Film adaptations of plays rarely work well. All too often they fail to embrace the new medium and the subtleties in tone and action it enables and remain stuck to a style more suited to the stage, with exaggerated, grand gestures and booming voices. Carnage, then, based on the play The God of Carnage by Yasmina Reza, who also tackles the screenplay, didn’t spark particularly high expectations, regardless of an A-list cast and widely celebrated director.

There is little doubt there would have been serious problems if it wasn’t for especially confident, talented actors but director Roman Polanski deserves the lion’s share of plaudits for producing a thoroughly engaging film (credit is, of course, due to Reza, although more for the original play than the screenplay). It remains quite theatrical, both through its confined sets and even, at times, in over-the-top performances but, containing quite farcical comedy, it is actually a good choice of source material and is still shot with a clear eye on exploiting the medium.

Effortlessly shifting between couple vs. couple and husbands vs. wives and building from sober polite conversation to outright drunken warfare, the admirably short film progresses like a fine stand-up routine, complete with suitably hilarious moments along the way.

The possibility of super-powered teenagers doing nothing more than messing about? I can believe that. I totally believe that. That’s what I would have done. Hell, I’d still do it now. Sod all of that saving-babies-from-burning-hospitals crap. As nice as that approach is, though, Chronicle’s application of the concept isn’t entirely believable - the extent to which they do little of any significance either with themselves or to the world around them is pushed a little too far. And how is it that no one really notices any of their shenanigans? That the story almost entirely eschews the characters’ initial discoveries and reactions to their powers to focus on the development of their relationships is commendable but then the inevitable mental breakdown of one of the three is rather too sudden, even though the groundwork for his flipping-out does away with any kind of subtlety (Oh! His dad beats him! Oh! His mum’s dying! Oh! He’s a social outcast! Oh! He’s a virgin!). Having said that, the point at which he really loses it is the point at which the film really gets interesting.

As for the production, we’re treated to yet more let’s-pretend-it’s-really-filmed-on-camcorders bollocks. Hate it or hate it, this time around, though, the camera operators have the steadiest hands in the history of mammalian life and the colour and quality output from the three cameras used for the majority of the “filming” is matched perfectly. Miraculous! So, moving on from the sarcasm, what’s the bloody point? It does absolutely nothing for the film except provide a distraction. There are some nice uses towards the end of the film where a plethora of cameras are supposedly used (and one of the points, I guess, is that so many people now have video-enabled phones and such - terrifically profound) but making it central to the film is beyond unnecessary.

Chronicle could have delved much deeper into the psychology of the characters and addressed their actions and consequences of their actions in a more realistic light. But it’s a nice concept, performances are largely impressive and convincing, and the final third is a particularly engaging thrill ride.

Fucking super. Is it just me? Have I just grown bored of action films? Or are they, actually, inherently shit?

The acting performances in Haywire are the most immediately distracting element of the film and a handful of big-name actors make very little impact. While Ewan McGregor (even with that accent) and Michael Douglas are passable, Antonio Banderas is borderline comical and that surely, surely can’t be the same Michael Fassbender of Shame fame. The film plays to lead actress Gina Carano’s super-physical strengths in impressively choreographed bone-crunching fight scenes and that’s lucky for us because her range beyond that seems to consist of several shades of the same disgruntled, pouting facial expression.

And this is little more than a string of fight sequences, held together by a shallow story wrapped around a familiar plot that is literally (literally) explicitly told to the audience. The script is top of the list of problems here. And we really could have done without the loathsome line (that is utilised for marketing in the trailer, for God’s sake) “Don’t think of her as a woman - that would be a mistake”.

The hope was that the respected director Steven Soderbergh, with his indie roots, would breathe credible life into the action genre and there are those claiming that he has. But can’t action films be even better than this? Does acting with more than feet and fists matter at all? Does the story, and the storytelling, have to appeal to the lowest common denominator? Does there have to be a disconnect between adrenaline and intelligence?

