Around a quarter of the way through a typically riveting Season 2 episode of The Sopranos, Dr Jennifer Melfi reiterates a vivid nightmare she has had to her own psychologist Elliot Kupferberg (played by Peter Bogdanovich). Kupferberg stares at her, and asks her quietly – “Why do we like rollercoasters Jennifer? Scary movies?” Melfi knows the answer: “To experience the thrill of being terrified… without having to experience the consequences”.

It might come from a completely unrelated source, but it’s as good an explanation as any when it comes to describing how horror films make us feel as individuals, and what makes us keep going back for more. There’s nothing quite as remarkable as a viewing experience that temporarily removes you from the safe surroundings of reality, and places you in a terrifying alternative world from which there appears to be no escape.

Whilst America, Japan, Germany and Spain are renowned for producing horror films that have kept audiences awake for weeks, the British Isles is another country that has given a considerable amount toward horror cinema over the years.

Whilst covering every terrific British horror film ever made be a somewhat insurmountable task, here at Taste of Cinema we’ve opted to select a spread of movies across the decades that reflect the kind of contribution Britain has made toward making horror film the popular genre it is today.

These are the films that represent the finest in British horror since cinema’s inception.

20. Eden Lake (2008)

Hoodie-horror Eden Lake carries a chilling realism not just in its execution, but also given how it arrived on the back of the revolting happy-slap craze that briefly engulfed the British nation in the form of blurry mobile phone videos back in the early noughties.

The plot sees Michael Fassbender and Kelly Reilly star as a couple who travel to the eponymous Eden Lake for an idyllic holiday, only for their camping trip to be continually interrupted by the vile gang of youths who loiter in the area. Tensions rise up until the point where Fassbender actively confronts the teens, and it is only then that the couple realise that these youngsters are a lot more than simply unpleasant people.

In the same vein as “Harry Brown”, James Watkins’ film gives hood-bearing teens a demonic presence, but ensures to maintain a sense of familiarity and authenticity. Everything is framed within realist aesthetics, punctuated by the ominous rattle of bicycle wheels skidding across crunchy dry bark and the phlegmy drawl of Jack O’Connell – who plays the role of the manipulative gang leader.

The events that conspire lead to Reilley taking the reins for long periods, and by the time that the picture has reached its unsettling climax she has adopted a haggered, blood-stained appearance that invites comparisons to the weary, depleted female leads of I Spit On Your Grave and Last House On The Left. Surely no accident.

One particularly intelligent moment in Eden Lake arrives late in the day, where the communication and interaction between several grown men intriguingly mirrors that of the teens we’ve been watching all the way through the film. It’s about as unsettling as it gets, and whilst Eden Lake is a tough watch, it’s certainly a rewarding one for horror fans.

19. The Descent (2005)

The Descent seemed to come from absolutely nowhere and take everyone by surprise. Directed by Neil Marshall (the man who has steered Game of Thrones, Hannibal and Constantine episodes over his career) it takes an all-female cast and plunges them into the depths of North Carolina caves.

The group of girls wander into unknown territory after going on a spelunking expedition, become trapped with no exit in sight, and eventually encounter some truly bloodthirsty creatures who are unlike anything that resides in daylight of the ordinary world.

Tense and absolutely terrifying, The Descent is one of the better British horror films of recent years, and smartly draws on its claustrophobic setting to create a rich atmosphere that is enough to scare you senseless.

18. Village Of The Damned (1960)

Even if you haven’t seen Village of the Damned, chances are you’ll still recognise the eerie image of glowing eyes emanating from the pale faces of mop-topped children. It’s a movie that’s heavily referenced in the modern day, which is testament to the impact it created during its original run in 1960. Eloquent and precocious kids can often come across as a little spooky, and Wolf Rilla’s movie certainly has a lot to answer for in this respect.

The plot is an intriguing one: a small village in the UK suddenly falls asleep with no explanation. Everyone within the tiny region of Midwich tumble to the floor one day, and when the authorities go to inspect the area, their men too fall into a state of unconsciousness.

A short time later the village suddenly wakes up, and within a matter of months all the women give birth to a bunch of eerie, Aryan children who use telepathic powers to exert control over the adults in the village.

Village of the Damned is a classic drive-in horror film – harbouring the ability to send shivers wriggling down your spine. Hundreds of horror movies have created their very own versions of chilling, wild-eyed kids, but none of them are quite as curiously creepy as the ones born in Midwich.

17. Kill List (2011)

Watching Ben Wheatley’s Kill List is a bit like eating a piece of meat that’s slightly off. Part of you is aware that there’s something not quite right as you’re tucking in, but it’s not enough to stop you in your tracks. After a while a sense of regret bubbles up as your stomach gurgles, and before long it’s too late – you’re trapped in a terrifying, nauseating fever dream.

The plot involves two former soldiers who return home to their ordinary lives and opt to take up an assassination contract. They’re provided with a list of names to wipe out – thus the movie’s title. Things get creepier and creepier the closer they get to finishing the job, and before long Kill List has roared into an entirely different genre altogether.

It’s a little tricky to acknowledge the brilliance of Kill List in the immediate aftermath of the gawp-inducing final scene. But a brilliant film it certainly is. Wheatley’s picture morphs from an intriguing thriller into sickening horror so surreptitiously that you’re left shaken and stunned by the time the credits roll.

You might also be a little angry at yourself for not turning away when you had the opportunity. Very few horror movies have quite the same effect as Kill List, and if you’re a fan of creepy, innovative horror – then you owe it to yourself to see this film.

16. Berberian Sound Studio (2012)

Wonderfully weird from start to finish, Berberian Sound Studio stars Toby Jones as an unsuspecting sound engineer who accidentally finds himself involved with a suspiciously authentic-looking Italian giallo movie.

Finding himself a little unsettled in the company of the crew, the sound technician slowly begins to become both paranoid and delusional, until eventually his life begins to blend with that of the movie that he has contributed to.

Twisted and ambitious, Berberian Sound Studio wasn’t wholly accepted by the public upon release, and it’s easy to see why given its maddening, headache-inducing narrative. Still, a closer look at the movie reveals something quite spectacular. If you can bring yourself to take in multiple viewings, you’ll find Peter Strickland’s bizarre escapade into the concept of blurred boundaries a highly fulfilling viewing experience.

15. 28 Days Later (2002)

Danny Boyle’s rip-roaring pseudo-zombie flick is considered one of the finest British horror films of recent times, and this reputation is most certainly justified.

28 Days Later was a movie that brought fresh perspective to a tired genre in 2002 – differing considerably from the production-line teen slashers (that seemed to be hitting theatres every week at the time) both in execution and style.

Unabashedly taking inspiration from Day Of The Triffids (itself a close contender for a place on this list), 28 Days Later briefly sets the pretext before protagonist Jim (Cillian Murphy) opens his eyes in a hospital bed. He sets about wandering the deserted streets of London, with some magnificent shots creating a hauntingly realistic depiction of an evacuated UK capital. Jim eventually sees first-hand why nobody is around anymore, and takes refuge with two additional survivors.

The movie is shot on digital video, adopting a grainy, cloudy texture that heightens the tense, frenzied atmosphere. The final product is something that looks as though it was cobbled together from footage caught by the last operative surveillance cameras in Britain.

When the infected roar onto the screen the whole picture becomes immersed in hyper-kinetic action sequences, but Boyle is far more interested in his human characters than his salivating red-eyed villains. Half socio-political allegory that offers commentary on the state of current society, and half horror-thriller, 28 Days Later is a film that manages to captivate audiences for a wide variety of reasons, without allocating millions to the makeup budget.

The human mind is a peculiar and fascinating thing. Inside one’s head, the possibilities and capabilities are interminable, and this begs the question of whether it will ever be possible for science to truly understand everything that goes on inside with complete and utter illumination.

