of going to college as she has to take on the workload of the imprisoned males, which forces her to grow up prematurely."



A difficult film to adequately describe, 'The Forgiveness of Blood' may be set in contemporary Europe but it's so culturally specific to its northern Albanian setting - dealing with barbaric medieval blood feuds that are a widespread occurrence in the region - that it might as well be set on the moon. Director Joshua Marston is an American, but an Albanian co-writer (Andamion Murataj) and a cast primarily made up of local non-actors give this bleak family drama an air of rare authenticity. It's with no small amount of indignation and disbelief that I watched the film, as I never thought a system of institutionalised revenge could exist in a country only a short ferry ride from Italy.

Rather than have me explain the practice in a drawn-out fashion here, I'd recommend you Google "Albanian blood feuds" and have a quick look for yourself. What I will say is that the sense of social isolation and frustration felt by the children in the film is palpable, whilst it's beautiful to look at as it takes you to a place few tourists venture and few movies are set. 'The Forgiveness of Blood' is certainly eye-opening, which would be enough in of itself, yet this is also a brilliantly made film by any standard - as you might expect from the man behind 'Maria Full of Grace'.

13) The Guard, dir John Michael McDonagh, IRE

What I said: "Like the characters of 'In Bruges', Boyle [Brendan Gleeson] has a subversive sense of humour, which rubs [Don] Cheadle’s more disciplined law man up the wrong way. “I thought only black boys were drug dealers” Boyle says incredulously – and it’s never clear whether he is knowingly confrontational or just ignorant. When [Cheadle] is offended by his racism Boyle replies, “I’m Irish. Racism is part of me culture.” To say The Guard is ‘black comedy’ is to put it lightly. In addition to being a heavy drinker, Boyle beds prostitutes and makes extra money from selling firearms to the IRA. The film opens on his observing a car crash only to walk over to the dead body of a teenage victim and frisk it for drugs, which he finds and then uses on the spot."



A terrifically funny film (in fact the highest ranking comedy on this year's list), 'The Guard' is - like Edgar Wright's 'Hot Fuzz' - a routed in the juxtaposition of Hollywood movie police archetypes with rural law enforcement across the pond, in this case the Irish Garda. Don Cheadle's FBI Agent is a dispassionate professional and a less dangerous character than Brendan Gleeson's hedonistic local Gerry Boyle, with whom he is paired in order to track down a group of homicidal drug dealers in the Irish countryside.

Almost every aspect of the film operates on some slightly bizarre comic plane, from the incongruous use of Latin American music in an overcast Northern European setting to Boyle's wholesale lack of anything resembling duty, respect or good taste (always an interesting combination for a hero). There's humour in incidental details too, such as the Daniel O'Donnell poster that hangs on the Irish policeman's bedroom wall. Directed by the brother of 'In Bruges' writer-director Martin McDonagh, 'The Guard' does compare to that film with its pitch black comedy and cleverly written characters, who in both instances have an unexpected innocence which prevents the film from being nasty.

12) We Need to Talk About Kevin, dir Lynne Ramsay, UK

What I said: "Ramsay tastefully avoids depicting the horrific event itself (or indeed many of the preceding horrific events), but even so she manages to make even the most banal instances (a drive through suburbia, a trip to the supermarket) intense and frightening throughout. This has a lot to do with punchy editing, jarring musical choices and a stand out performance from relative unknown [Ezra] Miller."



As with 'The Tree of Life', this is a film I have developed a complicated relationship with. Framed around the questions of nurture vs. nature, we contemplate the "evil" actions of the titular schoolboy (Ezra Miller) and ponder the culpability of his mother (Tilda Swinton). The problem for me is that I don't have any time for the suggestion that evil exists, let alone the idea that it could possibly be an innate property. Therefore one reading of the film leaves me totally unsatisfied, as we are shown a small toddler who seems to maliciously undermine his mother at every turn. The other idea, that the boy's upbringing/environment is to blame for his crimes, is equally lacking, with trite finger-pointing at "the media" and violent video games which fails to treat the issue with appropriate levels of engagement.

