Parky at the Pictures (DVD 9/1/2014)

As the camera peers hazily through long grass on a sunny day, a detached female voice wonders whether it would be possible to start again. An immediate sense of doom pervade proceedings, therefore, as Antonia Campbell-Hughes and Julian Morris spot each other across the dance floor of a downtown Liverpool nightclub. He works in a scrap yard and has just moved into a new flat, while she works in a cheap greetings card shop and they meet as he is celebrating his 28th birthday. Morris's first words reveal he is already on a high and they snort cocaine before going home to indulge in energetic sex, during which she throttles him as he approaches climax. She apologises the next morning for the bite marks on his body, but they make love again in the shower and Morris is so infatuated with Campbell-Hughes and her fearless attitude that he tells sister Lisa Mallett and his workmates all about her.

Complete with a Bill Shankly bon mot stencilled on the wall, Morris lives in a squat in an old school in Anfield. He is a bit of a scally and borrows a van from brother-in-law Johann Myers to drive into North Wales with pals Stephen Walters and Mark Ruane to score some drugs to sell in the city centre night spots. As they head into the countryside, Campbell-Hughes accompanies dominatrix friend Claire Keelan to the Wirral, where she subjects a banker to a beating in his basement and Campbell-Hughes is surprised by how much this disturbs her, given her own predilection for kinky sex.

Utterly smitten, Morris makes Campbell-Hughes a mix tap from his vinyl collection and gives it to her when they meet up by Alfred Gilbert's Eros fountain in Sefton Park. They walk around the lake and he points things out to her with the light hand on her shoulder contrasting starkly with the aggression of their first nocturnal encounter. As they watch some fishermen on the bank, Campbell-Hughes recalls how she used to fish with her father. They rarely caught anything, but brought packed lunches and made a day of it. Yet she blenches as she explains that he has since died and there is a suspicion that the relationship may not always have been so wholesome.

As they stroll in the sunshine, Piers McGrail's camera alights on the flora and fauna and the flies swirling in the dappled light. But the mood changes when they go to the Walker Art Gallery in the heart of the city and see another Eros and another Gilbert sculpture, `Mors Janua Vitae', a death monument of Dr Edward Percy Plantagenet Macloghlin that was commissioned by his widow, Liza, when the Wigan GP passed away at the age of 47. They were atheists who want to symbolise their love for each other and this intimate piece is contrasted with Giovanni Segantini's painting, 'The Punishment of Lust', which shows two mothers suffering in Purgatory for neglecting their children.

Campbell-Hughes states with deadpan bitterness that her own mother should wind up in a picture like this. But Morris asks no questions and follows dutifully when Campbell-Hughes announces she is bored and kisses him on the steps outside. She asks why he has waited so long to make a move and he admits that he wanted to kiss her when they were on the bus, but didn't want to presume. She seems satisfied by his explanation and suggests they go for a drink because she's cold.

They catch the bus to a pub and later in the evening go to the roof of a multi-storey car park to dance to Viking Moses song `Dancing by the Water Day'. Once again, the tenderness contrasts markedly with what happens when they return to his lodgings, as Campbell-Hughes ties Morris's hands behind his back and carves their initials into his back with a piece of broken glass, even though he has begged her to stop. As she walks alone by the docks, Morris tends to the tomatoes he is growing in the school playground. But, when Ruane notices blood on Morris's shirt during a game of five-a-side, he tells him to dump Campbell-Hughes, as he considers her way of showing affection to be sick.

Morris is laid off from the waterfront yard and, with the letters `K+V' clearly visible in his flesh, he falls to the floor sobbing after masturbating in the shower with a belt tied around his neck. Meanwhile, Campbell-Hughes goes to visit mother Gabrielle Reidy and is furious that she has invited ex-boyfriend Mark Womack to call round. They had once lived together but it seems plain that the romance had turned violent when Campbell-Hughes orders him to keep his distance and threatens to call the police.

Over the next few days, Campbell-Hughes goes shopping for clothes and returns to the gallery to look at the Gilbert memorial. Yet neither seems happy apart, with Morris disapproving when Walters forces his girlfriend to give him oral sex in the toilets at a party to celebrate one of their gang becoming a dad and Campbell-Hughes eating alone when Keelan stands her up. She drifts into a pub, only to bump into Womack, who is there his thuggish buddies Michael Ryan and Shaun Mason. He threatens them with a baseball bat when they menace Campbell-Hughes, but she is very much afraid as he closes in on her.

Back in the city, Morris almost gets into a fight with some drunken lads as he walks down a back alley. He thinks of his conversation with Campbell-Hughes at the Nelson Monument in Exchange Flags about getting away from Liverpool and working in a nature reserve. But such optimistic hopes quickly disappear when he finds Campbell-Hughes alone with a gash in her head and he rushes her to casualty.

They go back to his squat and, following a rather sweet `start again' exchange, they tumble into bed. As Campbell-Hughes begins tightening a silk belt around his neck, Morris relives the exhilaration and freedom he felt beside the Welsh lake. But his reverie distracts him and he is unable to give Campbell-Hughes the agreed safety tap and she accidentally strangles him. The next morning, as Campbell-Hughes goes to dial 999, she finds a message from Morris saying he can't stop thinking about her. She starts to cry and finally plays the tape he had given her and the scene fades as `Dancing by the Water Day' plays on the soundtrack.

Reckless hedonism and naked lust have become increasingly familiar facets of British film-making since Michael Winterbottom pointed the way with 9 Songs (2004) and Steve McQueen followed with Shame (2011). However, while this is nowhere near as graphic as the former or a cynical as the latter, it lacks the context to make the sadomasochistic desperation feel entirely authentic. Campbell-Hughes and Morris deliver courageous performances, but too many of the secondary characters resemble Scouse stereotypes and the setting often seems to be exploited more for its trendy transgresiveness than the social, political and cultural forces that shaped the lovers. In this regard, it bears a passing similarity to Pat Holden's adaptation of Kevin Sampson's Awaydays (2009). But Evans, McGrail and editor Tom Kearns make vastly superior use of their locales, while the songs selected by musical supervisor Paul Lambden counterpoint the action with unforced acuity.