Perhaps the only thing more intriguing than the human mind itself, is how this organ and its behaviour is depicted in film. Characters with damaged memories have long been favourite picks for a variety of movies across the world of cinema.

After all, to lose one’s memory is to lose oneself as a person, and this potential for (re)discovery of a past life offers all kinds of potential for exciting cinematic viewing. To align an audience with a similarly unsuspecting protagonist is smart filmmaking – and helps to merge that space between screen and viewer, splicing the two entities together to create the best possible cinematic experience.

Film is perhaps the most appropriate medium to regenerate and project sensations experienced by the human mind; rekindling the sort of lurid imagery and flashes of memory that otherwise occur only in our heads.

Recalling a recent dream or nightmare with accuracy is somewhat impossible to accomplish through vocal articulation, and difficult through written word. But through use of inventive editing sequences and imaginative imagery, cinema is able to beam up the kind of sights and sounds that otherwise exclusively reside inside our minds with incredible accuracy.

This list depicts 10 very different films that consider the notion of human memory and make an examination of the human mind. Composed of a variety of classics, a couple of hidden gems, and some films that achieved somewhat middling commercial success – each movie has something a little different to offer, and every single one of them is worth your time.

10. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry, 2004)

Charlie Kaufman remains one of the most intelligent and skilled screenplay writers in the world of movies, and his characteristically multi-layered script for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind remains one of his very best contributions to cinema yet.

Kauffman’s bright idea here is Lacuna Incorporated: a company who are able to localise the memories of former lovers in patients’ brains and erase them forever in order to ease the pain of heartache.

Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet star as Joel and Clementine – two such lovers who seek out the experimental treatment – and much of the movie appears to take place in Joel’s mind whilst he undergoes treatment. During the process, Joel tries to hide Clementine away from the erasing procedure by hiding her in the far corners of his mind.

An enthralling examination of how the mind handles the emotion of love and gut-wrenching sensation of heartbreak, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is an intellectual look at the concept selective and unselective memory.

Directed with venerable control and just the right amount of razzle-dazzle from Michael Gondry, the movie avoids becoming convoluted and flies right for its duration, offering glowing displays across the board from Carrey and Winslet, as well as fine selection of supporting players that include Elijah Woods and Tom Wilkinson.

9. Memento (Christopher Nolan, 2000)

A blank-faced Guy Pearce propels forward a heart-pounding memory-muddle movie in Memento: a narratively complex thriller told with the sort of confidence and coherence that has come to act as director Christopher Nolan’s very own watermark.

The movie portrays Leonard Shelby (Pearce), a man who witnessed his wife get brutally murdered but seems to recall nothing after that incident. Waking up every day with a blank memory, he snaps Polaroid pictures and gets tattoos scrawled across his skin so to remind him of what step he needs to take next to catch the person who destroyed his life.

Telling a story in reverse can throw up all kinds of roadblocks, but Memento is shot with the typically enthralling narrative gusto that Christopher Nolan seems to inject into each and every one of his projects.

The movie is made up of boundless energy despite heading backwards, offering a very different kind of puzzle to solve by aligning us with an untrustworthy and genuinely perplexed protagonist. Thrilling and engrossing from start to finish, Memento remains a fine piece of cinematic mind-work that offers a whole new interpretation on the aspect of “being whoever you want to be” in life.

8. Spellbound (Alfred Hitchcock, 1945)

The facet of fragmented memory and amnesia act as perfect ammo for a suspenseful, mysterious thriller film, and there was no man more fascinated by this genre than director Alfred Hitchcock. The acclaimed British filmmaker thrived on creating characters that were never quite who they appeared to be on the surface, and Dr Anthony Edwardes in his 1945 feature Spellbound is a prime example.

Played rivetingly by Gregory Peck, Dr Edwardes – a brand new employee at a mental asylum in Vermont – is exposed as an imposter by his colleague Dr Peterson (Ingrid Bergman), who subsequently questions Edwardes about who he really is. Edwardes claims that he cannot remember, and after the authorities get hold of information that the real Dr Edwardes may have been murdered, Peck’s imposter character is forced to flee.

Spellbound proceeds to lead into analysis of suppressed memory, as Dr Peterson attempts to use her skills acquired in the mental asylum to unlock the mind of the imposter and reveal who he truly is. Including a dream sequence fashioned by no other than the pioneering surrealist Salvador Dali himself, Spellbound is a tense and thrilling adventure into the mysteries that lie within the depths of the human mind.

The movie is typical Hitchcock from beginning to end, and remains one of his finest suspense pieces across a long and fruitful career in filmmaking that generated some of the best films to ever beam out from the big screen.

7. Waltz With Bashir (Ari Folman, 2008)

The mind’s ability to bury disturbing memories into the subconscious in order to protect itself from trauma is a fascinating trait that’s worthy of intense cinematic portrayal and investigation. Waltz With Bashir explores this aspect of psychological repression first-hand, with director Ali Folman filming his own attempts to recapture lost memories of his time in the Israel Defence Forces during the Lebanon War in 1982.

If the intriguing, self-assessing documentary concept of Waltz with Bashir doesn’t seem enough to tempt you, then the glossy comic-book style animation of the movie will surely reel you in instead. A feast for the eyes that haunts the mind, Folman’s production style allows the director to take sharp turns into more surrealistic images that can be conjured up by the brain, all-the-while remaining in the investigative documentary genre.

Much like the condition of psychological repression, everything about Waltz with Bashir is incredibly unusual, but completely captivating nonetheless. Folman eventually makes discoveries about his buried past which do indeed turn out to be disturbing, forcing him to re-examine himself as a person right there on the screen in glorious, animated form.

Waltz with Bashir is an invigorating look at cinema’s capability as medium to recoup and reproduce images that might otherwise have been lost forever in the far corners of the mind, and deserves and demands to be seen by all.

6. Random Harvest (Mervyn LeRoy, 1942)

Adapted from the classic James Hilton novel in 1942, Random Harvest tells the tale of a former British soldier (Ronald Colman) a man whose mind has been scrambled after being subjected to horrific torture during WWI. After wandering away from his prescribed mental asylum he encounters singer Paula (Greer Garson) in a nearby town, with whom he eventually falls in love with and marries.

After being struck by a vehicle, Colman’s memory from before the war is somewhat restored, leading to a perplexing saga of strange revelations as he attempts to piece his life back together. Random Harvest takes endless amounts of twists and turns as Colman’s character proceeds to scratch his brain and jog his memory, and all the while his wife Paula attempts to win and retain his affection once again.

Random Harvest is a tender love and heartbreak movie interwoven with crippling memory loss. Considered by many to be a seminal amnesia movie that inspired classic identity crisis pictures in later years, it’s one of the more moving films about the human mind and emotion that you’re ever likely to see. It remains worthy of the many plaudits it received upon its original release, and is also deserving of the fondness that so many critics regard it with in the modern day.

Krzysztof Kieslowski had his most ambitious cinematic idea in 1988. And in December 1989 it became reality. An epic ten-hour production, resulting in ten films about the Ten Commandments. He called it “The Decalogue”.

On paper it looked unlikely that The Decalogue would reach even the most modest audience. Faced with distribution problems from day one, there remained legitimate concerns amongst the production team of the epic effort documenting the Ten Commandments about how they were going to sell ten hours of film to the general public. You’d need the patience of a Saint to sit in a cinema for over six-hundred straight minutes. But a compromise was offered, and The Decalogue was released for Polish television as ten independent productions – resulting in modest financial success and huge critical acclaim.

Kieslowski penned the series with Krzysztof Piesiewicz, originally intending for a different director to oversee each film for changes in tone and style. A single re-read of the completed scripts saw Kieslowski change his tune – ultimately refusing to surrender his material and opting to direct each film himself.

