Back in the 1950s the Zurich underground club Der Kreis was a rare beacon of tolerance of homosexuality in Europe. Fitting then that Swiss director Stefan Haupt’s drama-documentary of the same name, The Circle (****), won this year’s Teddy award at the Berlinale, in the documentary category: the Teddies have been going since 1987, making them no less of a pioneer in the gay world, their brief to acknowledge and support LGBT cinema from around the world.

Not the least remarkable thing about Richard Linklater's Boyhood is its being shot over a decade – that’s probably a first in film history. And it’s more than a sociological experiment, portraying in vibrant contemporary detail and a lot of observational fun the growing-up in Texas of a little boy, Mason, which will surely have an extraordinary impact on the life of the actor, Ellar Coltrane, who played him. It must be a bit like having a red carpet rolled out for you before you know the meaning of or have ever uttered the words “acting”, “award” and “celebrity”.

French-Canadian Robert Lepage is a clever theatre inventor and tireless dramatist. This includes film, though with much less frequency than his stage pieces. The latter have refined themselves into films that are not going to get people running off the street but which are never less than thoughtful – and that is part of the problem. His stage imagination, so flexibly at work in The Dragons’ Trilogy and The Far Side of the Moon (which also became a film), wreaks endless visual and sonic surprises, and also allows itself to probe, three-dimensionally, philosophically.

Pretty well the last film in the current array of Oscar hopefuls to reach Britain is also (in my view, anyway) the best. That's saying something as we gear up for an Academy Awards ceremony paying tribute to the strongest selection of nominees filmdom has fielded in an age. But even to talk about Spike Jonze's Her in this way seems tantamount to cheapening it by way of commodification, when the truth is that this quietly devastating, achingly moving film seems to come from a private and privileged place all its own.

Back at the Venice Biennale in 2010, the German film director Wim Wenders showed a 3D video installation titled “If Buildings Could Talk”.

The makers of 8 Minutes Idle have a kickstarter campaign to thank for the cinema release of their offbeat comedy, which was made in 2012 but has sat on the shelf since. It's a charming (perhaps knowingly so) low-budget romcom, adapted from his novel of the same title by Matt Thorne with Nicholas Blincoe, and directed with a light touch by Mark Simon Hewis.

Stellan Skarsgård is having a good Berlinale. The veteran Swedish actor proved the main calming influence in Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac Volume One (***), which the Berlin festival screened as a world premiere in the director’s version, running at 145 minutes. That’s about 25 minutes more than the UK will be seeing from 21 February, when both parts of the work will be released.

The British romcom is in crisis. Once a pretty reliable source of charm and laughs, these films channelled the spirit of the UK's reliably brilliant sitcoms through the silver screen. Our romantic comedies can be great because we hold no truck with cheesy romance; moments that could be mawkish are undercut by self-deprecation, calamity and even politics. See Hugh Grant's bumbling speech in Four Weddings, the polemical Brassed Off, or Shaun of the Dead which gave us romance with added zombies.

However, recent efforts The Decoy Bride, Not Another Happy Ending, I Give It a Year and About Time have been plain disappointments or mixed bags. Into this climate of prevailing mediocrity comes Cuban Fury - a film with energy, good gags, no time for sentimentality and talent to burn. And still...

Cuban Fury is a film in which a fat chap dances his way into his hot boss's heart and has all the surprises and subtlety that suggests. Nick Frost plays Bruce Garrett, whose childhood history as a champion salsa dancer, bullied into discarding his passion, is unpacked in the time it takes to rattle through the opening credits. We join Bruce in his late thirties to find him overweight, stuck in a romantic rut and working at a firm specialising in industrial machinery. His colleagues are the amusingly indifferent Helen (an underused Alexandra Roach) and the sociopathically obnoxious Drew (Chris O'Dowd).

Bruce's spirits are lifted by the arrival of new manager Julia (Rashida Jones, pictured right) - and when he finds out she salsas, well then it's back on with the dancing shoes. Ian McShane is interestingly cast as a curmudgeonly dance teacher with whom Bruce reconnects, with Olivia Colman reliably lovely as Bruce's excitable sister and Kayvan Novak camping it up as a fellow salsa enthusiast.

Sitcom director James Griffiths's feature debut takes its cue from the energy and visual humour of Edgar Wright but - though his film zips along and is further enlivened by its dance sequences, including a bizarre and entertaining car park dance-off - visually it feels highly derivative, like a poor relation of the aforementioned's Cornetto trilogy. Jon Brown (Misfits and Fresh Meat), who pens the script, proves himself a competent gags man but the plot is hugely predictable, rushed and sometimes illogical (the unprepared-for final dance competition had me slapping my head).

In addition, one of the most frustrating aspects of Cuban Fury is that it moans about how beautiful women are too superficial to find men like Bruce desirable, but fails to acknowledge that, for a long time at least, Bruce has based his infatuation with Julia solely on her looks. And that's what it comes across as, an infatuation - there isn't much in the way of getting to know her, so when Bruce for example compiles a mix-tape, or turns up at Julia's flat it looks extremely creepy and you'll be willing her to get the funk out of there.

This is a story told from a male protagonist's perspective, granted, but it's still a shame that the female lead wasn't allowed much of a personality, especially given Jones' effervescent charm (see Parks and Recreation and the self-penned Celeste & Jesse Forever - much better platforms for her considerable comedic gift). But if Griffiths's first film is significantly flawed, it's far from awful with the likeable cast papering over some pretty hefty cracks to keep things predominantly amusing. Cuban Fury is undemanding, toe-tapping fluff which just about passes muster as an evening's entertainment and which works best (and only) if you savour the gags and switch your brain to unquestioning acceptance for the remainder. Meanwhile the wait continues for the next great British romcom.

Overleaf: watch the trailer for Cuban Fury

Whenever someone wants to dispel the gender simplification that female directors only make feelgood films, they wheel out Kathryn Bigelow, whose action movies are cited as being tougher than any man’s. It’s a spurious debate, admittedly, but if we were to play that game I’d definitely bring Denis into Bigelow’s corner. The Frenchwoman doesn’t do action, per se. But her films can be tough as nails, black as pitch, and as disquieting as they are marvellous.

The opening days of the Berlinale have seen mixed reactions to high-profile English-language offerings. With its stylish sense of mittelEuropa, the festival’s premiere, Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel, apparently went down a treat. Much less kudos, though, went to George Clooney’s The Monuments Men (released in the UK this week, reviewed on theartsdesk today).