The sense of danger Evans captures is noticeably absent from the Bradford depicted in Clio Barnard's The Selfish Giant. Ostensibly inspired by Oscar Wilde's sentimental Christian fairytale, this owes much more to John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men and Ken Loach's Kes (1969). Indeed, in echoing recent works about marginalised kids in downturn Britain by the likes of Lynne Ramsay, Shane Meadows and Andrea Arnold, this ticks so many boxes on the social realist checklist and resorts so meekly to melodrama for its denouement that it represents something of a disappointingly conventional follow-up to Barnard's stylistically innovative docudrama, The Arbor (2010). However, the exceptional performances of the young leads and the telling contrasts made between the post-industrial city and the enervated countryside ensure that this is always lively and engaging, without ever being politically strident.

Akin to a latterday George and Lennie, 13 year-olds Conner Chapman and Shaun Thomas are inseparable. They live on estates on the outskirts of Bradford - Chapman with mother Rebecca Manley and brother Elliott Tittensor and Thomas with parents Steve Evets and Siobhan Finneran. The quick-witted Chapman is on medication for hyperactivity, while the affable Thomas gets picked on for being overweight at a school full of petty rules and misapplied good intentions. But, in spite of their physical and psychological disparity, the boys are fiercely loyal to one other and, thus, when they are excluded after Chapman defends Thomas in a fight, they gravitate together toward scrap merchant Sean Gilder, who pays decent prices for all kinds of metal and rarely asks awkward questions.

Chapman makes a good impression when he steals a consignment of quality junk, but he quickly becomes jealous of Thomas when Gilder notices his skill with horses (he hails from a traveller family) and puts him in charge of his sulky-racing champion, Diesel. The rift widens after Chapman uses a foal in a field to check if the wire he is about to purloin is electrified and he takes out his frustration by thieving from Gilder's yard. However, he loses his money to the men from whom he stole his first batch of metal and Gilder punishes him by sending him to collect some brass from a live power connection.

Naturally, there is an accident and Thomas dies. But, in an act of redemption, Gilder (who is rather unpersuasively cast in the eponymous role) accepts full responsibility for the situation. Chapman attempts to apologise to Finneran, who refuses to speak to him. He is eventually forgiven, however, and not only starts caring for Diesel, but also finds solace in Thomas's ghost clambering under his bed (where Chapman often hides) to hold his hand and reassure him that everything will work out for the best.

Admirably conveying a north in which manufacturing has been replaced by scavenging and honest toil by opportunistic graft, this recalls the uncompromising community studies produced by the Newcastle-based Amber Films, right down to the trap racing sequences from the collective's 1995 drama, Eden Valley. But Barnard allows herself to be distracted by the need to justify the Wildean nexus and, as a result, the story becomes mawkish at the very point it needs to sharpen its edge. Cinematographer Mike Eley also harks back to bygone times with `grim oop north' visuals whose sombre colours and dewy mists are reflected in the muted melancholy of Harry Escott's score.

But it's the acting that makes this picture. Only 12 at the time of shooting, Chapman spews out expletives and smart alec quips with a surly confidence that irresistibly recalls David Bradley as Billy Casper in Kes. But he also captures the vulnerability that makes his friendship with Thomas all the more authentic and affecting. The 15 year-old also makes a fine impression and they are well supported by the adult cast, with Finneran standing out as the embittered mother. Yet, for all its accomplishment and poignancy, this lacks the narrative rigour and detached compassion that makes the films of Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne so powerful and truthful. But there is no question that Barnard is a film-maker of considerable talent and imagination.

Upping the pace, Omid Nooshin's Last Passenger feels like it could have been made in the 1970s by a company like (no pun intended) Euston Films. It may lack the heart-pounding excitement of Andrei Konchalovsky's Runaway Train (1985), but this pitches well-drawn characters into a terrifying and reasonably plausible scenario and has the courage to stick with them and their efforts to avert disaster rather than focus on the motives of the madman at the throttle bent on causing carnage.

Doctor Dougray Scott is on the last train out of Charing Cross after taking son Joshua Kaynama to see Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in the West End as a Christmas treat. He gets a call from the hospital to say they are having a busy night and promises to get there as soon as he has deposited Kaynama with his grandparents. Party planner Kara Tointon overhears the conversation and starts chatting to Scott and is intrigued to learn he is a widower. However, they are interrupted by Pole Iddo Goldberg giving guard Samuel Geker-Kawle a hard time because the buffet is closed and, having calmed down, he makes Kaynama smile by doing a magic trick with a cigarette.

As the carriage begins to empty, Scott notices a man skulk on board and disappear down a connecting corridor. However, he thinks nothing more of it as he is distracted by Kaynama accidentally opening the outer door as he plays with his toy dinosaur and Tointon looks across sympathetically as the boy tearfully tries to apologise. All seems well again, until Scott becomes convinced that he saw someone run past the window after the train comes to an unexpected stop. Asking Tointon to keep an eye on his son, he goes to the guard's van to investigate and is chastised by businessman David Schofield for disturbing him by banging on the door.

Goldberg comes to see what the commotion is and, when the train fails to stop at the next station, it becomes clear to the remaining passengers that someone has taken over the controls and is bent on crashing into the station at Hastings. As they search the carriages, they find Lindsay Duncan, who is on her way to visit her grandchildren. She agrees to stay with Kaynama and Tointon, as Scott, Goldberg and Schofield try to attract the driver's attention. Unable to gain access and certain he detected a malevolent glint in the hijacker's eye, Scott seeks advice and Goldberg (who works as a cleaner for London Underground) suggests breaking into the Geker-Kawle's room and applying the guard's break.

As there is an `and then there were none' element to this story and surprise is a key factor in the schemes the passengers devise to try and save themselves, it is only fair to halt here. Suffice to say, as the action remains firmly inside the compartment, the denouement is hardly spectacular. But it is tense and Nooshin and co-writer Andy Love do a decent job of maintaining our interest in the commuters without indulging in idle speculation about terrorism or suicidal lunacy.