The Ten Commandments suggest absolute truths and clear-cut “don’ts”. But Kieslowski refuses this notion, bringing an agnostic approach to a deeply religious facet and allowing a wonderful, intriguing complexity to emerge from within the supposed concret rules for living. Each instalment appears to have a specific overarching commandment attached to it, yet other commandments occasionally overlap, interfere, and expose themselves as less black-and-white as they are originally on paper. The rules we are given to live by are not so simple – as neither humanity nor life is simple either.

Each of the films take place in and around a towering grey housing complex in Warsaw, with characters from other episodes bypassing one another in hallways or appearing momentarily in backgrounds. What this achieves is a sense of simultaneous connection and separation, hinting that all aspects of life remained entangled loosely together.

Poland has historically remained a site sandwiched between the crushing pincers of conflicting European powers – a point that Reni Celeste’s entitled “Poland’s Cinema of Collision” explores deeply. Kieslowski’s country has often been home to astonishing war and chaos, yet the director engages with his topics in a subtle, quiet manner that depicts a very different kind of conflict.

One of the defining motifs of Kieslowski’s film series is the reoccurrence of a young man played by Polish actor Artur Barciś. He appears in each instalment as a vague distant being, who observes the characters with a look of scorn. He occupies various forms, ranging from a homeless man in Decalogue I, to a construction worker in Decalogue V, to a bike rider in Decalogue IX.

He speaks no words, but as each film passes, he becomes completely fascinating. After taking in the first few chapters, as a viewer you begin to actively look for Barciś in each film. The other characters often return his gaze and seem to halt in their tracks. There’s something strangely hypnotic about him.

The Decalogue asks deep-meaning questions about life and human fate, and seeks to explore this interrogation through subtle conversation. Kieslowski offers no answers, and subsequently no apologies. It truly is a unique cinematic experience.

Kieslowski tragically died in 1996 after suffering a heart attacked at the tender age of just 54, but in The Decalogue he left behind a remarkable legacy that remains one of cinema’s greatest achievements. The following article will briefly analyse each section of The Decalogue, commenting on the different plots, themes, characters, and of course, commandments.

Decalogue I:

I Am The Lord Thy God; Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me

In the modern age of advanced technology, this first segment of Kieslowski’s Decalogue series perhaps radiates further poignancy than it did upon its creation. When the film completed production in the late eighties, personal computers were still considered as an admirable luxury. Nowadays it appears difficult to function in the working world without one. We lean worryingly heavily on these machines, and Decalogue I demonstrates the dangers of doing so.

The opening shot of the series is fittingly of Artur Barcis, who here adopts the role of a homeless man residing by an iced-over lake, nearby the bleak apartment blocks that Kieslowski goes on to so deeply explore. Barcis slowly looks around, before staring directly straight into the camera with the piercing stare that comes to define the catalogue of films.

After you have seen each film in The Decalogue (or even just a few of them) – go back and revisit this opening shot. After seeing the way in which Barcis stares with sad and judging eyes at the characters in each of the other segments, it is vastly unnerving witnessing him stare directly at you with the same expression. It’s enough to make you carefully consider the choices you’ll make in your life that day. And any film that can do that, is an example of wonderful cinema.

Barcis resurfaces in this episode when Krzysztof – a middle-aged intellectual University professor – goes to calculate the thickness of the ice based on his computer findings. Barcis simply stares at Krzysztof, who returns the tramp’s gaze but continues to deduce that the ice is indeed safe to skate on.

Several of the children in the Warsaw apartment block wish to skate on this ice in the evenings, and among them is Krzysztof’s son Pawel – who, like his father, is a computer genius. They use their family computer regularly, and even do so to determine the safety of weather conditions and the environment around them.

The overarching commandment for this first film is of course, “Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me”, as Krzysztof and Pawel take the word of technology over nature. Kieslowski was in fact an agnostic, and does not argue that God will punish us because we fail to adhere to one his rules. Rather, Kieslowski examines the fragility of complete faith, tragedy of coincidence and chance, and the general unpredictability of human life. There are no correct answers – not even from the advanced technological world. There is more to the circumstances of life than that.

Decalogue II:

Thou Shalt Not Take The Name Of The Lord In Vain

The Decalogue does not take long to complicate the issue of commandments overlapping with one another and achieving a sense of ambiguity. Indeed, Decalogue II incorporates the commandments of “Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery” and “Thou Shalt Not Kill”, along with its overarching commandment of “Thou Shalt Not Take the Name of the Lord In Vain”.

This second segment of The Decalogue follows a grumbling, elderly senior doctor, who is followed and eventually cornered by a panic-stricken and nervous-looking blonde woman. She reveals herself as Dorota, and begs the doctor to reveal the severity of her husband’s condition – as her spouse is based within the doctor’s hospital. He refuses. “Come back at hospital visiting hours” he tells her.

It is revealed that the doctor had lost his entire family during the war, and often recites these tales of woe to the lady who cleans his house. In the meantime, Dorota continues to ask for the doctor’s prognosis, eventually revealing that she is pregnant with another man’s child. Admitting that this is her last opportunity to have a child, she claims that she will keep the baby if her husband dies, but abort if her husband lives.

Dorota is a character constantly surrounded by the notion of death, and in some ways represents it herself. She only ever conveys the emotions of sadness and anger, and is always loitering and hovering around the doctor – much like death consistently hovers around us all, especially those of us who are elderly like the doctor himself.

In asking for death in each scenario, Dorota is attempting to play God. She attempts to place her fate in the hands of another human being, believing the doctor to be better suited due to his profession and emotional distance. She attempts to allow the doctor to dictate her fate and make decisions for her based on his diagnosis. But his diagnosis is exactly that. Nothing more than a human thought.

Like in Decalogue I – and throughout the series – Kieslowski emphasises that nothing can ever be ascertained as definite or certain. Life is unpredictable, complex and fragile. Nature will take its own course despite our human interference.

Decalogue III:

Remember The Sabbath Day, To Keep It Holy

A story of longing and lies, Decalogue III takes into consideration the issue of sinning on the Sabbath day (in this case, Christmas Eve), but also examines the commandment entitled “Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery”.

During Christmas Eve, a man named Janusz enters his apartment block dressed as Santa (crossing paths with Krzysztof from Decalogue I on his way in). An old flame of his named Ewa calls him up, asking to see him. Janusz is initially hesitant given his reluctance to re-engage in an affair, but when Ewa discusses how she cannot find her husband, he agrees to help her look – lying to his wife in the process and claiming that his car was stolen.

The film is concerned with the morality of Janusz spending adulterous time away from his wife and children on a night where family is most important. Yet it is also concerned with how Ewa has lost her own family, and desperately wants to find her husband more than anything else in the world.

Barcis stars here as a tram driver, who stares down at Janusz and Eva from his vehicle. Janusz drives directly towards Barics, but the mysterious character refuses to shift either his steely gaze or his tram, with Janusz being forced to swerve away at the last moment. This is symbolic of Janusz’s sins and guilty conscience staring him down, and his attempt to blast them away through an act of recklessness is shown as being utterly futile.

The two leads continue their search, and unsurprisingly, there are very few people around in the depths of the Warsaw night on Christmas Eve around for assistance. Many are sleeping, and those working the graveyard shifts are having to force themselves to stay awake. None of them appear to be truly interested in helping Eva and Janusz. It is as if they know that the search is pointless. And a stunning revelation from Ewa at the end of the film reveals why she and Janusz had really spent the night together after all.

Decalogue IV:

Honour Thy Father And Thy Mother

Decalogue IV depicts the relationship between a middle-aged man and his student daughter: showing what can happen when parental boundaries are broken.

It is not immediately obvious that Anka is Michal’s daughter. Whilst she is an attractive student, to consider Michal as her older partner, brother or cousin would not be unreasonable at first glance. He is noticeably older than her, but not significantly so. They also live together and play pranks one another like siblings or partners might.

