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Enjoying Dawn Of The Planet Of The Apes requires only one thing from you: admitting that you bought into the idea that super-intelligent apes have forged their own society (and can talk, ride horses, accurately operate heavy weaponry on the first try, as well as manipulate basic political principles). After that, this follow-up from Matt Reeves, the director of Cloverfield and Let Me In, is wall to wall gripping cinema.

No worthwhile discussion of an X-Men film can exist without a fair amount of criticism, so let’s lay it all upfront. Brian Singer’s comic aesthetic is a vestigial leftover of the original film from 2000. Drab metallic suits and lifeless characterisations may have made sense in a time where comic book films were risky studio endeavours, but in a market saturated with vibrant costumes and immediately endearing performances, Days Of Future Past is plain fucking ugly. Which is a crying shame, because while the reboot cast is an exponential improvement, the film is a visual wasteland. Case and point is the character design on the really god-awful Quicksilver, who’s been plucked from the canon for no reason other than to facilitate what is, admittedly, a fun slow-motion set-piece. That stupid silver jacket though. Most of these effectively executed action set pieces fall to the wayside due to a lack of any visual hooks.

Jeff: Abed, you’ve had how many breakdowns?

The ragtag Greendale study group have been battered, bruised and brutally pigeonholed over the last four years. Each opening episode to a season played out with a certain kind of melancholy, with its writers attempting to wrest the narrative in their own direction from previous collaborators. With season five, the tug of war involved the triumphant return of Dan Harmon as showrunner. With him at the reins, Community acquired that familiar, yet almost intangible feeling of conversation; writing steeped in pop culture referencing and meta in-joking that felt like it responds to its audience. Instead of lauding at his reappointment at the head of season 5, Harmon seemed to find the whole business of re-appropriating the plot detrimental to both the characters’ and his own mental well-being. The title “Repilot” alone suggests distaste for the tradition, expressly realised through the characters’ utterly bleak need to return to study group.

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.