The debuting Nooshin is well served by cinematographer Angus Hudson and editor Joe Walker, as well as by composer Liam Bates, whose score ramps up the suspense without becoming overly melodramatic. The ensemble also does well, with Schofield's testy know-all and Goldberg's migrant worker scared of disappointing his soon-to-visit parents combining well with Scott, who conveys muscular competence without teetering into action man territory. His romance with Tointon is somewhat far-fetched, but this is a minor quibble with a film that makes confident use of its confined and off-screen spaces and demonstrates that it is still possible to make an exciting thriller without spending a fortune on daredevil stunts or computer-generated pyrotechnics.

Henry James adaptations seem to reach the screen in little clusters. Martin Gabel presented The Aspern Papers as The Lost Moment in 1947 and William Wyler reworked Washington Square as The Heiress three years later. Merchant Ivory followed suit in releasing The Europeans (1979) and The Bostonians (1984) in quick succession, while their version of The Golden Bowl (2000) formed part of a fin-de-siècle scramble that also included Jane Campion's The Portrait of a Lady (1996), Iain Softley's Wings of a Dove and Agnieszka Holland's Washington Square (both 1997), as well as a pair of teleplays, Paul Unwin's The American and Edouard Molinaro's Nora (both 1999), which was based on the novella, Watch and Ward.

Scott McGehee and David Siegel come to James having followed their exceptional thriller debut Suture (1993) with an exceptional remake of Max Ophüls's The Reckless Moment (1949) as The Deep End (2001) and a solid adaptation of Myla Goldberg's novel, Bee Season (2005). But, while the updating of the 1897 opus What Maisie Knew they have achieved with screenwriters Nancy Doyne and Carroll Cartwright is fresh and inventive in its narratorial choices, it loses the sonority of James's authorial voice and so dilutes his socio-satirical concerns that they seem more drolly melodramatic than provocatively trenchant.

Fiery rock musician Julianne Moore is divorced from laid-back English art dealer Steve Coogan. They live in very different apartments in New York and use six year-old daughter Onata Aprile as a pawn in their games of oneupmanship. Convinced she is a good mother, Moore sings the child a lullaby. But she is not fooled by such an ostentatious display of affection and prefers the company of her Glaswegian nanny, Joanna Vanderham. Yet, when Coogan intercepts the flowers that Moore sends her while she is staying with her father, Aprile retrieves them from the bin and is clearly touched by the gesture.

Despite adoring Vanderham, Aprile seems to take it in her stride when she marries Coogan after a whirlwind romance. Enraged by her ex-husband's treachery (and with an employee at that), Moore takes Aprile home and entrusts her to older nanny Paddy Croft. However, the girl is so frightened by this straight-laced termagant that Croft is fired, just as Moore decides to exact her revenge on Coogan by marrying handsome bartender Alexander Skarsgård. Much to Moore's frustration, Skarsgård takes a shine to Aprile and, with Moore and Coogan increasingly out of town pursuing their careers, she finds herself spending more time with new spouses.

When Vanderham refuses to accompany Coogan back to London, their marriage collapses and he returns home alone. But any sense of victory that Moore might feel is quickly tarnished, as she argues with Skarsgård over his doting on Aprile. One night, in a fit of pique, she takes the child to his bar and abandons her there, even though Skarsgård isn't on duty. Aprile spends the night with one of the cocktail waitresses and Vanderham comes to collect her the following morning. They set off by train for a house by the coast, where they are eventually joined by Skarsgård.

Once again, determined to demonstrate the depth of her maternal feeling, the self-pitying Moore makes a great show of caring for Aprile by diverting her tour bus so she can claim her. However, Aprile has no intention of going on the road or back to her parents and declares that she would rather stay with Skarsgård and Vanderham as they are nice to her and each other. Suitably chastened, but unwilling to put up much of a fight, Moore departs and, the following morning, the new family goes for an idyllic boat trip that avoids quashing any lingering misgivings that this ending may not be quite as happy as it appears.

Although they don't quite succeed in equating the Victorian aristocracy with modern celebrity arrivistism, Cartwright and Doyle have produced a smart script that affords Moore and Coogan plentiful opportunity to appal with their inadequate parenting. Indeed, they make such wonderfully self-obsessed grotesques that the common decency exhibited by Skarsgård and Vanderham seems dully over-idealised by comparison. But, as the splendidly composed Aprile seems to crave such selflessness and stability, her final choice is wholly understandable - although she reaches it in a much shorter time frame than her counterpart in the novel and without quite acquiring the depth of Maise Beale's knowledge and comprehension. However, McGehee and Siegel wring the full emotional value out of each little act of neglect or oversight committed by Coogan and Moore and it is these that ultimately seem more egregious than the endless bickering or shameless point scoring.

While the performances are admirably nuanced throughout (with even the saintly surrogates having their flaws), McGehee and Siegel overcook the film's visual aspects. Kelly McGehee's designs for Moore and Coogan's apartments is spot on and emphasises their use of Aprile as another chic accoutrement. But Giles Nuttgens's imagery seems calculatingly lush in a manner that misses the fact such impeccable décor is being viewed from Aprile's perspective. Nick Urata's score similarly borders on the hyperbolic and sometimes has the unfortunate effect of making Aprile seem too much like an angelic (and remarkably well-adjusted) victim rather than a shrewd observer of her circumstances who comes to realise how to exploit them to her advantage. Yet, while he might not recognise the milieu or the cosiness of the resolution, Henry James would see enough here to appreciate the wit and poignancy of this thoughtful, entirely relevant, but occasionally implausible adaptation.

Filmed in digital monochrome and infused with a playful self-reflexivity that recalls the nouvelle vague, Noah Baumbach's Frances Ha wants to be so many things. It wants to be as irreverent as a Saturday Night Live sketch and as sophisticated as a New Yorker article. It wants to be an original, while also paying homage to Hal Hartley, Whit Stillman, Nicole Holofcener, Miranda July, Steve McQueen and Lena Dunham. It wants to be loved, while pretending it doesn't care if its equation of bohemian poverty and sexual freedom with living to the full and exclusivity and employment as a calcification is immature and passé. But, most of all it wants to be an Annie Hall for the 2010s, when, in fact, it is much closer to being an East Coast variation on Alex Holdridge's In Search of a Midnight Kiss (2007).