During one of Michal’s frequent business trips, Anka tears open a letter addressed to her from her father, despite the specified instructions to only read it after his death. Inside is a further letter from her late mother; which apparently reveals some shocking information about Anka’s birth-parents, and upon Michal’s return, a complexity emerges between father and daughter.

A fight ensues, and as Anka lies sobbing on her bed, there is a shot of Michal looking down at her as children’s wind chimes rotate slowly behind his head. It resembles a baby’s point-of-view looking up at their parents from a cot – thus reflecting the nature of Michal’s fatherly relationship with Anka. She is in many ways still his little girl. Even during serious conversation about the nature of their relationship, she turns their talk into a child-like game – “Whoever’s candle goes out first, has to answer a question”.

There is a lot to be said for Anka being an actress. In some ways, she has been acting all her life; pretending to be someone else. This emerges in a more intricate manner once the story begins to unfold, and Kieslowski here dares to ask questions about the nature of relationships to demonstrate the complexity of the human condition. Michal and Anka have subconsciously suppressed difficult feelings toward one another, yet if Anka had honoured her father and mother’s promise and refrained from opening the letter – these subconscious emotions may never have surfaced or confronted.

Decalogue IV is another tale of circumstance and sin, again heading into a discussion of the extent to which we have control of our own lives; showing how making one simple decision or action has the ability to change a relationship forever.

Decalogue V

Thou Shalt Not Kill

Arguably the most famous film in the series, Decalogue V was taken and expanded into a feature-length production entitled “A Short Film About Killing” in 1988 – which was simultaneously scrutinised and critically acclaimed; sparking heated debate surrounding the issue of capital punishment in Poland.

Decalogue V is also one of the more narratively complex episodes of the series, featuring three key characters existing in separate narrative layers that eventually come to intertwine with one another. Amongst these three characters are a freshly-qualified lawyer named Piotr, a smug and seedy middle-aged Taxi driver named Waldemar, and a blonde-haired wanderer named Jacek.

Kieslowski dips Decalogue V in a sickly green filter, making the whole episode look ill and depraved. Every film in the Decalogue series encourages the audience to make their own assessments, but episode five differs in this respect – unapologetically reflecting Kieslowski’s fierce opposition to the death penalty. The scene in which Jacek repugnantly mashes a cream puff into his mouth with the crumbs catching around the corners of his mouth is an ugly sight, as is the shot of Waldermar leering after a young girl stretching as she works near his taxi rank.

Artur Barics is usually the only actively judgmental element within the Decalogue, with Kieslowski preferring to distance himself from his subject and allow it to breathe on its own. Whilst the condemning eyes of Barcis are present here (with him starring as a man with a measuring pole and ladder), the film is consciously unsightly from beginning to end – echoing the sickness that is capital punishment.

The episode lurches between the three key characters, showing Piotr’s joy at passing his bar exam, Waldemar picking and choosing his passengers for fares, and Jacek wandering the streets of Warsaw inflicting disorder and cruelty on undeserving citizens. The three come together when a brutal murder takes place – bringing in the commandment of Thou Shalt Not Kill. The killing itself is arguably the most shocking scene throughout the series of films; a seemingly everlasting attack with the victim begging for mercy.

Dorota from Decalogue II briefly appears in this episode, which is surely a conscious choice given how she as a woman wished for circumstances of death in both instances in terms of either her husband or her baby. It is an episode consumed by the theme of death, much like the character of Dorota herself.

There remain hundreds of talented avant-garde artists scattered all over the globe, but the list below can be recognised as comprising of key members that constitute the bedding of the cinematic underground, please note this list is ranked in no particular order.

1. Andy Warhol

A unique character in every sense of the word, Andy Warhol remains one of the most inimitable figures ever to pick up a paintbrush or camera. Conveying a curious demeanour and pasty complexion, Warhol specialised in the structural aspect of the American avant-garde, utilising a minimalist aesthetic and silent soundtrack to turn images of everyday America into exhibitions of art.

Warhol’s fixed camerawork enforced a meticulous examination of sexual explicitness that had been consciously repressed and unexplored in mainstream cinema before his arrival. But this unflinching exploration of a taboo subject was fitting in its aligned attitude with sixties America. It was a time where the youth of the USA engaged in sexual liberation.

Warhol veered in an opposite direction to those demanding a tighter grip on societal conduct, using a camera as a tool to dig deeper for an up-close-and-personal look at the taboo subject of sex that was oozing through freethinking America.

The likes of his 1963 film “Kiss” initially appears as intrusive in its unnerving refusal to turn away from two breathless lovers, but eventually emerges as a document of the beauty of human intimacy.

An even more controversial case in point is his scandalously titled picture “Blow Job”; which consists entirely of a static shot of young man DeVeren Bookwalter apparently receiving fellatio from an unseen participant. Bookwalter’s neck writhes and his eyes roll, but the camera remains resolutely static; enveloping the film in sexual ambiguousness. Is there even a sex act being performed at all?

Warhol also filmed a collection of portraiture cinema known simply as the “Screen Tests”, where he instructed a variety of individuals of all shapes and sizes to simply stare into his camera. The most captivating of these characters is a girl named Ann Buchanan, who attempts to return the unblinking gaze of the camera and ends up with tears streaming down her cheeks. The result is a captivating, tragic and beautiful piece of authentic filmmaking.

For all his experimental artistic efforts, Warhol’s 1964 production “Empire” remains arguably his most cryptic work. Lending a hand from one of the best-in-the-business in Jonas Mekas for the film’s cinematography, the completed effort documented over eight hours of footage of the iconic American landmark.

Shot at 16 frames per second, Warhol’s camera simply stares at the Empire State Building for an unwatchable amount of time – asking difficult questions about our patience as viewers and indeed as humans.

2. Luis Bunuel

Hailing from Spain but often associated with the early cinema of France, Luis Bunuel is a pioneering figure in the surrealist avant-garde movement of the 1920’s. A provocateur who thrived on maddening satire, Bunuel’s near fifty-year filmmaking career contained works that were often immersed in dream logic, were consistently controversial, and always much discussed.

In 1929, Bunuel joined forces with fellow surrealist Salvador Dali to launch a combined directorial effort named “Un Chien Andalou”, a film now universally recognised as one of the greatest pieces of world cinema ever made. Running for just fifteen-minutes, it is the first few moments of the film that have remained the most iconic, as a sitting woman calmly has her left eye stretched open and slit by a razor.

Outrageous in content and chaotic in chronology, “Un Chien Andalou” is the probably the best-known surrealist avant-garde film. To attempt to unpick it is a waste of time – with Bunuel purposely juxtaposing images against one another to allow for a nonsensical, violent contrast that recontextualises typical modes of both filmmaking and viewing.

A disturbing side-note shows that the two leads in the film both eventually committed suicide – one overdosing and one enacting self-immolation – providing “Un Chien Andalou” with an inadvertent corroboration of its already tragically bizarre aura.

Bunuel followed “Un Chien Andalou” with “L’Age d’Or” in 1930, a film that incited uproar and riots upon its release. The screenplay (also wrote by Dali) which underlined the hypocrisy of Catholicism is brought alive by surrealist techniques, with the story told in a series of maddening vignettes involving sex and violence.

Aside from the two aforementioned avant-garde gems made with Dali, Bunuel’s strikingly daring cinema is perhaps best exemplified by his surrealist documentary “Las Hurdes” – a travelogue that represents the poverty-stricken mountainous town of La Alberca in a peculiarly sensationalised way, underscored by an almost mocking tone.

Steeped in surrealist themes of death, disfigurement and dream-like qualities, the film was quickly banned by Spanish leader Francisco Franco for its hellish depiction of Spanish land. Bunuel seemingly killed at least two animals during its production; smothering a donkey in honey so it would be stung to death, and forcing a mountain goat to stumble off a high cliff.