It works slightly better if you switch focus from vainly asking "why?" and look at it as a study of Swinton's despairing mother, living in the aftermath of her son's actions. We see her slapped, spat at, harassed at work and out at the supermarket. Her house and car are repeatedly vandalised and her family has been destroyed. What must it be like to live in the shadow of a relative who's committed a famous violent crime? That seems, to me, a more interesting and unorthodox question. And whilst the film doesn't delve too deeply into Kevin's psychology (however brilliantly he's played by Miller), Swinton's performance is full of nuance and depth.

But if the film doesn't totally work for me - at least on its own terms - then why is it so high up this list? The simple answer is because Lynne Ramsay has made one of the scariest, most uncomfortable, most tense films I have ever sat through in a cinema. The permanent sense of unease created by the film owes a lot to the editing, the claustrophobic shooting style and some inspired musical choices. Especially as the climactic acts of violence are never shown. As a sensory experience - and as an acting showcase for Tilda Swinton - 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' is almost unbeatable.

11) Weekend, dir Andrew Haigh, UK

What I said: "Director Andrew Haigh's naturalistic screenplay, along with the fine performances of both leads, brings to life a film of emotional substance and nuance, in which neither character is judged by the filmmaker even as they judge and contradict each other. Glen's cynical take on marriage, as a sort of fay middle class obligation, is every bit as persuasive as Russell's suggestion that the ritual represents a bold public declaration of love. In this way the lengthy, often drug-fuelled, exchanges between them - as they discuss art, sex and gay rights of passage - are always interesting, funny and heartfelt - never sentimental or contrived."



Films are very expensive to produce. That might seem obvious but it's worth pointing out here anyway. This, I would argue, is the reason we don't see many films about homosexuality at the multiplex. Producers will make anything (and I mean anything) as long as they think it stands a chance of making money, which is why we see so many obnoxious movies ostensibly aimed at young, white males. There is a reason 'Fast Five' has that "five" in the title: because films about muscle-bound douchebags blowing stuff up and driving really fast cars consistently reap commercial rewards.

At the risk of seeming naive, I think prejudice and bigotry are less the cause of this kind of thing than cold market forces. Simply put: prove that there's a huge audience for mature movies about homosexuality that aren't tacky or condescending and you might just see three more pop up in its place. 'Weekend' is that pioneering movie: a huge independent sleeper hit that forced cinema after cinema to take it on long after its release date due to fervent popular demand.

'Weekend' is on this list in part because it's a refreshingly frank and, as far as I can tell, honest depiction of a minority group that's under-represented in the mainstream media. It's so high on this list because it's a superbly made film by any standard: sweet, thoughtful and funny, with two terrific lead actors and an intelligent screenplay.

'My Week With Marilyn' review:

It begins with a sizzle: Michelle Williams is introduced as Marilyn Monroe during a sultry song and dance routine, watched by our besotted, film-obsessed protagonist Colin (Eddie Redmayne) on a cinema screen, in the company of a dozen or so other lecherous men. It's no exaggeration to say Williams makes love to the camera and the sensitive, indie movie actress convinces totally, becoming the hyper-sexual 1950s bombshell before our eyes. Here Colin's leering does something to suggest not only the appeal of Monroe, the movie star, but also the terms upon which she was judged and the slightly sinister way in which audiences implicitly came to own her. Sadly Simon Curtis' movie goes rapidly, dramatically downhill from there.

'My Week With Marilyn' feels like an overwrought Biography Channel drama operating on an unusually high production budget. The presence of Williams - not to mention Kenneth Branagh, Judi Dench, Dominic Cooper, Toby Jones, Derek Jacobi, Emma Watson and Dougray Scott - is all there is to remind us that this is in fact a piece of Weinstein-produced Oscar bait and not a straight-to-DVD knock-off. The film follows Monroe during the time she spent in England in the summer of 1956, starring opposite Sir Lawrence Olivier (Branagh) in light comedy romp 'The Prince and the Showgirl' - the production of which was apparently run like a Gulag under the stage legend's Stalin-like gaze and (in one bewilderingly pointless scene) the tyranny of a unionised workforce.