The Brits do seem more comfortable with uncomfortable material than the Yanks and Drive is quite well represented, still a small surprise for a film that isn’t typical awards fodder. It has just three nominations, but they include Best Film and Best Director.

We Need to Talk About Kevin also gets three nods (only three?), for director and actress (two awards that I believe the film absolutely should, but won’t, win) and also for Outstanding British Film. The logic of the latter is baffling, though, as it is for all but one of the films in the super-strong category (that doesn’t even have room for Kill List). Tinker Tailor is the only film to be nominated both for Best British and outright Best Film, you see, so how do its challengers in Best British stand a chance when the industry voters have already suggested Tinker is better than them all with that very best Best Film nomination? Well, the thing is, they do stand a chance as British films have won the Best Film category whilst failing to win the British category, as nonsensical as that is. So if, when the Devil goes ice-skating, Tinker wins Best Film, Kevin can still walk away with best of British.

Staying on these shores, Outstanding Debut by a British Writer, Director or Producer surely has to be between Richard Ayoade (Submarine) and Paddy Consadine (Tyrannosaur) although Senna could be a sleeper at this year’s awards, if the voters feel like making a statement. Speaking of which, why do Best Documentary (to be won by Senna) and Animated Film (to be won by Rango) only deserve three nominations?

Film Not In The English Language isn’t especially adventurous. A Separation is to foreign language categories what The Artist is to best film categories in its likelihood of winning everything it is nominated for. It’s nice to see Incendies nominated (even though it was included in most award ceremonies’ lists last year) and Potiche is wildly out of place. Wim Wenders’ Pina and Pedro Almodóvar’s The Skin I Live In are the rather obvious, relatively high-profile films that round out the category.

The smart money for the screenplay categories is on Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy or The Descendants (Adapted Screenplay) and either The Artist or Midnight in Paris (Original Screenplay). I think Woody Allen is getting so much attention for this because he happens to be Woody Allen. Likewise, Moneyball doesn’t stand on its own as a great script and its profile is helped in no small part by the fact that it is co-written by the much-celebrated Aaron Sorkin. Including The Guard in here is a tad crazy and The Ides of March, although by no means bad, is hardly writing worthy of a “Best” tag, either. I would actually go along with many others and, if the choice was mine, hand the awards to The Descendants and The Artist although, if I was in an awkward mood, I might go with Bridesmaids just to spice things up a little.

Elsewhere, Brits Gary Oldman (Tinker) and Michael Fassbender (Shame) are nominated for Best Actor and although George Clooney (Descendants) is laying claim to the accolade this year, will the Baftas opt for one of the two stronger performances from home grown talent? Its nephew, the Supporting Actor category, is one of the weakest (not just at the Baftas) with Christopher Plummer, for Beginners, the firm favourite. Like some of the screenwriters, that smells a little of industry recognition for an often overlooked darling rather than recognition for an especially outstanding performance. But then there isn’t particularly strong competition and I can’t for the life of me figure out why Kenneth Branagh is lauded so highly so widely for My Week With Marilyn. It’s a small miracle Jonah Hill is nominated for Moneyball but if it was up to me I would hand the golden mask straight to him. That’s right - the kid from all of those zany gross-out comedies. I mean it.

Ryan Gosling, Melancholia, Carnage, and The Tree of Life (even for cinematography?!) snubs aside, in general, the Baftas have settled on a well-rounded selection of films that is more interesting and apparently meritocratic than some of the other big awards ceremonies.

Director Steve McQueen’s Hunger made a huge impact when it was released in 2008, thanks partly to lead actor Michael Fassbender but primarily to McQueen’s impressive transition from celebrated artist to masterful visual storyteller and expectations have been high for his follow-up. The cinematic style of Shame feels more restrained and conservative, possibly more sophisticated but disappointingly less distinguished than its predecessor. And while the sex addiction issue is little understood, as its filmmakers have gone to lengths to research and subsequently point out, although avoiding cliché, not an awful lot of light is, actually, shed upon it. There is a layer of depth and sensitivity missing that would make this a truly original story and, at times, it is difficult to see past a frustrated bonking-mad bonker bonking a lot.

