The film casts Dakota Johnson (Fifty Shades of Grey) as Susie Bannion, an American dance student who enlists in the Markos Dance Academy in West Berlin, in 1977, where all is very clearly not as it seems. It’s no spoiler to reveal that this dance school is presided over by a coven of witches; no spoiler because, unlike the Argento original, this film makes a conscious decision to reveal its hand early on.

That decision is a bold one, and one that I think ultimately pays off, because it allows Guadagnino to draw an eerie ‘everyday’ quality from the witches’ behaviour, which wasn’t possible in the original. It could be argued that this decision has reduced the element of mystery in the film, and thus the sense of tension, and while that may be true in one sense, it does also create a dramatic irony that makes us feel protective of the girls in the academy.

The film has much higher production values than its comparatively low-budget predecessor, and the standard of acting is also much stronger, which allows us to build stronger connections with its characters. Tilda Swinton is a favourite of Guadagnino’s (indeed, this is the third project they have worked on together) and is the film’s strongest asset as Madame Blanc, the girls’ domineering but much-loved tutor. The visuals are well done, with some nice nods to the original’s crash zooms and tracking shots, although don’t expect the film to be as vibrantly odd as Argento’s film, which was more abstract in its visual landscape. This film’s comparatively reserved visual palette is a tease, however, and is offset by its strongest individual sequence: a very well-staged denouement in which director and actors get to cut loose in sufficiently creepy fashion.

There are plenty of elements to like about Suspiria (including Thom Yorke’s moody score, which is worth a mention) but the film’s primary weaknesses lie in its structure. Firstly, the film is overlong, saddled with contextual details, primarily political, that don’t feel like they need to be there. It’s understandable that the filmmakers might have wanted to give the film a thematic drive beyond its own plot, but the diversions into politics didn’t add anything for me beyond the creation of a convincing backdrop, and so felt like diversions. Secondly, there is a subplot involving an elderly psychotherapist that fails to gel. The character feels too much like a contrivance, appearing primarily to drive the plot, and delivering lines that frequently veer into exposition. At the same time, his own subplot is given too much weight. The film appears to want to draw an emotional hook from this story that never really materialises and so, like the background political details, begins to feel like a distraction.

While the film constructs its world convincingly and has several memorable set pieces – one, in particular, involving a dance sequence of supernatural force – its structural weaknesses prevent it from establishing a consisten t sense of tension. That said, it’s by no means a bad film and certainly has power when it finds its focus; the final sequence is a case in point, and will certainly stick with me.

Crystal Moselle’s (The Wolfpack) first feature-length narrative picture, Skate Kitchen follows a gifted skater called Camille (Rachelle Vindberg) who, after an accident, decides to search for a new skate park to hang out in. After finding an Instagram group called ‘Skate Kitchen’ she ventures out of her relatively comfortable surroundings into the city proper, where she immediately falls in with a new group of skater friends. As Camille finds her place in their circle, we see her come out of her shell, rediscovering the city she calls home as the warmth of her new friendship group grows.

Moselle blends together styles to create a memorable depiction of the skater subculture. Much of the film is shot in a very naturalistic style, following the girls around the streets and parks as they banter away, almost as if we had been invited into the group ourselves. There are laid back interludes that play almost like music videos which add to the sense of style, and even one or two brief dreamlike sequences that bring to mind the casual reveries of Terrence Malick’s films. Add to that the wonderful skate cinematography by Shabier Kirchner and you have a picture that is infused with style and believability.

But a sense of style will only get you so far on its own, and thankfully Moselle has assembled an impressive young cast which really makes the film work. There are a huge amount of supporting actors, too many to mention here, all of whom add something to the general vibe of the film, but the performances of Nina Moran and Ardelia Lovelace as Kurt and Janay are worthy of mention. All the characters around Camille are confident, totally comfortable in their skins and happy to be who they are – it gives the film a pleasing sense of camaraderie that encapsulates what the film is about: friendship. Yes, it’s also a coming of age story and a number of other things, but Camille’s integration into this group is the heart of Skate Kitchen. Vindberg’s performance in the central role is controlled, and in a different context might have been too passive, but when set against the charismatic backdrop of her new group of friends it works.

You could make the argument that the film indulges in its style a little too much, leaving late-in-the-day dramatic flashpoints feeling a tad undercooked and a little too swiftly resolved. But while there is an element of truth to that, those dramatic elements do at least partially succeed because the portrayal of the friendship group works so well. Similarly, the amount of cutaways to skate tricks and musical interludes perhaps could have been reined in a little in order to free up some more room for the dramatic beats, but it feels picky to highlight flaws in areas that, thanks to their soulful execution, are at least partially responsible for the parts of the film that do work.

Thanks to Moselle’s unfussy direction, which really  captures the feeling of drifting along through youthful summer days, and the strong work of the young, mostly little-known cast, Skate Kitchen is certainly worth your time.

Based on a true story, Adrift tells the tale of Tami Oldham (Shailene Woodley) and Richard Sharp (Sam Claflin), who set sail from Tahiti in 1983 on a 6,500km voyage to San Diego, and were left stranded on the open ocean after a vicious storm damaged their vessel.

The film, which was directed by Balthasar Kormákur (Everest), starts strongly, throwing the audience into the immediate panic of the aftermath of the storm. It also establishes the central visual motif of the film, which is Shailene Woodley struggling to survive on a stricken craft in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but horizon on all sides. This is a familiar cinematic setting, but one Kormákur’s film commits to with impressive diligence: vast swathes of the film were shot miles away from land, without visual effects, and the impression of being trapped on the vast expanse of the ocean is convincingly done. Kormákur and his cinematographer Robert Richardson also find inventive ways to vary their shots, ensuring the sections on the boat don’t begin to feel samey.

Where the film is less inventive is in the establishment of the burgeoning relationship between its two central characters, which, as with many films of this kind, is told primarily in flashbacks woven into the main thrust of the narrative. The film tries to develop a chemistry between its leads, and there are flashes of this in their interactions, but the dialogue and music choices tend towards the cheesy, and scenarios are perfunctorily staged. Enough of the first act is dedicated to these flashbacks that the film starts to, pun intended, drift, and loses the thrust of the opening. Having Woodley’s character reference the cheesiness was a misstep: it neither reduces its effect or serves as a playful bit of self awareness.

That said, the film thankfully regains its sea legs whenever we move back out onto the water. Shailene Woodley is the heart of the film, appearing in pretty much every scene, and she gives a likeable, believable performance. There isn’t much grandstanding in here, which I appreciated, and generally Woodley’s performance can be relied upon to make the stodgier scenes watchable.

Adrift is at its most confident putting Woodley’s character up against the odds, and the final stretch of the film is compelling enough to tug at the heart strings where necessa ry. Yes, some of the structural elements are familiar, and it probably won’t surprise you too often, but it’s a well put together piece of drama that tells a story worth telling.