This is by no means a bad thing, as Greta Gerwig's performance as Frances Halflady is every bit as quirky and charming as Sara Simmonds's as the feisty, yet vulnerable Vivian. But, as with Baumbach's previous collaboration with Gerwig, on Greenberg (2010), the script lacks the precision to merit comparison with the indie classics the pair are striving so hard to emulate. Considering that Gerwig started out in mumblecore, it's splendid to see her being hailed in some quarters as the best young actress in America. Yet, while this offbeat comedy will win her many new fans, one is still left wondering whether she is quite in the calibre of, say, Michelle Williams, who almost played the mirror image of Frances Ha in Kelly Reichardt's Wendy and Lucy (2008).

Sharing an apartment on Vanderbilt Avenue in Brooklyn, Greta Gerwig and Mickey Sumner are almost inseparable. They joke that they are like an old lesbian couple who no longer have sex and Gerwig confirms her commitment to Sumner when she turns down boyfriend Michael Esper's offer to move in with him. Barely pausing to contemplate the break-up, Gerwig meets Sumner at a party in Chinatown and is amused by the attention they receive from sculptor Adam Driver and aspiring Saturday Night Live writer Michael Zegen. However, when Driver sends Gerwig a blunt text about going on a date, she is less than impressed.

Gerwig wants to be a dancer and idolises Charlotte d'Amboise, who runs the small company where Gerwig takes bit parts in productions and runs junior classes to earn some much-needed extra revenue. But she knows she can always rely on Sumner to take care of things, as she has a well-paid job in publishing and has an on-off relationship with high-flying financier Patrick Heusinger. Then, however, Sumner announces that she wants to move into a new apartment in the trendy Tribeca district and leaves Gerwig high and dry because she will never be able to pay the rent alone.

A solution arises, though, when Gerwig gets a tax rebate and invites Driver to dinner. The evening doesn't quite go according to plan, as Gerwig's credit card is rejected in the restaurant and she has to walk several blocks to find a cash machine. Moreover, she trips on the pavement and cuts her elbow. But Driver insists on patching her up and, as a result, she discovers that there might be a vacancy in their building. Zegen arrives home with a couple of girls he has picked up and they encourage Gerwig to dance for them and she prepares everyone a snack. Having made a suitably positive impression, Gerwig is asked to move into Catherine Street and she is seen skipping through the daytime Chinatown streets to David Bowie's `Modern Love' in a scene that seems to reference Michael Fassbender's nocturnal jog in Steve McQueen's Shame (2011).

Fitting into her surroundings as easily as Zooey Deschanel in New Girl, Gerwig discovers that Driver's overnight guest, Justine Lupe, once slept with Sumner's brother and she is put out to learn that Lupe knows more about her bosom buddy's current circumstances than she does. She is also disconcerted by the fact that Lupe thinks she looks older than 27. Yet, instead of rising to the challenge to go out and make something of her day, Gerwig wastes time watching a movie on television and eating a takeaway. She perks up when Sumner pays a visit and they lapse back into their familiar bantering routine. But, as Gerwig jokes that Zegen says she is undateable, Sumner urges her to grow up and face reality, as she is dirt poor while Zegen and Driver are both from wealthy families and can afford to behave as though they are in a sitcom.

Stung by the criticism and the realisation that she and Sumner are drifting apart, Gerwig again seeks solace in the sofa and Zegen's fraternal concern. But things get worse when d'Amboise breaks the news that Gerwig is not going to be in the Christmas show and Sumner tells her that she is going on an exotic vacation with Heusinger. Hurt that her friend is in love, Gerwig makes a scene and storms out of the bar with an expensive bottle of vodka, which she decides against drinking, as she needs to tidy her room. Zegen interrupts work on his speculative screenplay for Gremlins 3 to provide a shoulder to cry on and Driver opines that they will probably end up married one day. However, Gerwig is no longer sure about anything and, as Zegen puts her to bed, she stares at herself in the mirror.

Shortly afterwards, Gerwig flies to Sacramento, California to spend the holidays with her parents, Gordon and Christine Gerwig. As the ensuing montage reveals, she has a nice time catching up with old friends, going to church and relaxing with the family. Indeed, she is much less highly strung than she is in New York, but it doesn't take long for her to become stressed again, as she needs to find somewhere else to live. She is offered a couch by fellow dancer Grace Gummer, but struggles to fit in with her friends during a dinner party, as Britta Phillips, Dean Wareham, Josh Hamilton and Juliet Rylance keep talking about jobs, babies and people she doesn't know. Moreover, whenever Gerwig tries to join in the conversation, they look askance as she rambles on about minor incidents from her own life.

However, she learns from Phillips that Sumner has quit her job and is about to relocate to Japan with Heusinger. Once again, she is distressed at being left out of the loop and everyone listens in sympathetic silence as Gerwig gets tipsy and wishes she could experience that perfect moment in which she meets the eyes of her soulmate across a crowded room. Indeed, when she impulsively announces that she is going to Paris for the weekend, Hamilton and Rylance offer her the use of their pied-à-terre and they bid her goodnight with something approaching indulgent affection.

As she staggers home, Gerwig bumps into a bearded Zegen and his new girlfriend, Maya Kazan, who invite her to a party. However, she insists on going home to pack for a trip she intends paying for with a new credit card and she feels good about herself as she flies over the City of Light. The apartment is magnificent and she buoyantly leaves a message for friend Serena Longley about meeting up while she is in France. But Gerwig can't sleep, as, for all her claims at loving being alone, she needs companionship. In fact, she needs an audience.

She takes some sleeping pills and wakes well into the following afternoon and finds that most of the shops have shut, as she wanders the streets at dusk. Disappointed at not hearing from Longley, she puts on a brave face when Sumner calls to invite her to a going away party and insists that her dance career is so going well that she can turn down an offer to flat sit. Gerwig tells Sumner she loves her before hanging up and wandering the streets alone. Having spent much of the next day in bed, she flies home and shrugs as she checks her voicemail to find a message from Longley inviting her to a soirée full of fascinating people.