Surrounded by copious amounts of controversy and conspiracy theories, there is even modern-day speculation that the whole documentary was completely fabricated.

It seems fitting that the greatest story about Bunuel remains one shrouded in scepticism. The story goes that after the premiere screening of “Un Chien Andalou”, the Spaniard positioned himself behind the screen with stones in his pockets, ready to pelt them at the angry mob that was sure to arise upon the screening’s conclusion. No fact about Bunuel is ever certain, but if that tale isn’t true; it ought to be.

3. Stan Brakhage

“I document the act of seeing” claimed Stan Brakhage; one of avant-garde’s most treasured assets since the inception of cinema. Born in Kansas City, Missouri, Brakhage’s influence on American experimental filmmaking stems from his documentation of an eye before language, and a desire to create an unmediated cinematic experience.

Brakhage created films that documented the pre-linguistic eye; a purer form of vision free from the baggage of language. For several of these productions, he didn’t even use a camera. Indeed, for Brakhage, the capability of the camera to see further was less interesting than the inner vision of the human eye.

He remained fascinated by the flashing lights and shifting patterns created when one rubs or presses on the eyelid, and attempted to recreate this closed-eye vision through film with the likes of “Eye Myth”, “Black Ice”, and “Rage Net”. Each of these films consist of incoherent streaking dots and spots; reconstructing the eye’s inner vision and putting it on screen.

Brakhage even went as far as to speculate on the vision of other beings, with his cameraless 1963 film “Mothlight” being an appropriate example. Brakhage described it as “what a moth might see from birth to death if black were white and white were black”.

Brakhage made the film by collecting moth wings, blades of grass and leaves and pressing them onto the film which was then fed through the projector. The result is a visceral experience of nature intertwined with cinema – a document of pure vision.

Aside from analysis of the impact of light on vision, Brakhage also sought to foreground our visceral responses to certain images that make us recoil before we have even acknowledged the meaning of the image itself. His 1971 documentary film “The Act of Seeing with One’s Own Eyes” highlights our physical response to such images, with Brakhage taking his camera into a morgue and filming a variety of autopsies in patient, silent and unblinking fashion.

A fearless examination of the human eyes and body, and the notion of subjectivity, the film contains a plentiful amount of utterly unforgettable images, and is the most enthralling cinematic experience that can never be recommended to anyone.

4. Rainer Werner Fassbinder

For a man who lived at a pace of a thousand-miles-an-hour, Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s tragic passing was one of staggering contrast in its unobtrusive repose. The capricious king of New German cinema lived and breathed film – directing, screenwriting, producing and acting in 40 productions in 14 years before his tragic passing at the tender age of 37; quietly slipping away alone in his room after a typical night of drink and drugs that had become his standard diet.

Fassbinder stood shoulder to shoulder with Werner Herzog in his contribution to New German cinema of the seventies; often taking the movement into new, fascinating experimental directions.

A larger than life character with a relentless work ethic, Fassbinder’s collection of strangely mesmerising cinema included “The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant” and “World on a Wire”, but his style truly came to fruition with 1974’s “Fear Eats the Soul”. Inspired by Douglas Sirk’s melodrama “All That Heaven Allows”, the film tells a tale of unlikely romance between Moroccan labourer Ali, and 60-year-old widower Emmi.

Stilted and strange, “Fear Eats the Soul” is full of stretched-out moments of silence and endless stares of judgement from other characters as Ali and Emmi share quiet instants with one another. Fassbinder’s framing becomes a character in itself, whilst the murky mise-en-scene portrays a continuously uneasy atmosphere. Bold and powerful, yet also darkly humorous, “Fear Eats the Soul” remains one of Fassbinder’s greatest pieces of work.

It is admirable that Fassbinder’s later efforts showed no sign of a slide in class, with “Lola”, “Veronika Voss” and “The Marriage of Maria Braun” resembling the striking quality that he had churned out since his first feature film “Love is Colder than Death” in 1969. One of cinema’s most exhaustingly intrepid characters, Rainer Werner Fassbinder remains a key figure in the history of avant-garde film.

5. Chantal Akerman

If there were ever a women’s cinema, then “Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles” is it. A pivotal work with regards to the role of women in cinema and society, “Jeanne Dielman” topples three hours of running time in a 48-hour depiction of a widowed mother and a life entrenched in domesticity.

Resolutely structural cinematography and patient editing frame the eponymous character’s life of household routine in a distinct cinematic space unlike anything before it, and the film put young female director Chantal Akerman on the map.

Originally from Belgium, Akerman moved to New York at the age of just 21, and after releasing “Jeanne Dielman” went on to project her life in the city through her film “News from Home”; a perfect example of the personal filmmaking. It’s a piece that demands viewer patience, but is ultimately enormously rewarding.

“News from Home” consists entirely of static long shots of grubby seventies New York City – streets, doorways, subway carriages and platforms – with Akerman reading aloud letters from her mother over the imagery. Her static camera is often regarded with second-glances and suspicion by passers-by.

Whilst in reality these citizens are simply wondering what Akerman is doing with her camera, the effect it creates is one of alienation. These New Yorkers appear to be looking at her with unfamiliarity; she feels acutely aware of her foreign heritage.

Yet, as the content of the letters becomes more distant, the soundtrack of the streets gets louder. By the film’s conclusion, the roaring subway train drowns out her mother’s words – reflecting how Akerman has made a significant shift away from her roots and been immersed by the culture of her new city. Even the camerawork becomes a little more fluid, with one segment filmed from the window of a moving taxicab to resemble a lateral tracking shot: a rare departure from the film’s static camerawork.

“News from Home” – much like “Jeanne Dielman” – is so simple and serene, yet so dense and zoetic. To achieve such powerful effects from such minimalistic imagery is hugely admirable, and Akerman is a vital member of the avant-garde whose filmmaking deserves great attention.

In many Western circles, animated film is fundamentally affiliated with child-friendly films spawned by the likes of Disney and Pixar. From Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to Toy Story, the capability of animation to portray imaginative worlds in imaginative ways has enriched childhoods for several generations.

Of course, animation has not been limited to Disney nor to children, and many of the greatest stories told through cinematic drawing have arisen in the East as well. The likes of Hayao Miyazaki and Katsuhiro Otomo have created absorbing dramas and adventures that breathe through animated images, telling tales for both children and adults alike. Yet, this article does not go on to catalogue some of the high-status animated world features, but rather the cornered-off, darkly-drawn exceptions.

Beneath every kind of aesthetic surface exists a dirty underbelly; and animated film is no exception. Perhaps the main difference is that when animation does dare to rear an ugly uncensored head, it is all-the-more intimidating given its typical tie with innocence.

What follows is a selection of films that convey an astonishing distance between image and content. Films that muddle the bright connotations of animation and provide a disturbing alternative. For those seeking an often unexplored sidebar of cinema, this list can act as a push into pastures new; a peek at cult productions that are destined to linger on the fringes of common culture following mainstream critical backlash.

On the other hand, for those who get a little green around the gills when censorship is submerged, this list could act as a gentle caution. Cartoons aren’t always cuddly.

10. Animal Farm (1954)

For many, George Orwell’s literary classic Animal Farm will need little introduction. A bold political allegory wrapped in farmyard packaging, Orwell’s best-known novel (aside from perhaps ‘Nineteen-Eight-Four’) is given an eye-catching lick of paint in this adaptation by John Halas and Joy Batchelor.

Never wandering too far away from its literary origins – save for an ending that opts for vicious revenge rather than a slow descent into hopelessness – this 1954 animation serves to capture Orwell’s Stalinism satire with aplomb.