Based on the memoirs of the young Colin Clark, the fraught production's lowly third assistant director, the film sees Redmayne's Colin very much as the centre of attention: instantly loved by Monroe and soon indispensable to Olivier. A key mediator in the ensuing war between the two actors, he's the reason the film is completed. It is even implied he prevented the troubled, pill-guzzling sex symbol from committing suicide - six years before her eventual overdose. By the end of this alternately zany and maudlin adventure he's improbably become trusted confident and bestest friend in the world to both stars. Along the way he also finds time to casually reject the affections of Emma Watson's doe-eyed wardrobe assistant and becomes accustomed to receiving knitwear from an appreciative Dame Sybil Thorndike (Dench), for some apparent off-screen kindness that's best left unimagined.

The film is so obsessed with our old Etonian everyman hero Colin that the more interesting figures who surround him are only painted as wafer thin archetypes. Olivier, who Branagh parodies with 'Wild Wild West' levels of restraint, is glimpsed several times in dramatic, slow-zooming close-up reciting Shakespearian verse - just like Olivier must have frequently done in real life. You know... because he was famous for doing Shakespeare.

Meanwhile Williams is a more troubling proposition as Monroe, playing her emotionally withdrawn moments as though she were a fay, mentally deficient cousin of Mickey Mouse. She may have been troubled, depressed and paranoid but Marilyn Monroe was, by most accounts, a very witty woman and not likely a ditzy airhead. Yet here Monroe is shown as barely able to recall who Leonardo Da Vinci is, let alone correctly identify his picture of "the smiling woman". Fair enough if you're going to be casual with historical figures, but this doesn't make sense within the context of a movie in which an early press conference scene has Monroe wowing British journos with her quick-witted charms and clever turn of phrase.



In isolated moments Williams nails the quiet vulnerability of the character, just as she turns the vivacious sexpot persona on and off, yet these feel like separate extreme caricatures rather than parts of a fully formed, if conflicted, whole. As with 'The Life and Death of Peter Sellers' or Andy Kaufman biopic 'Man on the Moon', 'My Week With Marilyn' is content to paint a reductive (and only superficially deep) picture of its complicated subject. Yet the performances, though campy turns rather than real human beings, are at least watchable. What really kills the film is Adrian Hodges' literal-minded screenplay.

A good 'My Week With Marilyn' drinking came would involve taking a shot 1) whenever someone tells you exactly what they're thinking or feeling; 2) whenever a character explains who somebody is or reminds you what has just happened; or 3) when something is said to underline a point already made through the characters' on-screen actions. The writing is needlessly descriptive, always telling rather than showing (or showing and then telling just in case). Dialogue often sounds like scene-setting narration rather than speech, whilst Olivier and Monroe routinely self-analyse in embarrassing cod psychology.

In 'My Week With Marilyn', the film star's life is presented as one long tragedy, hidden from public view behind moments of immense, if superficial, glamour. This, it turns out, is a very effective metaphor for the film itself, which only attains any sort of life when Williams is called upon to perform as a woman giving a performance.

'My Week With Marilyn' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.

My Top 30 Films of 2011: 30-21

End of year list season is well and truly upon us. 2011 has long felt like a weak year for the movies, with a few notable exceptions. So much so that I was originally thinking of abandoning last year's "top 30" template for a more conventional, not to mention streamline, "top 10". Yet looking back over the last twelve months I was delighted to discover there were at least 30 films I liked, probably about 20 of which are unambiguously terrific. Maybe the year hasn't been so bad after all.