Instead, Gerwig heads for a meeting with d'Amboise, who offers her an office job on informing her that she is never going to make it as a dancer. Gerwig bluffs that she has some intriguing offers lined up, but passes up a chance of security to spend the summer working on the conferences being held at her alma mater, Vassar College, in the upstate town of Poughkeepsie. Once again, Gerwig feels old, as she realises she has nothing in common with the recent graduates helping with the holiday programme and is dismayed to be given mostly waitressing duties. She further depresses herself by reading the blog that Sumner and Heusinger have launched to proclaim their happiness in Japan. Yet, she still sits with a girl she finds crying in a corridor and reassures her folks that everything is fine - even though she gets told off by a groundskeeper for smoking in the woods.

One evening, however, as she is ensuring that congresswoman and potential benefactor Cindy Katz has everything she wants, Gerwig spots a drunken Sumner arguing with Heusinger because he doesn't want her to be hungover at his grandfather's funeral the following morning. Gerwig sashays over, but is distraught to discover that Sumner is now engaged, even though she detests Japan and is appalled at the prospect of marrying into a family with Nazi connections.

For once almost speechless, Gerwig listens to Sumner berating Heusinger, as he drives Gerwig back to her digs. In the middle of the night, however, Sumner arrives in search of a bed after a blazing row and confides as she throws up into a wastepaper basket that she recently had a miscarriage. The friends squeeze on to the single bed and Sumner discloses that they are coming home, as Japan is a nightmare. Gerwig jokes that they will be like a couple of women rediscovering themselves after a divorce and they doze off after saying they love each other. But Sumner has left by the time Gerwig wakes up and she is unable to catch up with her before her car drives off into the distance.

Newly ensconced in Washington Heights in the northern reaches of Manhattan, Gerwig accepts d'Amboise's job offer and seems to be enjoying office life, as well as her dance sessions with the youngsters. Moreover, she has been rehearsing her own small company in a piece about chance encounters leading to the formation of a community and everyone she has met in the course of the film is in attendance as she watches with apprehension. Zegen comes to congratulate her during the after-show party, as does d'Amboise. But, as she enthuses about the choreography, Gerwig looks across the room and catches the eye of the newly married Sumner and they smile. Some time later, she moves the rest of her stuff into her new apartment and writes her name on a label for the doorbells. However, she can only fit part of it in and the picture closes on the words `Frances Ha' in the nameplate.

Played with infinitesimal gusto by the exceptional Greta Gerwig, this often feels like following someone on their social media pages. Every detail of a chaotic existence is laid bare and Gerwig seems to have no qualms about sharing everything with everyone. Yet, while such intimate unpredictability makes her character fascinating, it also quickly starts to make her seem superficial. Indeed, her kookiness owes more to Diane Keaton's Annie Hall than more modern woman like Miranda July's characters in Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005) and The Future (2011) or Lena Dunham's in Tiny Furniture (2010) or Girls (2012-). The easy solutions to her problems also seem to belong to an earlier age and Baumbach appears to reinforce this mythical innocence by having Sam Levy's cinematography resemble Raoul Coutard's in the early days of the French New Wave and peppering the soundtrack with themes from the scores that Georges Delerue composed for François Truffaut.

The spirit of the post-9/11 generation does come through, however, in the restlessness and sense of entitlement that seem inevitable consequences of an age of instant communication, celebrity, gratification and achievement. But, while a certain glibness pervades proceedings that just occasionally recall Gerwig's struggles in Daryl Wein's rite-of-passage Lola Versus (2012), Baumbach keeps the action moving at too brisk a clip to allow the audience to dwell on the facile nature of some of the script's observations and conclusions on the transience of youth, some of which were inspired by Joseph Conrad's novel, The Shadow Line. Moreover, he coaxes bullish supporting turns out of a fine ensemble led by Sting and Trudie Styler's daughter, Mickey Sumner. But, while they always seem to be acting, Gerwig simply exists in the moment.

Following Funny Ha Ha (2002), Mutual Appreciation (2005) and Beeswax (2009), Andrew Bujalski takes his leave of mumblecore with Computer Chess, a technically audacious and thematically fascinating experiment in analog nostalgia that is somewhat led down by its scattershot plotting and muddled denouement. Some have seen this as a link in a chain that also includes Vsevolod Pudovkin's Chess Fever (1925), Raymond Bérnard's The Chess Player (1927) and Alain Resnais's Last Year at Marienbad (1961). But, for all the references to bogus 18th-century automata and surreal hotel encounters, this is always more interesting for its aesthetic than its content.

The scene is set some time in the early 1980s by grandmaster Gerald Peary, who is hosting a computer chess tournament that culminates in a man vs machine showdown. Recalling `The Turk' auto-player that secreted a man inside its clockwork mechanism to defeat such celebrity opponents as Benjamin Franklin and Napoleon Bonaparte, Peary uses an overhead projector presentation to chronicle the search for an artificial intelligence capable of defeating a human being and continues the discussion during a panel session with MIT representative Bob Sabiston (running the STASIA programme with the only woman present, Robin Schwartz), the insufferably smug and socially inept James Curry from Allied Laboratories, dogmatic maverick independent Myles Paige and CalTec's Wiley Wiggins, a psychologist who is babysitting the TSAR 3.0 software with programmer Patrick Riester because boss Gordon Kindlmann has been delayed.

Once the rules have been explained, the games begin and it soon becomes clear to Wiggins and Riester that TSAR is misbehaving. They seek a delay to run some diagnostic tests, but are forced to continue playing, as their system insists on reckless moves that keep causing them to resign. That evening, while Paige looks for somewhere to sleep (because his reservation has been overlooked) and the other boffins discuss AI while hanging out with drug dealers Jim Lewis and Freddy Martinez, Riester tries to work out why TSAR is malfunctioning.

Meanwhile, African relationship expert Tishuan Scott is hosting a couples weekend in the room being used by the tournament and, having just completed an exercise involving burrowing into a warm loaf of bread, delegate Chris Doubek is sufficiently intrigued to ask Riester what the competitors hope to achieve. More concerned with getting TSAR set up for a game against STASIA, Riester makes his excuses. But the programme again acts capriciously and Wiggins is relieved when Kindlmann breezes in to take charge. However, he is unable to come up with a solution and reassures Riester that the defeats could be turned to their advantage in the long run.

