Best sit upstairs in the Rose for their new As You Like It, Stephen Unwin's first Shakespeare production in the three-year-old theatre, modelled on the Elizabethan principle. The tilted perspective helps a great deal with the sparse little bit of scenery. From the ground stalls the hummock of leaf-strewn earth and the three oak branches hanging overhead seriously lack the forcefield of a Forest of Arden, hemmed in with black unadorned walls and exit doors.

There's nobody who plays Ashton Kutcher quite like Ashton Kutcher and, in this pleasant and undemanding romcom, he plays another cute guy whom all the girls (and boys of course) swoon over. This time he’s Adam, the sweet and rather vulnerable twentysomething son of Kevin Kline’s rascally-old-devil father,  who's three-times divorced, still doing drugs, and chasing young women as his 60th birthday looms.

Just to fill in that blank left by the title, how do you know when you’re in love? It’s the question posed by every romantic comedy ever made, satisfactorily answered only by the good ones. James L Brooks, who wrote, produced and directed Terms of Endearment, Broadcast News and As Good As It Gets, has spent a lifetime in film looking at the problem from a variety of Oscar-winning angles.

Broadcast News gets reinvented for our ever more frivolous television age, alongside healthy enough dollops of Working Girl, The Devil Wears Prada and Confessions of a Shopaholic (among others) to make Roger Michell's latest Hollywood entry seem like one long, extended pitch. That this comes from the same man who in the past year or so has directed - superlatively - Rope and Tribes on the London stage itself testifies to the divisions between the commercial and the personal, between catering to the marketplace and feeding one's soul, that this movie, in fact, is about. The film itself may not seem plausible for a single minute, but the tensions it describes could not ring more true.

Broadcast News gets reinvented for our ever more frivolous television age, alongside healthy enough dollops of Working Girl, The Devil Wears Prada and Confessions of a Shopaholic (among others) to make Roger Michell's latest Hollywood entry seem like one long, extended pitch. That this comes from the same man who in the past year or so has directed - superlatively - Rope and Tribes on the London stage itself testifies to the divisions between the commercial and the personal, between catering to the marketplace and feeding one's soul, that this movie, in fact, is about. The film itself may not seem plausible for a single minute, but the tensions it describes could not ring more true.

It’s difficult to know how to categorise Love & Other Drugs; is it a rom-com, a biopic, a melodrama, a satire or a hard-hitting attack on the influence that mega pharmaceutical companies have on America’s healthcare system? The film’s makers, meanwhile, tell us in their press notes that it’s an “emotional comedy”. Nope, me neither.

Avatar or The Hurt Locker? Although the Academy Awards are by no means the only barometer of cinematic trends, at this year’s Oscars the two centrifugal strains in contemporary movie-making went head to head. For Best Picture and Director, James Cameron’s digitally created sci-fi-scape locked horns with Kathryn Bigelow’s visceral visit to Iraq. One demonstrated Hollywood’s ever-increasing capacity to wish away actuality as we know it. The other went in where the bullets fly for real. You could see why the two directors, formerly married, had untied the knot.

2010 will go down as the year I fell out of love with Johnny Depp. And not just because of his cringe-making Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, an over-produced farrago which reduced Lewis Carroll's dark Victorian whimsy to a dull computer gamelike chase-rescue-showdown scenario. The Deppster sealed the Double Whammy of Dreadfulness with his uncanny impression of naff comedian Rob Schneider in The Tourist, a would-be rom-com thriller that somehow sacrificed the romantic, comedic and thriller elements of its remit to fawning close-ups of the increasingly prognathic Angelina Jolie. If only it really had been Rob Schneider. Preferably in both roles.

A nostalgified panacea of pine, tinsel, and tintinnabulation? Or a black hole of loneliness, bitterness and melancholy? Films about Christmas, wholly or partially, have straddled both polarities over the years, producing a surprising number of classics. In compiling this list, I hummed and hahed over Terry Zwigoff’s Bad Santa (2003), starring Billy Bob Thornton as a hard-drinking (if redeemable) misanthrope who poses in the red suit and white beard to get at a department store’s Christmas takings.

Oedipus rex - what, that's not a verb? - havoc anew in a film called Cyrus that has nothing to do with Miley and everything to do with the eternal triangle of mother and son and competitor for mum's affections, in this case John C Reilly playing an apparent no-hoper who, by his own admission, looks like Shrek.

Oedipus rex - what, that's not a verb? - havoc anew in a film called Cyrus that has nothing to do with Miley and everything to do with the eternal triangle of mother and son and competitor for mum's affections, in this case John C Reilly playing an apparent no-hoper who, by his own admission, looks like Shrek.

If Cold Comfort Farm and Hot Fuzz got chatting down their local one night, the conversation might go something along the lines of Tamara Drewe. Putting the “sex” in Wessex, Stephen Frears’s latest film loosens the corsets of the Hardy pastoral, pitting town and country against one another in the dirtiest and most gleefully anarchic of fist-fights. Heaving bosoms, brooding farm-hands and a herd of murderous cows all await you in this rural idyll of a comedy, which proves that bucolic nastiness is not always confined to the woodshed.