I was going to wait until I'd seen the much talked about 'Margaret', Nanni Moretti's 'We Have a Pope' and Fincher's take on 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' before compiling this list, but for a range of reasons I'm going to kick off now. For one thing, 'Dragon Tattoo' is based on source material I have a serious problem with - already adapted into three Swedish films that I despised - whilst there is no guarantee I'll get the opportunity to see the other two before the month is out.

It's worth noting before I begin that this list is comprised of films I've seen this year, including festival movies - some of which aren't on general release in the UK until next year. If you're wondering why some of this year's most stunning releases aren't included, such as 'Black Swan' and '13 Assassins' (both seen in Venice last year), that's because they were in 2010's list. So here are my choices, my favourite films of 2011 numbers 30-21:

30) The Green Hornet, dir Michel Gondry, USA

What I said: "Rogen's hero isn't charming and erudite - he is an obnoxious oaf and by and large stays that way right the way through the film. Rogen's delivery - of dialogue he penned with writing partner Evan Goldberg - is superb too, in all its underplayed, mock-macho brainlessness and the relationship between him and Jay Chou, who plays sidekick Kato, is fun to watch."



By no means perfect, it's fair to say that Michel Gondry's 'The Green Hornet' benefited from extremely low expectations when I saw it back in January. A poor trailer, troubled production history and use of much-derided post-converted 3D suggested this would be a creative misstep for all involved - and a potential career-wrecker for writer/star Seth Rogen. Yet - at the box office - the film outperformed the studio's own modest expectations owing to the fact that it's a lot better than we had any right to expect. This comes down to a combination of the brilliant Christoph Waltz as the villain, Rogen's incredulous, hyper-enthusiastic style of delivery which injects humour into every line and, most of all, the director's knack for innovation and imagination.

There are a lot of pretty cool in-camera effects in 'The Green Hornet' and, though Gondry's more personal documentary 'The Thorn in the Heart' (released around the same time) would be the more respectable choice for this list, here is a film very much in the same spirit as 'Be Kind Rewind' and 'The Science of Sleep', if not his superior Charlie Kaufman-penned work. That the action scenes are also quite effective - in what's basically a quirky comedy about a rich douchebag learning to become a marginally smaller rich douchebag - only adds to the pleasantness of the surprise.

29) Winnie the Pooh, dir Stephen J. Anderson & Don Hall, USA

What I said: "As you might expect from a gentle children's tale, this film is very much aimed at youngsters... there are no nods to the adults or in-jokes at all. But it's nice to find a modern animation totally free of any post-modern winking and there is fun to be had here for adults so long as they are prepared to indulge their innermost child. As the credits rolled I found myself identifying with the sentiment of this bittersweet passage from [A.A] Milne's The House at Pooh Corner: "And by and by Christopher Robin came to an end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn't stop.""



Let down only by a bafflingly short running length (is 63 minutes technically even a feature film?), Disney's "51st Animated Classic" is as charming as it is beautifully animated. The best of the studio's 90s animating talent returned to work on the picture and a lot of love has gone into the detailed and fluid hand-drawn animation, as well as the faithful voice-acting and delightfully hummable ditties. There isn't much of a story as Pooh, Piglet and company bumble their way through the Hundred Acre Wood, but it hardly matters if you approach it in the intended spirit of open-hearted whimsy. This is potentially only a film for toddlers and animation enthusiasts, but I found it to be one of the year's unqualified pleasures.

28) Contagion, dir Steven Soderbergh, USA

What I said: "It feels slightly too long and, in terms of narrative focus, it's every bit as scattershot as its director's filmography - with some characters unceremoniously forgotten, whilst others reappear just as you've forgotten they were in the film to begin with. Yet it's gripping, frightening, filled with haunting images and, I suspect, it will come to be seen as the definitive film about worldwide medical crisis... It certainly left me wanting to stockpile supplies and seal the exits, too frightened to touch my own face. And that's the sign of a good film."