Carey Mulligan (little sis) is a captivating bright young star and she does nothing here to abate her ascendency. Reuniting with McQueen, Fassbender, although his frequently naked presence will wreak havoc with most men’s slightest of inadequacy issues, delivers an almighty performance that is certainly up there with, and arguably more impressive than, all of the main awards season contenders.

It is because Steve McQueen has so quickly gained such a strong reputation that this film is open to especially close, demanding, expectant scrutiny. The director remains an exciting creative on the British scene and, nitpicking aside, especially through its looks and its cast, Shame is an undeniably accomplished and memorable film.

Steven Soderbergh’s Haywire will get the action off to a thrilling start in a few weeks but things really get going later in the year. Coming in June, Prometheus, Ridley Scott’s Alien prequel is, in fact, my most eagerly anticipated film of the year (a dangerous thing to be). The following month brings us The Dark Knight Rises and director Chris Nolan (not to mention writing partner brother Jonathan Nolan) just isn’t (aren’t) capable of making bad films. But then I used to think that of Tim Burton. Speaking of whom, Dark Shadows is due for release in May. Could be OK. Could be.

Looper, from the director of the wonderful Brick and slightly less wonderful Brothers Bloom, flies over in September and Sam Mendes’ (Sam Mendes!) take on James Bond in Skyfall is coming our way in October. Gravity, from Alfonso Cuarón, who delivered sci-fi cult classic Children of Men and absolute indie classic Y Tu Mamá También, drops the same month.

Extraterrestrial, the new film from Nacho Vigalondo, writer-director of Spanish wonder-sci-fi Timecrimes, will hopefully make an appearance and Korean master Park Chan-wook turns to the English language, and returns to horror, directing Stoker (but Park hasn’t written it - that accolade, peculiarly, goes to TV actor Wentworth Miller). Finally, a film that has me all excited after a recent trailer release, is Upside Down, from the man behind The Man Without a Head, one of the greatest short films ever made (fact).

So there you go. Lots to get excited about and plenty more that will do doubt have created excitement before the year is out. I understand that you just might be getting all excited about midgets with big feet skipping along in December and, fine, you can have that, but, please, just don’t mention The Avengers - it is big but it’s not clever.

Some especially safe early highlights (early as in January/February and safe because I’ve seen ‘em) are Shame, featuring Michael Fassbender (who will be one of the stand-out actors of the year), Roman Polanski’s hilarious Carnage featuring Kate Winslet and Jodie Foster, The Descendants, directed by Alexander Payne of Sideways fame, and indie high-fliers Martha Marcy May Marlene and Like Crazy. The Muppets are going to be unavoidable in February, Rampart has had some rave reviews and Young Adult, from Diablo Cody and Jason Reitman, the writer and director partnership behind Juno, is quite a tasty prospect.

In March there are some foreign language treats, including Carancho from Argentina, Michael from Germany, and the slow-moving but visually stunning Once Upon a Time in Anatolia. Academy Award hopeful Le Havre should turn up soon, and Israeli film Footnote must surely secure a release, too.

Some screenwriting gods will be gracing us, with the Coen Brothers’ penned (but not directed) Gambit coming in September, Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained currently due a Boxing Day release, and Martin McDonagh’s Seven Psychopaths will hopefully prove to be a worthy follow-up to the magnificent In Bruges.

The Place Beyond the Pines starring Ryan Gosling and directed by Derek Cianfrance (Blue Valentine) will hopefully pop up and, showing no signs of resting, Gosling will also appear in Gangster Squad alongside quite an impressive cast as well as, possibly gaining a release this year, teaming up with Drive director Nicolas Winding Refn once more for Only God Forgives.

Terrence Malick appears to be on a bit of a roll, too, with an untitled project (pictured) tentatively due this year, ahead of two films in 2013. His previous film, The Tree of Life, experienced significant production and distribution delays, though, so let’s wait until the chicks are hatched before we count them.

