O Teri, despite being loud enough to jolt any laash alive, targets the right scumbags and has more than a couple of fun ideas, not least a soothsaying dog who — like Paul the Octopus, or a particularly cute magic 8-ball — predicts the future. Now if only they’d kept the pooch around during the edit.

Queen is a good entertainer, sure, but, more critically, it is a showcase for an actress poised to reign. This is one of those monumental moments when you feel the movies shift, and nothing remains the same. I’ve seen the future, baby, and it’s Kangana.

This is a stirring, touching film but — unlike say its fellow Oscar nominee, the well-crafted 12 Years A Slave — it stays impressively away from overt manipulation.

Dallas Buyers Club is a film about smarts.

The hint lies in the choice of colour. Nebraska is not merely a black comedy, but one laced with light, with hope, with brightness. Black and White, then. Sometimes they do make ‘em like they used to.

It seems exasperating that with this amazing story — and, indeed, these stakes — Clooney couldn’t bring about a rousing, breast-beating, educative motion picture. Such paintings, such sculptures, such little art.

Her is, by far, the best picture of the year, and miles ahead of the other Oscar nominated films, but those comparisons don’t seem at all relevant when I sit back and smile (stupidly wide) at the impressions the film has left. For all its conceptual highs, Her is not a film about technology, though it is partly a cautionary fable. This is a film about love. A film to love.

Director Ali Abbas Zafar has directed a monstrous film, one with a repellent 70s-set storyline that makes no sense whatsoever, and a cast who should all hang their heads and offer up a minute’s silence for assaulting their respective filmographies.

…too long, too sentimental, too hacky in bits, but, ultimately, it’s truly chipper in a way most films have forgotten how to be.

It might not be supercalafragilisticexpialidocious, sure, but at least it points us in that direction.

Steve McQueen’s relentless motion picture captures it all, from the bodies to the trees, from the pastoral scenes to the twisted mouths. 12 Years A Slave is an admittedly rough watch, but it is a conventional one, an old-fashioned swallow of bitter cinematic tonic for audiences too used to their spoonfuls of silver-screen sugar.

Abhay Deol shoots himself in the foot by acting in (and, inexplicably, producing) this monstrosity that sucks all the goodwill out of an actor we usually like, and his apparent girlfriend Preeti Desai hands in the kind of atrocious performance that makes vintage Katrina look like Juhi Chawla. True to its name, this is half a film. It’s half-written, half-digested, half-witted.