This tricky Hollywood satire from legendary Canadian director David Cronenberg is a fuming tirade, on that certain breed of L.A. living, that isn't afraid to cut to tinsel town's bone.

Ethereal Mia Wasikowska plays ethereal burn victim Agatha Weiss who we're told has just arrived on the Hollywood hills. She drives around with chauffer Robert Pattinson (money apparently of no consequence) before taking a PA job with Havana Segrand; a collagen lipped, foul mouthed actress (brilliant, rowdy Julianne Moore) on the cusp of ‘a certain age’. We learn that Segrand's mother was nominated for an Academy award before passing away at a very young age. She visits Havana as a spectre, forever beautiful through death. The studio plans a remake of the mother’s acclaimed “art film” and Havana is desperate to land the lead role.

The actress' self empowerment, sexual yoga therapist (or whatever the hell John Cusack is) has a son (a delightfully detestable Evan Bird) in the movies too. He just made it big with something called Bad Babysitter, and a sequel, of course, is tentatively in the works. Paths cross; secrets are revealed; it all gets very risqué.

We learn at one point that Wasikowska's parents are siblings and there are similar incestuous references throughout. In the junket that followed the screening Cronenberg stated that the incest on show is more emblematic of the creative incest we see in Hollywood today; the rehashing of ideas and drawn out franchise culture leaving little room for anything else to get by. 

It's important to note that the director had never shot a film in Hollywood before so kudos should be given for wanting to hold up a mirror on the place's infamous bizarro lifestyles. The film certainly seems pissed at the state of affairs, taking shots at yoga culture, youth obsession, sexual currency and all the rest of the postcode's generally depraved morals. The death of a child is celebrated for freeing up a role, a murder mourned for somewhat the same. 

Is this the comeback we were pining for? Regrettably it's not, but it is far cleaner than its predecessor Cosmopolis (which I still quite liked) and as ever with the prolific director, things are never ever dull. 

Birth

Jonathan Glazer (1994)

Jonathan Glazer followed up his pulsating London gangland debut with this strange, floating, singular film about a woman who loses her husband before believing he's returned in the body of a ten year old child. 

Birth was marred by controversy upon its release, largely due to a daring bathtub scene featuring Nicole Kidman and her very underage co-star Cameron Bright. Ten years on that sequence still holds an eerie quality but it's in no way out of whack with Glazer's film as a whole.

Kidman offers the performance of a lifetime and Bright plays it just as startling by her side. Glazer's imagery, of course, is never in question but he hones those Kubrickian leanings with a remarkable sense of patience and a clear deftness of touch. The plot line seems to boarder on urban mythology at times but the director manages to keep it tantalizingly in check, knowing exactly when to hold firm on reality and knowing exactly when to let go.

The results are just devastating. A forgotten mystery about love and loss which soars across the screen on Alexandre Desplat's breathtaking, counterpointed chords, never allowing you to catch a grip but always letting you think that you can. Birth still sits with 39% on Rotten Tomatoes but, with the celebrated release of Under the Skin this year; people are beginning to take another look. That’s exactly what this writer did and, if you haven’t already, perhaps you should too. 

If the opening minutes don't catch your eye it might be time to find a new hobby.

The Last Temptation of Christ

Martin Scorsese (1988)

Willem Defoe is Christ but not quite as we know it. He gets pinned up to the cross (after about two hours viewing) but before he goes off to kick the proverbial bucket, the Devil shows up to take him on one last lap of temptation 

Although far from outright sensationalism, many a feather was still ruffled when Martin Scorsese brought his radical take on the Crucifixion to the big screen. Perhaps it's a shame, you do get the feeling the catholic raised director was just trying to get a humanist grasp on the man he was brought up to worship but hey, try telling that to the group who Molotov Cocktailed a Parisian cinema upon the film's release.

Indeed, many other crimes were recorded. Harvey Keitel’s performance and haircut were just some of them.

Stoker

Park Chan Wook (1988)

Oldboy director Park Chan Wook made his English language debut last year with this super stylised incestuous thriller in which the wife and daughter of a recently deceased Doctor are visited and seduced by his prodigal brother.

The film is quite heavy on visual innuendo and a great deal of Wook’s style seems a touch lost in translation but Stoker is still a solid piece of work. Strangely, Nicole Kidman plays a wealthy widow for the second time in this very list- and Harmony Korine inexplicably pops up as an Art teacher for about 5 seconds- but the dazzling Mia Wasikowska- who confirmed her ethereal screen presence here after her Alice in Wonderland breakout- is the lightest of anchors in the lead role.

Stories We Tell
Sarah Polley

She moved us with Away from Her and divided us with Take this Waltz, now actor turned director Sarah Polley brings her most remarkable film to German shores. Using documentary as her toolkit and pivoting her story on interviews with her family and the eloquent, heart wrenching narration of her nurturing dad Mike, Polley sets out to finally determine who her biological father is but instead finds something stranger. A devastating, beautiful film about fatherhood and memory, Stories We Tell picks apart the documentary rulebook before opening a window to that most endearing of bonds.

Tracks
John Curran

Mia Wasikowska gives a windswept, organic central performance in this walkabout film that stays light on its feet while sidestepping many of the pseudo spiritual pitfalls these types of self discovery adaptations tend to take.

She plays Robyn Davidson. An Australian woman who in 1977 set out with her dog Digitty- and four Camels whom she had personally trained- to walk from Alice Springs to  the west coast, a journey of roughly 1,700 miles. She tells us she’s sick of the pessimism of her class, sex and generation. We also learn that she lost her mum. To fund her trip she accepts a deal with the national geographic for a concluding article on her journey and for a photographer (played by rising star Adam Driver) to join her at certain points along the way. He seems to represent everything she’s trying to escape and yet, the two form a bond.

Expressing such raw free spirited emotion on an often populist and, let’s be honest, capitalist medium can prove awfully tricky. Pretention seems to lurk at every corner and yet director John Curran looks to have pulled it off. He keeps things grounded and natural while capturing all of the skin tones, hues and shades which his native outback has to offer. Worth the journey.

A Long Way Down
Pascal Chaumeil

Jesse, Jesse, Jesse… What happened bitch? A mere six months after the Breaking Bad curtain rapturously closed, co-star Aaron Paul finds himself in the cinematic wilderness. His latest subpar outing is a Nick Hornby adaptation (a wandering cinematic beast all its own) which finds four would-be suicides (autopilot Pierce Brosnon, misused Toni Collette, irritating Imogen Poots) on the roof of London’s fictional Toppers House on new year’s eve. The group form a pact to keep themselves intact till Valentine’s Day and worthless schmaltz ensues. Do us all a favour and jump.