From the snorts and scoffs of the subtly tyrannical pigs to the whimpers of other confused animals, the film provides the classic text with some haunting audio and imagery – including vibrant stills of countryside and shadowy corners of corruption where shady doings take place. Covered in school classes all over the world, Animal Farm is a dark and disturbing cinematic adaptation of a classic dystopian read.

9. The Brave Little Toaster (1987)

Disney manages to dance its way onto this list of dark and disturbing animated films with The Brave Little Toaster; a 1987 adaptation of Thomas M Disch’s novel written seven years prior.

Disney have rarely been averse to daubing their films with dark moments – Dumbo’s drunk hallucinations, Bambi’s fallen mother, and Mufasa’s trampling in the Lion King to name a few. But Jerry Rees’ directorial effort surpasses the fleeting nature of Disney tragedy; smoothing out a selection of dark-themed foundations that underlie the cartoon for its duration.

A set of aging electrical appliances including a vacuum, blanket, lamp, radio and toaster are forced to venture into the wilderness to find their master, all-the-while having to convince themselves that their former owner has not left them in his old home to rust.

Filmed in a scratchy television style, The Brave Little Toaster employs a variety of disturbing surface aesthetics that threaten to shock younger viewers – including an air conditioning unit blowing itself up and a nightmare sequence where a clown-like demon leers over the top of the little toaster himself.

The film even intermittently dabbles in sexual innuendo. Yet the real disconcerting nature of the film stems from its themes of abandonment, resentment, anger, age, and becoming obsolete. Whilst the novel’s finale sees the appliances venture on to a new owner, the film’s ending takes a more child-friendly turn that brings the story full circle back to the original master. It’s welcome relief from an unsettling tale.

8. Felidae (1994)

An adaptation of the 1989 novel of the same name, Felidae is a grisly German neo-noir film with the audacity to parade as cat-themed cartoon. Opening with deceitful tranquillity as a gentle Boy George song floats over the opening credits, Felidae doesn’t take long to shake its association with typical animation.

The protagonist is an intelligent cat named Francis, who narrates the dark tale and goes on to warn viewers – “This is my story. And it ain’t gonna be pretty”. The story begins with Francis moving into a new neighbourhood, and immediately discovering a cat corpse in the backyard. More bodies soon appear, and after acquiring the help of a rugged local feline named Bluebeard, Francis goes about attempting to find the perpetrator.

The animation is striking, and cat-like mannerisms are captured with admirable accuracy as the animals slink about the screen in lifelike fashion. This level of rich detail is however also employed during bouts of brutal violence, terrifying dream sequences, and even a coarse sexual encounter between Francis and a seductive female cat.

Littered with four-letter language and clips of carnage, the film is intriguing as a murder mystery, but astonishing in its cartoon cruelty. A scene in which dismembered cats dangle from strings alone is enough to burn its way into the brain forever. The film plays a little like David Fincher’s ‘Se7en’, and that in itself should be enough to scare away certain audiences.

7. Fritz the Cat (1972)

Ralph Bakshi’s Fritz the Cat probably belongs in another dimension. Based on the comic strip originally compiled by Robert Crumb, this animated adaptation is a film steeped in vulgarity from beginning to end. Consciously crude and purposely puerile throughout, Fritz the Cat has – in the words of film critic Vincent Canby – “something to offend everyone”.

Whilst the racial slurs and foul language aren’t so much disturbing as they are politically incorrect, scenes of colourful cartoon cats using drugs and having sex in a bathtub are enough to send the lower jaw bone crashing through the floor. Aside from its X-rated escapades themselves, perhaps Fritz’s most gape-inducing asset is its smugness with which it enacts its exploitation.

The eponymous star feline leads the way, nonchalantly performing acts of debauchery that fill each colourful frame. The plot, if you can call it that, sees Fritz leave behind his boring life to embark on an adventure that involves heroin, rape, theft, and violence. Some will find Fritz the Cat funny.

Some will be outraged. Many will be stunned. But most will agree that it remains one of the most unusually dark animated films of all time, and thoroughly deserves its place on this list if nothing else.

6. The Plague Dogs (1982)

Richard Adams and Martin Rosen teamed up for a second time in 1982 to form an animated version of The Plague Dogs; originally a novel that Adams had written five years after Watership Down. The film tells the tale of two dogs named Rowf and Snitter, who manage to escape from an animal-testing facility and away from the evil “white-coats” who subject them to endless torture.

Out in the open they meet a cunning Geordie fox named ‘The Tod’. “Stick wi’ me and we’ll all be champion” the fox tells them. But the cruel realities of being a stray soon catch up with the dogs, and as time wears on and food becomes scarce, they are forced to tear any animal they see limb from limb just for something to eat. Eventually they are even forced to feed on a human corpse. The dogs’ feral behaviour raises an alarm in the countryside, and before long the “white-coats” are out to recapture their old animals.

Covering a wide range of themes including media morality and mass societal panic, The Plague Dogs is an undeniably difficult watch. As the dogs scamper through the wilderness, Snitter is occasionally reduced to howls and hallucinations (following his exposure brain surgery back at the facility), allowing the film to occasionally substitute the cold, bleak landscape for cryptic noir dream sequences.

The whole picture remains wrapped in an impenetrable cloak of despairing sounds; from the desperate pant of Rowf as he’s submerged under water for survival tests, to the chilling scrape of a shovel that scoops up the dead animals who’ve succumbed to the cruelty. It cuts close to the bone in more ways than one, casting a very real ugliness across the film for its duration.

A tale of tragic circumstance told with sophistication and intelligence, it manages to raise several vital issues before arriving at its ambiguous ending, and threatens to repulse and shock viewers of all shapes, age and sizes.

Some of his pictures resemble a modest and benign exterior, oozing quality as they ebb on, whereas other productions adopt a chaotic and innovative appearance to present the audience with incredibly unique viewing experience. Linklater is the advocate, or perhaps pioneer, of the slacker ethos – promoting the act of slacking not as an unproductive and wasteful activity, but one of creativity and pure thought. His cinema has provided the acts of observation and quiet interrogation with an essence of intellect that cannot be rivalled, and the following presents a list of some of his best work to date.

1. Slacker (1991)

The rumblings amongst the independent film scene during 1991 caused by one of Linklater’s first cinematic efforts named Slacker can be seen in hindsight as a significant sign of things to come. The unorthodox style and attitude of Slacker immediately turned heads in the underground filmmaking community upon its release, and can be seen as the benchmark film to which the form of many of Linklater’s follow-up efforts can be traced. The swirl of intrigue caused by Slacker stemmed from the way in which Linklater directed, wrote and starred in a film that appeared to break textbook rules; defying Film 101 in its refusal to remain with a certain set of characters; instead casually ambling on to take in different people in different places.

Slacker’s exclusive quality is its refusal to commit to character-building rules; not neglecting any of the cast, but simply observing them for a certain amount of time before shifting elsewhere. A whole host of colourful characters are watched, including an anarchist, a conspiracy theorist, a taxi passenger (Linklater himself) and a hippy; all discussing a variety of subjects such as social issues, politics, and life itself. Linklater took the casual, meandering, eavesdropping style of Slacker and incorporated it into the likes of Dazed & Confused and Waking Life later in his career, and its elongated dialogue came to be recognised as his own personal cinematic stamp.

Indeed, whilst Slacker stands alone as a curiously compelling filmic experiment; for those looking into Linklater as a filmmaker it is essential viewing. Not only does it establish the director’s filmic roots, but it is also demonstrative of his skill and style even in his relative inexperience. The film has gone on to influence the likes of other filmmakers (Kevin Smith has often made reference to its inspiration), and can be considered a valuable nugget of independent filmmaking.