I love a good doomsday scenario movie and they don't come more frighteningly credible than Soderbergh's 'Contagion', which shows how a new virus could significantly reduce the global population within months of killing Gwyneth Paltrow. After Mrs. Coldplay bites it in the opening moments, we know that nobody in the film's stellar ensemble (Kate Winslet, Jude Law, Matt Damon, Marion Cotillard and more) is safe, increasing the sense of dread. It's a bit jargon-heavy, filled with clumsy exposition and a little unfocussed, but it's also one of the most memorable and visceral movie-going experiences of the year.

27) Limitless, dir Neil Burger, USA

What I said: "Limitless is a well executed and intelligent thriller which suggests, when the cinema going public finally succumb to that long-overdue Zach Galifianakis overdose, Bradley Cooper will be the Hangover actor left standing. It’s also evident that Burger is a capable hand for exciting, character-based movies. It’s patient, cerebral and unpretentious pulp science fiction fare on a sensible scale."



In 'Limitless' Bradley Cooper's serial underachiever - a deadbeat wannabe writer - gets a taste of the high-life after taking an experimental drug (NZT) that unlocks the full potential of the human brain. Within days he's wealthy, sexy and extremely arrogant, taking on organised criminals and Robert De Niro's morally dubious business tycoon. Released around the same time as Duncan Jones' dispiritingly conventional 'Moon' follow-up 'Source Code', the unsung 'Limitless' quietly went about being the superior film - both in terms of the interesting sci-fi morality questions it posed and the style in which it was made.

For the most part a male-empowerment wish-fulfilment fantasy gone wrong, 'Limitless' goes to some incredibly dark places, with it even suggested via news reports that Cooper has murdered a woman whilst on NZT (a fact which is chillingly never resolved). This is made all the more sinister by an ending which reminded me of Hal Ashby's 'Being There', as Cooper's protagonist contemplates his potential future as President of the United States, implying that hubris and over-confidence - as well as smarts - are key to success in capitalism.

26) Tales of the Night, dir Michel Ocelot, FRA

What I said: "There is a deep-rooted love of basic human kindness here which reminds me of Miyazaki, and yet Ocelot’s films are never cute or sentimental and you get the impression he is resolutely sincere. And though his art style looks simple and even a bit cheap, the fluidity of his animation – particularly when it involves running and dancing – is at the peak of the art form. Added to that, in terms of imagination 'Tales of the Night' is filled to the brim with ideas."



In a year which saw Pixar release a 'Cars' sequel and Studio Ghibli give us the nice but forgettable 'Arrietty', Michel Ocelot's 3D 'Tales of the Night' is indisputably the best animated film I've seen. Ocelot's embrace of multiculturalism and earnest humanism, as seen previously in 'Kirikou and the Sorceress' and 'Azur & Asmar', is heartening, as is his ability to tell simple children's tales with incredibly sophisticated morality. Animated in silhouette, the use of 3D gives this the look of a pop-up book and complements nicely the film's conceit: that the series of short stories we are told are being performed by a secret, nocturnal theatre company with a surplus of imagination.

25) Coriolanus, dir Ralph Fiennes, UK

What I said: "Making the story relatable and relevant isn’t something [director Ralph Fiennes] does merely by enforcing [a] change of setting... This is also made possible by the actor’s Paul Greengrass-style direction: handheld cameras stripping the film of the formalised, sanitised sheen prevalent in many more traditional adaptations. In fact the scenes of urban warfare in 'Coriolanus' are bloody and visceral like those in a straight-up war movie. The other major contributing factor to the film’s success – and probably the most important – is that the dialogue is delivered incredibly naturalistically which makes it immediately understandable."



Resolutely avoiding the pitfalls of stagy, mannered Shakespeare adaptations, Ralph Fiennes directorial debut delivers one of the Bard's lesser known works with a visceral punch in the jaw. Fiennes himself stars, creating a menacing, towering presence as the titular military general whose abilities as a public speaker do not match his aptitude for conflict. Transported from ancient Rome to what looks like a modern day urban war zone, Fiennes uses riots, camera phones and 24 hour news coverage (brilliantly deploying real Channel 4 news reader Jon Snow as a herald) to explore the play's still-relevant themes. He retains all the original dialogue - much like the 1996 'Romeo & Juliet' - having his actors (including Gerard Butler, Vanessa Redgrave, Brian Cox and Jessica Chastain) deliver their lines in such a way that they are always understood in spite of the arcane verse.