John Hillcoat’s Wettest County, sporting an impressive cast will swing our way in May, Moonrise Kingdom, the latest from Wes Anderson, should come our way summertime-ish and, finally, Lincoln, for which Daniel Day Lewis will win an Oscar next year, may come our way before the year is out or may appear at the start of 2013.

Three films - Black Swan, The Tree of Life, and We Need to Talk About Kevin - stood out. The holy trinity of directing, writing, and editing came together at a remarkably high level of merit and invention and the end results were films not only exhibiting technical wonderment across the board but, more importantly, although directly as a result, were utterly captivating and thrilling. And when it comes to directors, the most notable achievements unsurprisingly mirror those films: Darren Aronofsky keeps getting better, bolder, and more exciting, Terrence Malick is knocking on a Kubrick-level of greatness, and Briton Lynne Ramsay has exhibited a master’s hand at her craft and is a truly exciting prospect for the future.

As for screenwriting, those top-three aside, I was especially taken with Derek Cianfrance’s structure of Blue Valentine and Kristen Wiig’s comedy of Bridesmaids - there hasn’t been very much well-written comedy in the picture houses of late. Incendies’ non-linear plot unravels superbly and The Artist was a joy to behold with its self-imposed limitation of telling a story without words.

Cinematography for The Tree of Life is simply jaw dropping and I can honestly say I haven’t seen anything of its like before. Confessions, True Grit, and, perhaps surprisingly, The King’s Speech, all perform especially impressive magic with light.

127 Hours has a great music collection, typical for a Danny Boyle film, and the score for The Artist works supremely well in its prominent role in an otherwise silent film but, for me, the Drive and Pina soundtracks pip them both. I would go one step further and name Lilies of the Valley by Jun Miyake (Pina) and Night Call by Kavinsky & Lovefoxxx (Drive) as the most affecting pieces of music but, of course, the soundtracks in their entirety are what makes them special, in this case performing a central thread to Pina and contributing in no small part to the cool oozing through Drive.

In a Marvel, Michael Bay, post-Avatar world, the unparalleled raw power of impressive tiny-budget films like Kill List, Snowtown, Animal Kingdom and A Separation is welcome relief. It has been a great year for British film, too, with the aforementioned Kill List, Neds, that little film called The King’s Speech, and superb debuts from Richard Ayoade (Submarine) and Paddy Considine (Tyrannosaur).

Rooney Mara is quite special in David Fincher’s slick The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo remake, as is Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia, Mia Wasikowska in Jane Eyre, and Yun Jeong-hie in Poetry. Jeff Bridges in True Grit, Christian Bale in The Fighter, and Gary Oldman in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy are also scene-stealing. Especially impressive singular performances come from Natalie Portman in Black Swan, Tilda Swinton in We Need to Talk About Kevin, and Michael Shannon in Take Shelter, and several actors who have appeared in a collection of work are worthy of remark. Michelle Williams, for Blue Valentine, Meek’s Cutoff, and My Week With Marilyn, is fast becoming a firm favourite; she is rough around the edges, in the best possible way, and is a grafter with an admirable eye for interesting projects. Jessica Chastain, for The Tree of Life, Take Shelter, and The Help, is, perhaps, more polished, but incredibly naturalistic for a relative newcomer and is another exciting prospect for the future.

All of that said, my person of the year is Ryan Gosling. Hands down. In a single year, through Blue Valentine, Drive, The Ides of March and, yes, even Crazy, Stupid, Love, he has shown an exciting, rare degree of versatility and charisma reminiscent of the likes of James Dean and Paul Newman. Only time will tell but, just maybe, 2011 will be a point in cinema history when a good actor turned a corner on his way to becoming a great icon.