2. Dazed & Confused (1993)

In a similar vein to his first feature Slacker, Linklater’s 1993 teenage biopic Dazed & Confused flits plotlessly across a plethora of teenagers on the last day of school, watching their behaviour and listening to their conversations. Carelessly drifting through one afternoon and night; the film has an aimlessness about itself that is echoed in the behaviour of its teenage protagonists. A bushy-haired Ben Affleck stars as an obnoxious bully, and Matthew McConaughey features as a slimy southerner, but the real star here is Wiley Wiggins, playing a freshman who – after the standard paddling initiation procedure – is taken under the wings of the graduates, looking up to them with bright and hopeful eyes throughout.

A sincere snapshot of young life in seventies America, Dazed & Confused is both refreshing and liberating in its refusal to simply exploit teenagers as props for cringe-worthy sex-disasters like many other films about adolescents so often do. The film portrays an accurately wide variety of teen personalities – some dumb, some intelligent, some angry, some laidback – but has time for them all. Declining to poke fun at puberty, yet refusing to become bogged down in nostalgia either, Dazed & Confused simply exists as an intimate observation of a memorable mark on the timeline of a teen – the end of the academic year.

For some it’s the last day of high school forever, for others it is just beginning. But Linklater’s film doesn’t yearn for or regret these years, it simply relives them as they were; days of existing between childhood and adulthood; unsure of the future, unsure of themselves, unsure of how to behave – simply dazed and confused.

3. The Before Trilogy – Before Sunrise/Before Sunset/Before Midnight (1995, 2004, 2013)

Richard Linklater’s ‘Before’ trilogy covers three films, spans eighteen-years, follows two people, takes place in three separate countries, earned two Academy Awards, and contains countless amounts of conversation. Inspired in its satisfaction to simply sit and listen to an intellectual and good-natured man and woman conversing with one another, the Before series grows with its characters – depicting young hope, blossoming love and search for self-discovery and content.

The two leads of Jesse and Celine are played wonderfully by Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy respectively, who have terrific chemistry right across the series. The first act of Before Sunrise shows how they meet; sharing the same train ride through Europe. An instantaneous, quirky chemistry pushes them along into the lounge car together, where they get to know one another and their nervous smiles turn gain warmth and affection.

They discuss and reflect, politely exchanging obligatory questions before delving deeper into one another’s lives, steadily and unhurriedly learning more about the other, and also themselves. Jesse convinces Celine to alight with him in Vienna, and the two share a remarkable night together wandering around the city. As their time runs out, the two agree to preserve the night’s perfection in their refusal to switch information, instead agreeing to meet at the same place six months later.

Before Sunset reveals that this encounter never occurred, but Jesse and Celine do meet again nine year later in Paris; both not entirely fulfilled by their lives and still deeply nostalgic about their shared night in Vienna. Before Midnight signals a significant third chapter as the two are married with twin girls, yet their ideas of fantasy and stimulating conversation remain ever-present.

The intelligence of the series lies in its identification of perfect imperfections, unanswerable questions and desire to understand the notion of soul-mate or significant other. Linklater’s meandering style is reflected in the couple’s aimless strolls through European cities; and each instalment in the Before trilogy depicts a strange beauty and happiness in walking and talking. Even making an appearance in a scene in Waking Life, Jesse and Celine are some of the most richly drawn characters in Linklater’s cinematic world.

4. Waking Life (2001)

One of his most thought-provoking films to date, Waking Life sees Richard Linklater at his most philosophical, his most curious, and arguably his best. Through application of interpolated rotoscoping – a technique involving filming as usual followed by animation drawn over the top of this footage – Waking Life achieved a breakthrough in animated cinema. With this film, Linklater attempts to capture the essence of dream state whilst pondering life; creating a new world that defies ideas of conventional filmic direction and space.

An unnamed protagonist played by Wiley Wiggins moves between a wide variety of settings and philosophical conversations with academics and intellectuals, never knowing where he is going or why he is going there, all-the-while seemingly unable to wake up from a never-ending dream. Each philosophical interrogation in Waking Life has no one true answer, but rather multiple possible answers; allowing for a fluidity that matches appropriately to the style of animation; with every aspect within the frame being both fluid and constantly in flux.

An absolutely unique viewing experience that draws on the style of Slacker, the approach of Dazed & Confused and the contemplative nature of Before Sunrise, Waking Life even goes as far as to reintroduce previous Linklater characters; with Wiggins possibly a graduated and grown-up version of the teen from Dazed & Confused, and Before characters Jesse and Celine even making an appearance. Of course, they may not be who we think they are. The film is engulfed in a woozy vagueness that ensures nothing is ever certain. Waking Life is an area of unlimited possibility and astonishing interest, hypnotising in its refusal to be categorised and one of the most interesting cinematic experiences offered by one of America’s most interesting directors.

5. Tape (2001)

Based entirely within a Michigan hotel room, Tape runs like a play and looks like a nineties home video. A far-cry from typical Linklater film on its surface, the film comes to simulate the director’s idealised style as it wears on; becoming consumed by deep-meaning dialogue. Resisting the aspect of queasy handheld camera, Linklater retains the washed-out aspect of camcorder filming but accompanies it with a steady hand, allowing for an unblinking eye that inexorably pins the characters between the hotel walls.

Starring just three performers, Tape tells the tale of Vince (Ethan Hawke), a scatty drug-dealer from Oakland who has checked into the room to come and support his high-school friend Jon (Robert Sean Leonard), an aspiring director whose first film is due to screen in a festival the next morning. Jon arrives at the room to thank Vince for his support, and as the two begin to reminisce about life, it is clear that an unaddressed elephant resides in the room.

They eventually arrive on the topic of Amy (Uma Thurman) who arrives in the film’s final third, and it is revealed that both men have a history with her. What everything boils down to is a tape that Vince has secretly made, a recording that threatens to change their lives forever. Vince seems a little sneaky on first-viewing, but cunningly prepared in retrospect. And that’s what makes Tape so impressive. Everything is decisively in the moment, so much so that there is no time to guess what comes next, let alone consider it.

The growth of these characters within the real-time context of ninety-minutes is incredible; a variety of emotions and accusations fly around the room, continually changing the attitudes of both the audience and the characters themselves. Linklater’s soft-zooms and whip-pans sustain the pressure and tension put forth by the absorbing knife-edge dialogue, which is exerted superbly by each of the performers.

Linklater has utilised Hawke in a variety of roles throughout his career, but the actor really excels himself here, giving an astonishingly natural performance with first-rate delivery. Thurman shifts from innocent to icy, and Leonard’s portrayal of a pretentious director looking-down on his old friend is both authentic and skilful. Tape is a story about determining the past, and the ramifications this will have for the future, but the film’s execution remains resolutely in the present: spontaneous, happening and authentic.

Any mention of the Prison film, and minds and mouths both immediately wander toward The Shawshank Redemption. The Green Mile is also often mentioned, and even Silence of the Lambs gets a frequent nod. And whilst all obviously remarkable movies, a common trait amongst them remains their American production. Hollywood’s manufacture rate of the prison film appears to be vastly superior to that of many other countries, and American cinema does seem to be a natural place to turn to for images of incarceration.

However, closer scrutiny reveals quality penal system pictures as lying closer to home than one might expect. Whilst not necessarily given the same exposure that the likes of Morgan Freeman’s and Tom Hanks’s flicks got, a commendable amount of engrossing prison pictures exist as productions of the United Kingdom. This list points out the best Brit-pics of the prison genre, revealing how one needn’t necessarily ask Hollywood for entertaining observations of the inside after all.

15. Porridge (1979)

No list of British prison films would be complete without Porridge, the feature film form of the classic ‘70’s incarceration TV series comedy. Often pejoratively associated with the tragic death of Richard Beckinsale who died just weeks after its completion, Porridge is in fact a comfortingly chucklesome British comedy, with familiar comedic face Ronnie Barker in wisecracking top form.