24) Innocent Saturday, dir Aleksandr Mindadze, RUS/UKR

What I said: "Alexander Mindadze’s oppressive style of direction puts the viewer in the same uncomfortable position as his protagonist. You feel unable to escape and paranoid at the threat you can not see. There are very few occasions where the camerawork affords you an establishing shot or even a medium shot, and even fewer times when it is held still. This isn’t a conventional disaster movie and we don’t ever get to glimpse the full horror of the disaster or the eventual mass exodus from the town. This is rather the intimate story of one person struggling with his fears and desires as he grapples with the knowledge that the cheery oblivious, innocents around him – who are busy getting married, playing football and taking walks – are all likely doomed."



This extremely queasy and claustrophobic drama follows one man's doomed bid to escape the Soviet town of Prypiat, modern day Ukraine, in the hours following the 1986 meltdown at the neighbouring Chernobyl nuclear power plant. Valerij (Anton Shagin) works at the plant and, by chance, learns of the disaster before it is belatedly revealed to the public. And yet he can't bring himself to flee town: whether it's morality or fate something compels him to stay and drink the night away with his friends. The almost constant use of close-ups brilliantly gives the sense that something dangerous is in the air they breath, whilst also serving to frustrate the viewer by withholding information. This last action is perhaps the most overt critique of the Moscow government's handling of the disaster in a film which otherwise avoids polemics.

23) True Grit, dir Joel & Ethan Coen, USA

What I said: "I've oft heard it said that the Coens are heartless storytellers: that they don't like their characters and that they are cynical about people. I don't buy into that view at all and if I did I wouldn't be a fan. The Coen brothers, for me anyway, are defined by their willingness to look at all the cruelty of the human experience through the lens of absurdity and stupidity. People aren't evil or good in Coen brothers movies, they usually just don't know any better. Bad things are done by people in a state of panic (most murders in Coen brothers movies occur this way) and pre-planned acts of inhumanity always find their way back to the often hapless perpetrator (think of Jerry Lundegaard in 'Fargo'). Even if, in this case, [Mattie Ross] is a little girl avenging her father's murder - a goal many filmmakers would find unproblematic."



Perhaps this one would factor higher up my list if it was fresher in the memory. But, released last year in the US and a contender at February's Academy Awards, it feels like a 2010 movie. In any case 'True Grit' is a superb western and - by all accounts - a more faithful adaptation of the Charles Portis novel than the fondly remembered John Wayne film of 1969. One reason it stands apart as the stronger film is that Jeff Bridges' cantankerous drunken Marshal Rooster Cogburn is a more effective anti-hero under directors comfortable with moral ambiguity.

The Coens don't imagine that the audience has to like their characters, which isn't the same thing as making them unlikable. They just don't feel the need to flag Cogburn up as any species of hero. Any warmth you feel for him comes because of his flawed, grizzled humanity, and Bridges portrayal, rather than because of his effectiveness with a firearm and penchant for frontier justice. Likewise Oscar-nominated newcomer Hailee Steinfeld, who plays young, revenge-obsessed protagonist Mattie Ross, is scrutinised and ultimately scarred by her adventures - something which wouldn't have been palatable in '69 but is actually essential to the telling of this story. The cold, elegiac tone of the piece - so common to Coen brothers movies from 'Blood Simple' onwards - also fits the western myth so perfectly it's a wonder they haven't done this sooner.

