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The Raid: Redemption was a balletic display of brutal martial arts action; a film structured so perfectly, it felt like poetic verse. Each shot was cut to an infallible action rhythm, with no beat dropped or struck too hard. The bulk of the film’s content was a showcase of intricately designed and impressively executed fight scenes, interspersed with only the most necessary of connective narrative tissues. Story merely serviced action, and writer/director/editor Gareth Huw Evans proved himself a talent at sustaining and breaking tension. It was 90 minutes of simple, yet fully-realised stakes and was exemplary of a stripped back, barebones filmmaking style that elicits far more wonder and excitement than many of its bigger budget contemporaries.

It’s a bold move, then, to shift the series into a style that’s more fully-fledged crime saga than anything else.

Blue Ruin is rooted in the moral quagmire of revenge, redemption and family legacy. And what a quagmire it is. Writer/director Jeremy Saulnier has stripped the form down completely, not only creating incredible tension, but also constructing the film as a mirror to its main man, Dwight (Macon Blair). He’s an enigma - first introduced as a bearded transient, scavenging meals from theme park waste bins and living out of the back of his rundown car. His motives are hinged on the release of a prisoner, whose crime has consumed Dwight’s life entirely. 

Jackie Chan can't seem to help digging deeper into the grave that is now his career. The news that he's trying to pull a Dustin Hoffman and make the transition from kung-fu films to respectable Oscar-bait. The way the mixed reviews for his latest CZ12 aka Chinese Zodiac are entirely unsurprising. Even the just really poorly phrased 'I like it when countries are hit by earthquakes and tsunamis' debacle or the 'Chinese people need to be controlled' controversy. It's hard not to want to try to distance this crazy man from the actor whose films were once amongst the greatest in the action genre. 

Being sold in a more niche, arthouse light can only have helped public opinion of the gaudy Ridley Scott/Cormac McCarthy vehicle, The Counselor - not that it really shows. The narrative follows Michael Fassbender’s ‘Counselor,’ who gets wrapped up in a drug trafficking scheme gone bad and endangers everyone around him.

Prisoners is a taut, psychologically draining exploration of the devastating effects of hope in the face of loss. And, of course, with the likes of Hugh Jackman, Jake Gyllenhaal, Viola Davis and Terrence Howard completely acting their asses off, it’s also a powerhouse of performance. While these players spend much of the film teary eyed and looking like they’re in the midst of a monumental hangover, their pain always feels real and empathy-inspiring. Jackman's rage here has none of the hallmarks of his more popular comic-book work and Gyllenhaal plays brooding as effectively as ever. Cinematographer Roger Deakins captures this grief beautifully; his restrained style keeps the actors at the forefront of your attention, yet with minimal flourishes, his work remains wonderfully entrancing. Director Denis Villeneuve handles all of this with grace and finesse, sidestepping the dramatic pitfalls of Aaron Guzikowski’s otherwise expertly paced script.

It’s a shame Gravity had already garnered so much critical attention prior to its release. While it’s refreshing to see an original premise given such a mainstream treatment, it’s also a major detraction for exactly the same reasons. The buzz pouring out of its film festival debuts a few weeks ago hit fever pitch almost immediately, punctuated by a constant turnaround of ‘exhilarating,’ ‘terrifying,’ and ‘visual’ in the reviews. The trailers, while ridiculously engaging at just 90 seconds, exacerbated my pre-release fears as they seemed to give it all away. So she must just fly off into the terrifying vacuum of space, right? Go where no man has gone before?

While a character drama at heart, those more pedantic among you could argue that Take Shelter is actually an incredible puzzle of a film. Curtis (played by Michael Shannon) is a mild-mannered family man who begins to have visions of a coming apocalypse; vivid hallucinations of storms of motor-oil rain and crazed neighbours. This premise hinges on the ‘is he or isn’t he crazy’ scenario and much of the tension in the film arises from the increasing disconnect Curtis experiences due to these visions. But writer/director Jeff Nichols often subverts our attention, instead drawing it to family and the strains Shannon’s erratic behaviour places on them. Curtis’ wife, Samantha (played by Jessica Chastain), underplays the tension by asking the burning logical questions that Curtis tends to ignore. It’s a wonderful dynamic that keeps you grounded in the realism of the whole experience; a dynamic that doesn’t let the premise get too wrapped up in itself. 

Though lacking in almost all respects, Jack Reacher isn’t as terrible as you might think.

Most detrimental to the film is director Christopher McQuarrie and his detached sense of style. Fun suffers in the name of seriousness at almost every turn and his palette is cleansed of the kinds of idiosyncrasies that may have given the story the spark it needed. When dealing with a homicidal sniper, the serious approach would generally be justified. But the ‘whodunit’ narrative is devoid of any real interest or stakes as its twists are often predictable and when they’re not, they’re hollow. Couple this with the film’s air of over-production (credit to Tom Cruise) and the wooden performances from its leads (credit to Tom Cruise) and you’ve got technically solid, yet lifeless drama. Most frustrating of all is the fact that this dynamic is applied to source material so chock full of pulpy action clichés that it belongs to a class of action film we haven’t seen since the 90’s.