Leaving Kindlmann with wife Anne Dodge and their new baby, Riester asks Schwartz if he can pit TSAR against STASIA again and she helps him push the cumbersome machine to her room. After a while, he reaches the conclusion that the programme wants to play humans rather than machines. Elsewhere, Paige wanders the corridors looking for a place to sleep and is offered the bridal suite when he tries to bed down in the lobby. However, he finds the room has been overrun by cats and an allergic reaction prompts him kip under a table in the tournament base, where he is awoken by Scott's group and undergoes a bizarre birthing ritual.

Riester puts his theory to Kindlmann over breakfast, but he rejects it entirely and the focus switches to a crunch game between Paige and Curry. Feeling frustrated by the way things have gone, Riester bumps into Doubek by the ice machine, who invites him back to his room to meet his wife, Cyndi Williams. She explains how dull life can be if one accepts the limitations of a 64-square chessboard and tries to tempt Riester into a threesome, but he flees in embarrassed confusion. As Peary awards the prizes, Martinez forces Paige to drive to mother Edith Mannix's place (in the only colour sequence) to get the cash he owes him for the drugs he took.

As the programmers wind down and discuss the prospect of computers being used for dating some time in the future, cameraman Kevin Bewersdorf shows Schwartz his state-of-the-art Sony AVC-3260 tube camera. Over at the bar, Wiggins reveals to Riester that the Pentagon is interested in TSAR and that he once borrowed some of its data for a personal experiment and was amazed when it began manifesting signs of independent thought. Processing this information back in his room, Riester is interrupted by Schwartz, who has noticed how people had been moving around the tournament room like chess pieces. But he is too analytical to realise that she might be flirting with him and bids her goodnight.

The following morning, only a handful of competitors remain for the challenge between Peary and Curry, which keeps being interrupted by Scott's group, which has double-booked the room. Thus, they miss seeing Peary lose his temper (and probably the match). Among the absentees are Riester and Kindlmann because the former is busy apologising for leaving his room window open during a storm and allowing the seeping rain to make TSAR short circuit. As the film ends, Collie Ryan accompanies herself on the guitar for `It's Gonna Rain', one of four songs by the reclusive 1970s folk singer that punctuate the soundtrack.

Shooting on monochrome Portapak tape in a 4:3 aspect ratio to recreate the look of 1980s video technology, Bujalski and cinematographer Matthias Grunsky have fashioned a visually fascinating film. They are greatly aided by production designer Michael Bricker, costumier Colin Wilkes and hair stylist Charli Brath in capturing the period look and feel, which is splendidly reinforced by the antique hardware and facsimile typefaces. But, while Bujalski muses intriguingly on our relationship with technology and how the processes currently being used to make Hollywood blockbusters will look equally old-fashioned in another three decades, he struggles to coax us into engaging with his characters.

Spoilt by The Big Bang Theory, audiences expect more of their geeks than glasses, bad haircuts and woeful dress sense. They expect wit and incisiveness to go with their physical gawkiness and social autism. But, no matter how affectionately they are presented and played, the programmers here are caricatures and no amount of dope smoking or acid dropping can change things.

Patrick Riester contributes a charming display of intellectual deference and interactive incompetence and his scenes with Robin Schwartz are exceedingly sweet. But the joke quickly wears thin as the belligerent Myles Paige stomps around the hotel in search of a quiet corner, while the colour digression feels utterly extraneous. The exchanges with the new age group also feel more mockingly contrived than fondly essential, although the sequence in which Riester fights shy of the over-sexed couple old enough to be his parents is grimly humorous. However, anything seems to go in this diegetic hotchpotch, with the initial mockumentary tone being jettisoned in order to focus on the travails of Riester and Paige. Yet, little effort is made to develop the characters or make sense of their respective predicaments. Thus, while this is always audiovisually mesmerising, it's pretty patchy and often feels a tad too pleased with itself.

The 1970s provides the setting for onetime airline pilot Travis Fine's Any Day Now, a fact-based follow-up to The Space Between (2010) that could not have its heart more firmly in the right place. Exposing the prejudice facing a gay couple seeking custody of a Down Syndrome child who has been all but abandoned by his drug-addled hooker mother, this is clearly intended to show how things may not have changed all that much for the better - even in supposedly liberal California - in the subsequent four decades. But the occasional lapse into melodrama and some clumsy secondary characterisation prevents this from being as moving or memorable as either Jaco Van Dormael's The Eighth Day (1996) or Antonio Naharro and Álvaro Pastor's shamefully little seen Yo, también (2009).

Queens exile Alan Cumming fronts the lip-synching drag act that headlines nightly at a West Hollywood nightclub in 1979. One night, he spots the besuited Garrett Dillahunt watching him from the shadows as he cavorts to the France Joli disco hit `Come to Me' and is amazed when they end up parked in his car for some amorous activity. However, they are interrupted by a snooping patrolman and Cumming is hugely impressed when Dillahunt turns from nervous pick-up to confident lawyer to inform the officer that he knows his rights and would not be averse to reporting him to his superiors for drawing his gun on unarmed suspects.

Arriving home, Cumming notices that Isaac Leyva, the 14 year-old Down Syndrome son of noisy neighbour Jamie Anne Allman, is cowering in the corridor while his mother services one of her sleazeball clients. He always tries to be kind to Leyva, but risks a torrent of abuse from the short-fused Allman. Consequently, when she is arrested for possession and Cumming finds Leyva alone in the apartment clutching a blonde doll, he fills him up with his favourite doughnuts and takes him to see Dillahunt in the hope he will know what to do.

He works for district attorney Chris Mulkey, who has high expectations of Dillahunt and considers his protégé to be one of the boys because attractive secretary Miracle Laurie has an enormous crush on him. Naturally, Dillahunt is embarrassed when the flamboyant Cumming bursts into the office and starts calling his name. But he convinces his colleagues to accept that Cumming is his cousin and he calms him down sufficiently to say he will keep social services off their case while they mount a claim for temporary custody in the courts. Moreover, following a second visit to Fabio's to see Cumming in a Carmen Miranda outfit wriggling to Honey Cone's `One Monkey Don't Stop No Show', he decides he is in love and will do anything to help him win his case.

