JohnWelles

"Hail, Caesar!" (2016), directed by the Academy-award winning Coen Brothers, is a light-hearted portrayal of nineteen-fifties Hollywood, where large film studios are all powerful. In amongst the barbs and repartee, the Coens' clearly feel an affinity with the era, and along with their cinematographer Roger Deakins, recreate the visual look of the decade with an uncanny precision. It's the first film in years to recall the Technicolor brightness of American pictures of that time; it reveals a real affection, while still maintaining a clear-eyed sense of the iniquities of the then-studio system. Studio executives control their stars' lives to the smallest degree, while waspish gossip columnists try to discover any scandal.

The Coens add into this mix a number of pastiches, not just of Roman and Biblical epics, but of Westerns and musicals, with a spot-on musical number featuring Channing Tatum as a sailor (in clear reference to "On the Town", 1949), one of the film's highlights. Being at heart a screwball comedy means the Coens' darker impulses are kept in check so that even the malevolent group the Future, who abduct George Clooney, are seen as charmingly misguided.

Josh Brolin displays fine comic skill and brings a layer of nuance to his serially perturbed studio boss character, while the ensemble cast match the all-star extravaganzas so popular in the nineteen-fifties: everyone seems to appear, from Tilda Swinton to Scarlet Johansson, Jonah Hill to a very memorable Aldren Ehrenreich as a singing cowboy.

Perhaps one criticism that could be made is that it never becomes more than the sum of its parts: the script, by the Coens, offers a wonderful whirlwind of episodes, jumping from Ralph Fiennes' refined director offering Ehrenreich elocution lessons to a distraught Brolin trying to hide the fact his biggest star is missing. Yet it never quite coheres into an organic whole and by the time it concludes, you're left feeling that it is a rather slight, shaggy-dog story: a lot of fun and frequently amusing, but not one of the Coens' masterworks, a minor work by major auteurs.

However, it would be churlish to deny the film's many pleasures, from Carter Burwell's score to the production design by Jess Gonchor, with costumes from Mary Zophres. It's authentically nineteen-fifties and that alone is reason enough to see it; combined with witty performances and deft direction, it almost doesn't matter that the film is about very little. Enjoy the ride and forget about the destination.

"Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens" (2015), directed by J.J. Abrams, is the latest, much anticipated entry in a series that spans 38 years and counting. Every decade since the seventies has had its "Star Wars" and this, the first in a decade, is the start of a new trilogy. George Lucas, the original creator and director of perhaps the most iconic (and financially successful) franchise of all time, sold the rights to the series to Disney in 2012 and it is intriguing to see what "Star Wars" without Lucas is like.

On the whole, it must be said, very good. Abrams, director of the recent "Star Trek" (2009) reboot, working with Lawrence Kasdan (a noted director in his own right) and Michael Arndt, creates a host of memorable new characters: Finn and Rey are standouts, as well as fighter pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) and alien Maz Kanata (Lupita Nyong'o). They're brought to life by a fine cast, with newcomers Ridley and Boyega comparing well to the returning cast, which includes a suitably gruff and laconic Harrison Ford as Han Solo and Carrie Fishers as Leia Organa. In many respects, these performances are the best part of the film. However, not all is so bright.

Adam Driver, as the film's main villain, the masked, petulant Kylo Ren, lacks a distinctive presence and, in a first for the series, the nefarious evil force fighting the Resistance, seem a little colourless. Perhaps this is due in part to Abrams devotion to recreating the original films to such an extent that "The Force Awakens" in much of its plotting operates as a recreation of "A New Hope" (1977), not so much a sequel as a remake by stealth. Consequently, it lacks the wonder, awe and mystery that defined the first film and is more of an affectionate homage, with action scenes directly echoing previous ones. Even two shocking plot twists which it would be churlish to reveal, are not so very distant from previous films.

It's exciting, it's funny and ends on a cliffhanger which will leave you waiting for the next instalment; however, it will also leave you hoping for a more original, creative film next time we visit a galaxy, a long time ago and far, far away...

"Spectre" (2015), the twenty-fourth James Bond film, and directed by the Oscar-winner Sam Mendes, is a remarkably lithe affair. Mendes opens the film with an incredible, five-minute opening shot following Bond as he makes his way through the Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico City. It's a stunning visual coup, unprecedented for the series or in any other similar action film of recent years, and announces that Mendes, after making "Skyfall" (2012), is still interested in innovating within what has become a venerable British institution.

Craig, reprising his role for the fourth (and it has been hinted, final) time, looks more relaxed and at ease as Bond than ever before. While still cutting a gaunt, serious figure, he can also handle the script's wry sense of humour: this is truly the funniest Bond in decades. He's ably supported by an impressive cast: Ralph Fiennes (as M), Ben Whishaw (playing Q) and Naomie Harris (Ms Moneypenny), making for an excellent recurring cast, while Léa Seydoux, Monica Bellucci and Christoph Waltz are very fine. Waltz in particular, relishes his villainous role, bringing a gleeful wickedness to his character. He lacks the visceral impact of Javier Bardem in "Skyfall", but his performance deserves to propel him into the upper echelons of Bond villains.

Hoyte van Hoytema's cinematography is superb, matching Roger Deakins' work on "Skyfall" by taking a very different approach: shooting on film, van Hoytema brings a sophisticated, classical elegance, capturing the blazing light of Morocco and the shadowy, diffused look of Rome. One of Mendes' key legacies during his tenure as director of the series will be how elegant photography defines both of his films.

That's not to say, however, it's a perfect film. It lacks the delicious surprise "Skyfall" provided, uprooting so many of our assumptions of what a Bond film was; "Spectre" is far more deliberately traditional. Worse, the screenplay, by John Logan, Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and Jez Butterworth, introduces a subplot about the potential closure of MI6. While it helps make the film feel very contemporary, the chief component, Max Denbigh (played by Andrew Scott), is disastrously underwritten and frankly, uninteresting, lengthening an already long film. The script also, mystifyingly, constructs a two-part climax which feels unnecessary. It under-utilises a fascinating location in favour of an overly-familiar one and try as Mendes might, he can't pull the broken-backed finale off.

Still, Thomas Newman's score is an improvement over his music for "Skyfall", introducing John Barry-esque strings and horns, while Mendes displays his panache as an action director with a number of thrilling sequences. It's a ferociously entertaining, unrelenting film, and questions of plausibility aside, it's a high watermark for the James Bond series.