Anchored by a head-smackingly silly plot where the prisoners plan to break out of their cells and then break back in again, Porridge on the big screen picks up where its television predecessor left off, serving as a staunchly British slice of dry and self-deprecating wit that pokes fun of the penal system. A football match within prison walls provides further opportunity for some amusing slapstick and banter, and Porridge offers a rare example of a film that works in spite of how it’s aged: they don’t make light-hearted looks at prison like this anymore.

14. Chicken Run (2000)

This selection may understandably raise a few eyebrows on first inspection, but a closer look at this stop-motion animation reveals Chicken Run as delightful burst of fresh comedic air into a genre otherwise logically immersed in doom and gloom. Peter Lord and Nick Park use their animative talent to assemble a rabble of feeble-minded foul who turn to the idealistic chicken named Ginger for ideas of an escape plan from the wicked Mrs Tweedy – who as the lead farmer essentially embodies an unrelentingly evil prison warden.

Ginger’s capability to foil the warden’s adorably dumb husband is consistently thwarted at the last hurdle, and when cocky and suave rooster Rocky (voiced by Mel Gibson) mistakenly stumbles into the chicken yard, they believe him to be the answer to complete escape.

Whilst following a predicable zero-to-hero-and-back-again pattern, Chicken Run’s gobbling wit ensures for an unflappably entertaining film; striking a delightful chord between prison satire and family comedy.

13. Longford (2006)

Longford is not simply a picture of a the leader of the House of Lords who worked closely with convicts for much of his life, but also a demonstration of how one of Britain’s greatest monsters Myra Hindley continued to damage lives even when placed behind bars; twisting the only remaining outstretched hand left for her, and rocking a man’s previously unquestionable faith in humanity and good. A resolutely religious man, Lord Longford made it his duty to visit offenders in order to improve their human rights and contribute to their rehabilitation, and Tom Hooper’s film tells the tale of his particularly startling visitations of the perpetrators of the Moors Murderers.

Jim Broadbent embodies Lord Longford with venerable dexterity, capturing the Lord’s flopping movements and speech impediment perfectly. The prison dialogue here is not of typical jail profanity and despair, but assistance and compromise, and the conversations that take place in dank visiting rooms between Hindley and Longford are absorbing not just for their surprising politeness and reason, but also for the way in which the Lord partakes in them with genuine pleasure.

Samantha Morton deservedly scooped a Golden Globe for her courageously humanising portrayal of history’s most vilified British woman, applying a plain face to the very definition of evil. Andy Serkis is also sickeningly sinister as Ian Brady; Hindley’s frightening partner-in-crime who’s reflected as having showed not a shred of remorse.

A particularly powerful scene sees Longford go to visit Brady; with the bumbling, doddering Lord eventually adopting the form of a tiny frightened animal in the evil Scot’s company. Brady gives the Lord a treacly growl of a warning; “Myra will destroy you”.

Lord Longford’s eccentric conduct contributed to popular opinion that he remained culturally inconversant and alarmingly naïve. Perhaps he was. But Longford as a film also shows the Lord as a man who went to enormous lengths to alter the penal system in his unflinching belief that nobody is beyond redemption. Originally released for television and available to watch online, Longford is British prison film at its quietly bold best.

12. The Escapist (2008)

Released in 2008 and receiving a small cluster of awards, The Escapist earns its place amongst the greats of British prison film for providing an idiosyncratic kick to the otherwise textbook escape-plan pic. The film centres on life prisoner Frank (Brian Cox), an aging man with glazed eyes and concrete features, utterly resigned to spending a life behind bars, until one day he receives a letter alerting him to the fact that his estranged daughter is dangling by a thread following an overdose.

This disastrous news breeds new life into Frank, who decides he must get out and make amends with his daughter before it’s too late. He sets about carefully assembling a crew for a breakout, and inevitable twists and turns occur as he progresses. Two parallel running narratives – one of planning the escape, the other of the escape itself – see frequent shot-switches from the plotting-up to the ploughing-out, with use of some sharp editing and tricky camerawork all the way.

As with many other films in the genre, The Escapist is far from a love letter to incarceration: the jail here being both abnormal and menacing in its appearance and occupants. The guards are all dressed up with no place to go, serving as no more than watchful eyes, with a hulking pasty red-top called Rizza being the real runner of the prison; overseeing the inmates with a smirk and a sneer.

Frank quietly goes about his business whilst the prisoners holler and yelp all around him, taunting new inmates and gambling on anything from ant races to boxing matches between the convicts. Director Rupert Wyatt’s style ensures for a gripping finale, and as the clock ticks past 90-minutes, The Escapist reveals a devious extra layer that the prison movie in general rarely achieves.

11. Everyday (2012)

A typically meticulous portrait from Michael Winterbottom, Everyday depicts the ever-dependable Jon Simm as a father-of-three who’s been put behind bars for five years. Filmed over a real time period of the same length, the film achieves an unrivalled sense of authenticity for the British prison movie; crafting a study of a jail-stretch that exposes time as a curious aspect of life.

Its purposely plodding pace may alienate some, and there are several threads left hanging amidst the storyline (what Simm’s character Ian actually does to end up behind bar is never explicitly stated for one thing), but the more patient viewer will be rewarded with a collection of wonderful performances from a cast who seep sincerity throughout. Winterbottom portrays prison as a place of dismal routine – even boredom. But the quivering lips, tired eyes and defeated demeanour of Simm are subtle signs that the off-screen slammer is an unforgivable environment that threatens to tear this family apart.

Shirley Henderson plays the exhausted mother who is forced to bundle the kids onto undesirable amounts and forms of public transport to visit the locked up father, and as the film jumps in time, seeing the children genuinely growing contributes superbly to the desire for natural documentation of quietly frustrated family and their muted suffering. Whilst dotted with heart-wrenching montages of brief re-unity during day releases, Everyday largely remains committed to establishing a strongly social-realist setting, with a slow and steady scrutiny of a criminal’s worst enemy: Time.

10. Tomorrow La Scala! (2002)

First screened at Cannes in 2002, Francesca Joseph’s Tomorrow La Scala incorporates high art into low culture, as opera invades prison walls with a production company putting on a show of Sweeney Todd. Neat, tidy, and portraying a wide range of emotions much in the vein of sing and dance itself, Tomorrow La Scala is a refreshing alternative to the prison pic in its belief of recuperation in convicts through productive activity.

Tricky to track down and uneven on occasion, Joseph’s depiction of prison-time drawn from her own experiences during a stint working behind bars may admittedly not be for everyone. But for those seeking something a little off-centre, Tomorrow La Scala is an appealing digression from the unrelenting negativity that understandably reverberates around so many prison pictures, mixing characters from the outside with those on the inside to create an thought-provoking prison melting pot that’s stirred by song and dance, giving convicts a flavour of art.

9. The Criminal (1960)

Occasionally known as The Concrete Jungle, particularly in the States, Joseph Losey’s 1960 prison drama is an unabashedly bitter and cruel examination of life inside four walls, encapsulating the anger and resentment of prison life with astute dialogue and sharp performances. Starring Stanley Baker as tough-nut Johnny Bannion who’s been around the block, the film occasionally boils over into all-out chaos, and the violent disarray that ensues invited several criticisms and censorship issues during its time of release.

Losey’s inside-look at the criminal underworld is fittingly unforgiving, matching the malicious attitudes of those who inhabit the prison. Filled with petty crooks, an obligatory stuffy and snide prison governor and bursts of violence, The Criminal arguably set the bar and tone for the likes of even tougher British prison dramas such as Scum, which sought to remove the gentlemanly element that resonates throughout Losey’s picture and replace it with animalistic energy instead. Essential viewing for fans of Losey’s work and indeed the prison genre itself, The Criminal caused a stir upon its original release, and ought to even when viewed in today’s climate.