He succeeds in having Allman sign a document approving Cumming as a fitting guardian for her son. However, she quickly changes her tune and Cumming and Dillahunt have to fight to prove that Leyva would be better off with a gay couple who know and care for him than he would be in care or with a foster family. Once Cumming moves in with Dillahunt, it becomes more difficult to disguise the nature of their relationship and Mulkey fires Dillahunt after he witnesses them bickering during a social event at his home. He seems to take the deception personally and strives to make life as difficult as possible in the courts.

Judge Frances Fisher also takes exception to Cumming's habit of speaking before he thinks and, when he cracks under cross-examination by snarky lawyer Gregg Henry, she rules against his suitability to shelter Leyva on a permanent basis. They refuse to accept the verdict, however, and take the advice of hot-shot litigator Don Franklin, who arranges for social worker Mindy Sterling to assess their domestic arrangements. Her favourable report is backed up by the glowing testimony of special needs teacher Kelli Williams, who insists that Leyva has started to flourish in a stable and loving environment.

But Mulkey makes a decisive intervention by having Allman released early and she demands to have her son returned to her. Powerless to counter such chicanery and institutionalised homophobia, Cumming and Dillahunt are forced to accept defeat. However, Leyva soon finds himself in care and he wanders away one night and dies on the street. Throughout the lawsuit, Cumming has been preparing to go solo as a torch singer and there is genuine pain and anger in his performance on the night he makes his debut.

Although Fine has revised a screenplay originally written some 40 years ago by TV veteran George Arthur Bloom, this frequently feels more like a product of its times than a retrospective reflection. The adversarial characterisation is often broad, while the `love will conquer all' mantra seems as simplistic and manipulative as the periodic lapses into mawkishness that are best epitomised by the snippets of 8mm home movie used to show how blissfully happy the unconventional family are during a trip to the beach. Yet, such is the rising sense of injustice that builds throughout the picture that it is impossible not to side with Cumming and Dillahunt against an intransigent and prejudicial establishment, whose unyielding championing of the rights of an unfit and felonious mother makes a mockery of the constitutionally enshrined promise that all citizens must be held equal before the law.

The leads are outstanding, although it has to be noted that Cumming's renditions of `Love Don't Live Here Anymore' and `I Shall Be Released' may not be to all tastes. Indeed, the musical choices made by Glee music supervisor PJ Bloom (who is the co-writer's son) feel a touch too generic, just as Rachel Morrison's laudable effort to give the digital visuals a 70s 16mm look seems a little self-conscious. Recalling Harvey Fierstein's Arnold Beckoff in Paul Bogart's Torch Song Trilogy (1988), Cumming fires off zinging one-liners with a ferocity that belies the warmth of his beaming smile and suggests a volatility that makes the taciturn Dillahunt's unswerving devotion seem all the more saintly.

But it's Cumming's connection with Leyva that makes the film so credible and poignant, as it is the denigration of their unconditional bond that makes the attitudes and behaviour of the social and legal systems so monstrous. It's just a shame that so much of the dialogue is strewn with clichés and platitudes and that Fine doesn't trust the material enough to resist the temptation of tugging on the heartstrings at almost every conceivable opportunity.

Depressingly, far too many American directors are churning out thudding thrillers like Scott Walker's The Frozen Ground, which is all the more dispiriting as it features two fine actors who deserve better than such mundane assignments. However, with the Hollywood emphasis being on youth and beauty (as it always has been), Nicolas Cage and John Cusack may just have to get used to the fact that the blockbuster days are over and, like so many of their forebears, they are going to have to eke out the remainder of their distinguished careers in potboilers that really should go direct to DVD rather than cluttering up an already crowded theatrical schedule. Based on actual events that took place in Anchorage, Alaska in 1984, this purports to be a tribute to the 17-21 women murdered by serial killer Robert Hansen and Walker seeks to reinforce his sincerity by showing photos of the victims to the accompaniment of a tacky soft rock track before the closing credits. However, all he succeeds in doing is highlighting the cynical opportunism of a grotesque piece of tasteless exploitation attempting to pass itself off as a heroic police procedural.

When teenage prostitute Vanessa Hudgens is found handcuffed in a motel cabin, the cop who rescued her is so dismayed that his superiors refuse to go after local baker John Cusack that he gathers evidence and posts it to the office of state trooper Nicolas Cage, who is about to quit his job because wife Radha Mitchell thinks he is too obsessive and they need a change of scenery. When the body of a young girl is found in the Kink River forests, however, Cage is determined to get to the bottom of a case that has seen dozens of girls like Gia Mantegna go missing after telling friends they were off to meet a photographer. The press is certain that there is a serial killer preying on prostitutes and topless dancers, but Lieutenant Kevin Dunn and DA Kurt Fuller insist the recent deaths have coincidental similarities rather than follow identifiable trends.

Cage is unconvinced, however, and reckons that the perpetrator is a meticulous man with a low profile who probably works shifts. He pores through over 600 unsolved cases in the hope of finding linking clues. Eventually, he comes to Hudgens's file, in which she describes meeting a man in a camper van with her pet dog. As he digs deeper, Cage establishes that Cusack had served time for rape back in 1971 and goes on a search of the red-light district with vice cop Michael McGrady hoping that one of the girls will recognise Hudgens from her photo. He also meets up with Katie Wallack, whose sister has disappeared, and she gives him the identical bracelet that she knows she would have been wearing when she was abducted.

Much to his relief, Cage finds Hudgens and she describes (in flashback) how Cusack had chained her to a post in his den while wife Katherine LaNasa and their children were away and how she had nearly been found by a snooping neighbour, as she had cowered in a room full of hunting trophies. She says that Cusack's eyes went black as he raped her and she had left a tampon inside her in the hope of collecting semen that could be used as evidence against him. But, even though she had escaped her ordeal, the cops had not believed her story and Cusack had remained at large. Upset that Cage seems so powerless to help her, Hudgens goes back to the red-light district, where she is hired as a dancer by Jodi Lyn O'Keefe, who gives her crystal meth to overcome her stage fright and she is surrendering to the music at her pole when she panics on spotting pimp Curtis `50 Cent' Jackson, who tells her that she owes him and will come running to him one day for protection.