The Artist has become the leading contender for Best Picture Oscar (amongst others, including Best Director) but what odds would have been offered on a black and white silent French romantic comedy achieving that feat this time last year (it’s worth repeating - that’s black and white, silent, French, romcom)? This film is a bona-fide sensation and that is for far more than its imitation of, or homage to, movies of the early 20th Century; whilst sticking resolutely to that vision it remains contemporary with modern acting styles and humour and even toying with the genre itself (there is, for example, a smidgen of synchronised sound and dialogue).

At its heart is a wonderful, heart-warming story that, in itself, is nothing new, but is brilliantly told, leaving emotions to be conveyed through music and action, as they had to be all those years ago. Necessarily heavy on physical acting performances, particularly notable performances come from lead Jean Dujardin and from Uggie, who plays “The Dog”, winner of every Best Supporting Actor award going, if there is any justice in the world.

A playful, well-made, joyful, feel-good film with mass-appeal that only the blackest of hearts can fail to raise a smile to, The Artist is one of the easiest films of recent years to recommend to just about anyone. A film to fall in love with.

1. Black Swan (USA, January)
2. The Tree of Life (USA, July)
3. We Need to Talk About Kevin (UK/USA, October)
4. Blue Valentine (USA, January)
5. Drive (USA, September)
6. Incendies (Canada, June)
7. 127 Hours (USA, January)
8. The Artist (France, December)
9. Take Shelter (USA, November)
10. Confessions (Japan, February)

Narrowly missing out are Melancholia, Kill List, Neds, The King’s Speech and Snowtown. Oh, and Poetry. And The Skin I Live In. And True Grit and Animal Kingdom and A Separation. All of these would comfortably make the list in any “normal” year. Guilty pleasures only feel guilty because of the indie-eyebrow-raising their very mention evokes but I thoroughly enjoyed Bridesmaids and Rise of the Planet of the Apes.

Bogged down by numerous stories of historical interest surrounding the central plot, the protagonist’s encounters with the eponymous siren are so few and fleeting that there isn’t enough substance to truly care about their relationship. At the same time, the film’s scope is too narrow to make much of a statement on Monroe’s extraordinary power, legacy, or mental state, but it still makes cursory attempts to do so.

The quality of filmmaking is unfortunately unadventurous and uninspiring, too. Whilst operating within similarly conservative confines to The King’s Speech, it lacks its Weinstein Company stablemate’s depth of creativity.

The cast is the film’s saving grace although even that soup is being used as a lido by a handful of flies. Emma Watson reads lines with the exuberance of a dead seagull, Dominic Cooper is, characteristically, as bland as stale oatmeal and, as usual, Kenneth Branagh plays Kenneth Branagh playing a character. But Eddie Redmayne, who plays the “My” part is captivating, his youthful enthusiasm wholly believable and Judi Dench comes close to pinching the limelight from Michelle Williams’ Marilyn every time she appears on screen. And Williams is quite remarkable. One of the most interesting actors of recent years, a few eyebrows were nonetheless raised when her appointment to the role was announced. It’s an incredibly difficult task, playing such a complex, iconic one-of-a-kind, but she nails the fragility, the sexy, the witty, the bewitching to such a degree it is hard to think of anyone possibly doing better. She looks the part and her mannerisms are, at times, so astonishingly uncanny I have fallen in love with Marilyn Monroe yet again.

The ending to such a dubious prospect was never going to be satisfactory (I’ll lay it out there; he either lives or he dies) but the journey there, while liberally injected with humour, is treated with satisfactory compassion. The heart of the film, and its greatest success, though, is the relationship between the two leads - their chemistry fizzes. Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s difficult performance as the cool, calm cancer kid is superb, both in terms of the emotions he conveys and his comic delivery and he is brilliantly contrasted by Seth Rogen’s brash, loud character, which, although familiar, provides riotously hilarious moments.

There’s no avoiding that this is a slick production in fine Hollywood style. And it’s too slick, too polished, really. A lower budget, rough-around-the-edges affair with less shiny stars would have greater potential to be deeper, bolder, more moving and, dare I suggest, even funnier. But it doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not and perhaps the only major surprise is that it works so well.