A chilling crime drama unfolding under Melbourne’s blazing skies, David Michôd’s film comes on like the Aussie answer to Goodfellas. The central thread is not dissimilar, after all, following an innocent who reaches the inside of a ruthless family operation only to discover it’s not so easy to get out. Here it’s seemingly malleable teenager James Frecheville in the lion’s den after his mother takes a heroin overdose and he’s left in the care of his grandma (Jackie Weaver, unforgettable), who goes by the benign nickname of Smurf but is closer to Lady Macbeth than some Antipodean soap-opera matriarch. Her sons are successful armed robbers eagerly sought by the city’s cops, and she will do anything to keep them safe. It’s bad news for the vulnerable ‘J’ when devious Detective Leckie (Guy Pearce) starts to turn his head. Brooding, ominous and brilliantly composed, this warrants the Scorsese comparisons, but, if anything, stands up as the best Michael Mann movie in years. (Notes by Trevor Johnston).