Meanwhile, the morgue calls Cage about another body found in the wilds that has been hideously mutilated and he gets home to urge his six year-old daughter not to grow up. As if to emphasise the perils that lie ahead, the action cuts to Cusack bundling the terrified Mantegna into his plane and he takes off from a small airfield and guns her down as she tries to run away. He takes her heart-shaped necklace as a souvenir and finishes her off with another bullet from close range.

Cage meets Hudgens at a roller rink and pleads with her to testify against Cusack. She says she risks too much if they fail to make the case stick and has learnt not to trust people after her mother allowed her to be abused as a child. But Cage convinces her of his integrity by telling her how he lost his sister on his 21st birthday when a drunk driver killed her and she suddenly appreciates that he knows all about crimes going unpunished. Later that night, Cusack sees Hudgens dancing at the club and leaves in a hurry, as he knows she could identify him. However, she is also terrified that he will come after her and Cage only just catches her at the airport as she seeks to flee. He informs her that she survived to help put Cusack behind bars and offers to shelter her at his house until they can take her statement.

Unfortunately, Mitchell is furious that Cage has brought such a woman into their home and, overhearing the argument, Hudgens slips away and takes a room in 50 Cent's downtown dive. He puts her back on the snowy streets and she is disconcerted to see a moose wandering around a back alley. Unaware that both Cage and Cusack are searching for her, she returns to O'Keefe's club and overdoses on pills and cocaine in a toilet cubicle, where she is found by one of Cage's crew and taken into safe custody, as a seething Cusack looks on from the shadows.

Sitting by her bed waiting for Hudgens to come round, Cage sees a photo of her mother and she reveals she always thought she was her sister as she had had her at 15. But Hudgens has never forgiven her for letting an uncle harm her and wishes she could find someone who could reassure her that everything is going to be okay. Cage promises he will nail Cusack and goes on surveillance outside his house. However, he and Sergeant Dean Norris are spotted and Cusack piles everything that could incriminate him into his car and gives Cage the slip in order to take off in his plane to dump the evidence. Recklessly, however, he keeps the bracelet belonging to Wallack's sister.

Armed with a profile compiled by the FBI, Cage urges Fuller to grant him a search warrant so he can find hard evidence linking Cusack to the killings. He agrees, but the delay enables Cusack to bribe thug Brad William Henke into finding Hudgens and he threatens 50 Cent that he will kill him for an unpaid debt unless he hands the girl over within two days. As Matt Gerald and Brett Baker lead the search of Cusack's property, Cage interrogates his suspect, who freely admits that he uses prostitutes for oral sex as he doesn't want someone he loves performing such a sordid act. He also acknowledges his 1971 rape conviction and says he has served his time and cannot be linked to the current crimes. Cage queries why 12 women would all describe an identical method of kidnapping and assault, but Cusack insists the evidence is circumstantial and Cage knows he needs to find a .223 rifle on the premises that would connect Cusack with the wounds found on the dead girls.

He tries to taunt Cusack into losing control and gambles on charging him, even though the search has yet to turn up evidence of anything other than insurance fraud. He drives to the house and is sickened to see the den is exactly as Hudgens had described it and he implores his team to leave no stone unturned in the hunt for the vital clues. Knowing he will need Hudgens to testify, he coaxes her into going to a safe house prior to an interview with Cusack's attorney. But, just as Gerrard's unit find .223 guns hidden in a secret alcove in the ceiling and Mitchell tells Cage that he shouldn't quit the force because being a cop is who he is, Hudgens gets cold feet and gives her guard the slip and heads back to 50 Cent's den to collect her belongings.

Lo and behold, he offers to give her a lift and calls Henke to make the trade. However, as 50 Cent tries to pull a fast one by brandishing a gun, Hudgens realises she is in danger and steals a car and heads back into town. Henke shoots the pimp and comes after her, as she calls Cage on the car phone to arrange a rendezvous at 50 Cent's place. Cage arrives just in time to rescue Hudgens from being smuggled down the fire escape and gets back to headquarters to see Fuller announce that he is ready to free Cusack as the evidence against him is too flimsy to stand up in court. Deciding to pull a fast one, Cage confronts Cusack with a flying log found in his bedroom marked with the places where some of the corpses had been found. He insists that the tags simply indicate his favourite hunting spots, so Cage puts Wallack's bracelet on the table and Cusack flinches. Moreover, the door of the interrogation room falls open and Cusack sees Hudgens in the corridor and jumps to his feet and screams that he should have killed her when he had the chance.

Cage leaves in satisfied silence and a montage shows Cusack being arraigned and then helicoptered into the wasteland to help find the remaining bodies. A caption informs us that Cage was promoted to commander and remained with the force until he retired, while Hudgens became a mother of three. But the final insult comes with the snapshots of the real victims and Walker stoops so low as to dissolve a shot of Hudgens with the actual Cindy Paulsen, who is praised for finally speaking out about her shocking experiences.

As with so many Hollywood studio movies at the moment, this is wildly overwritten to ensure that nobody in the audience can possibly miss the subtleties of the plotting and characterisation. But it also feels as though the actors need plenty of words to validate their performances and it is intriguing to compare Cage's earnestly garrulous cop with Cusack's taciturn killer, as though the debuting Walker somehow feels that eloquence is a badge of honour - hence his use of the opening quotation from Isaiah: `As a sheep before its shearers is silent, so did he not open his mouth.' Yet neither Cage nor Cusack entirely convinces and Hudgens does a much better job in breaking away from her High School Musical image than Cusack does from his erstwhile romcom persona. But such are the limitations of Walker's cumbersome screenplay and perfunctory direction that the cast can almost be exonerated.

It's never a good sign when a picture has 30 credited producers and this often feels as though it has been assembled by numbers. Patrick Murguia's cinematography capably captures the harshness of the frozen terrain and the grimness of the red-light district, while production designer Clark Hunter creates a creepy lair for Cusack's predator. But Lorne Balfe's score booms as hollowly as the crass dialogue and advertising veteran Walker's visual sense this has more in common with a BritCrime cheapie than the bullet-headed crime dramas like Alan J. Pakula's Klute (1971), which New Hollywood used to make so well.