22) Beginners, dir Mike Mills, USA

What I said: "'Beginners' is a tearjerker without feeling manipulative and it's life-affirming without being sickly. A large part of its success rests with Christopher Plummer, whose performance as Hal is especially heartbreaking, with the old man facing death when he is at his most vital. His insatiable appetite for new experiences is particularly bittersweet and Mills' reflection on his own father's life as a closet homosexual in the 1950s shows great insight and empathy. All of the characters are well drawn and sympathetic - with each of them coming to terms with misfortune and tragedy without self-pity. As romantic leads, McGregor and Laurent enjoy great chemistry and their scenes together are a charming."



Until this year, with one possible exception, Ewen McGregor hadn't been in a good film since 1996 - the year of 'Brassed Off' and 'Trainspotting'. My perverse love of 'The Phantom Menace' aside, the closest he'd come to being in a halfway decent movie over the last fifteen years had been in Tim Burton's 'Big Fish'. But in 2011 McGregor starred in Mike Mills' 'Beginners', which is much more than a halfway decent movie. In fact it's a beautiful and incredibly moving portrayal of loss in which McGregor is the emotional centre.

Like the aforementioned 'Big Fish', 'Beginners' is about a son coming to terms with the loss of his father. But whereas Albert Finney's Edward Bloom was a dominating figure with a life of extraordinary (if exaggerated) adventures behind him, the father here - played by Christopher Plummer - succumbs to cancer months after beginning to live anything like a fulfilled life, having only recently embraced his long-repressed homosexuality. McGregor and co-star Melanie Laurent have a good chemistry together and the film is life-affirming without being saccharine.

21) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part Two, dir David Yates, UK/USA

What I said: "Everything seems to fit so well together now that I am even beginning to credit Warner Brothers with some sort of unlikely overall plan behind the series' game of directorial musical chairs. Unlike 'Star Wars' or 'Indiana Jones', the films have grown with their audience and, for those the same approximate age as the heroes, it seems entirely appropriate in retrospect that the brightly coloured, John Williams-scored whimsy of the opening Christopher Columbus episodes has developed into this more macabre and downbeat conclusion. As the stakes have been raised, and the supporting characters have started dying at an exponential rate, so the films have become more complex and interesting."



With the possible exception of Alfonso Cuaron's early entry, the Harry Potter series has never interested me until the last few episodes as directed by David Yates - a UK TV director. In fairness, he's been helped immeasurably by a number of factors outside of his control - the child actors have become better in their decade in front of the camera, whilst the later books seem to be darker and richer - but he still deserves a lot of credit for the way he has handled the end of JK Rowling's ubiquitous child wizard saga. In Yates' Potter films there is a clearer sense of threat, with some quite nasty goings on in this entry in particular (as when a major character has his throat slit before being savagely attacked by a snake whilst lying helpless). And once pantomime characters, like Alan Rickman's Professor Snape, are fleshed out in ways both pleasing and surprising.

But my favourite thing about Yates' take on the series has been the increased banality in the presentation of the non-magical (or "muggle") world in which Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) and his friends must live. Yates seems to understand what Christopher Columbus, Mike Newell and even Cuaron missed: the magic is only wondrous and exciting if it takes place in a recognisable world to our own. The Roald Dahl inspired evil step-family of the earlier installments were larger than life caricatures, meaning that Harry's life was already out of the ordinary and bizarre before he went to Hogwarts school and got all wizardy on their asses. But here magic seems to have a visceral impact on a recognisable world.

In the concluding chapters another pleasing fact has become clear, which I had previously dismissed and for which Rowling presumably deserves credit (I've never read a Harry Potter book). In the past I've bemoaned Harry as this pathetic, passive protagonist - always helped by some deus ex machina or by his more capable friends/members of faculty. But it's now obvious that Harry's special talent is that he is extraordinarily nice to people. All people. He is, however bland it might sound, good. It is this which allows him to succeed because this is why people help him when he's in trouble. It's the same logic that sees the previously bullied, but-of-all-jokes Neville Longbottom (Matt Lewis, above) steal the film's most bombast instances of heroism. Harry Potter isn't about being the smartest or the strongest and an understanding of this allows this megabucks franchise to attain a sort of innocent nobility.

Come back later in the week for numbers 20-11.