Directed by Armando Iannucci

Written by Armando Iannucci, Jesse Armstrong, Simon Blackwell, Tony Roche

Cast: Peter Capaldi, Tom Hollander, Gina McKee, James Gandolfini, Chris Addison, Anna Chlumsky, Paul Higgins, Mimi Kennedy, Alex MacQueen, Olivia Poulet, David Rasche, Steve Coogan, Zach Woods, Enzo Cilenti, Johnny Pemberton, Joanna Scanlan

 Running time: 1hr 49 mins

“In the Loop” – the cinema’s follow-on from the sublime tv series “The Thick Of It” is achingly, painfully hilarious – which at times feels as though your funny bone is being battered with an ice pick. In the Loop has the handheld-yet-shoogly camerawork redolent of the television version, where the comedy of uncomfortable silence builds and builds as the camera lingers and stays on the victims, with many scenes done as a walk-and-talk, as corridors of power reveal the machinations of heavy duty political shenanigans and wheeling and dealing.

During an trivial radio interview, the UK’s Minister for International Development Simon Foster (Tom Hollander) is asked about the war - nobody says with whom, but it may or may not be coming, and Britain may or may not stand alongside America, and it'll take place in the Middle East. Foster, caught on the hop, does the worst thing a modern politician can do, and actually says something with a clear meaning, offering that war is "unforeseeable." The clip catches the attention of the Machiavellian Touretter par extraordinaire Malcolm Tucker (the literally scenery chewing Peter Capaldi), the Prime Minister's Director of Communications, as he lashes and snarls a constant array of terse profanities and imperatives through sharp teeth – making it abundantly clear that is not something you’d want to do.

Malcolm is furious, raging, spitting nail-encrusted feathers - but then again, that's like saying the Atlantic Ocean is moist. Malcolm exists in a state of perpetual anger, gushing out brief, brutal nickname-insults at those who have wronged him with a gaunt, ghoulish air that suggests he exists on a high-protein, low-carb diet of the corpses of the enemies he has defeated and the underlings who have disappointed. He rages at Simon to try and patch up the gaffe without actually reversing it: "All sorts of things that are likely are also unforeseeable!"

That this line, delivered with the scorn of an angry god by a highly-placed but unelected political player to a cowering Minister more concerned with his CV and connections than his local constituents - was hysterically funny, but it also showed a backbone and brain that makes In the Loop an amazing piece of work. Political language has to consist largely of euphemisms and opaque vagueness and is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable. As Tucker rants later on, "I have spoken to the Prime Minister - whether it's happened or not is irrelevant." He creates his own reality - with the problem being that everyone else has have to live in it.

The smart stuff  however in “In The Loop” is there though, under the curse-heavy, yelpy and screeching verbal slapstick. Malcolm spits out insults as new nicknames when he's angry, which is constantly, so that Simon's new fresh-faced advisor Toby (Chris Addison), busy making things worse, is called "Frodo" and "Ron Weasley"; James Gandolfini's American military man trying to stop the war is "General Flintstone"; a not-so-innocent bystander gets "the baby from Eraserhead."

The screenwriting team – the genius (and Director) Armando Iannuci, Jesse Armstrong plus Simon Blackwell and Tony Roche, with "additional dialogue" by Ian Martin, who is credited as  'swearing consultant' - also have a rich, ripe love of language and absurdity. There is a controversial paper "Post-War Planning: Parameters, Implications and Possibilities" - which leads to a sputtering salvo of angry officials trying to bury or praise what they call "PWIPPP" in a spray of syllables. When Simon orders Toby to recant, saying that it'll be "easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy." Toby is doubtful: "No, it's going to be difficult-difficult-lemon-difficult."

In the Loop has such intricate and layered jokes, such smartly referenced running gags that they go beyond comedic genius and into sheer dramatic brilliance. It's got the rat-a-tat dialogue of a David Mamet play. In the Loop is beautifully profane, but it's also a great, cruel political comedy that is actually funny and, more surprisingly, actually political. It's possible that to some In the Loop may not work quite so well now in the Obama era, and that people may not care to see a reminder of the now-bygone Bush years. Obama is the new President of the United States, but he isn't some magically empowered figure. In the Loop was inspired by the Iraq war, but it'll be just as funny - which is just as depressing - viewed in preparation for the next one. That's because governments are made of people, and we know what people are like, and so does In the Loop. A great sub-plot has Simon, run from pillar to post dealing with the possibility of war, being driven mad by a seemingly inconsequential constituent's problem with his garden wall (a great cameo from Steve Coogan) back home. Simon doesn't get it straightened out, because he has bigger fish to fry, but of course he's less concerned with frying fish than he is with saving his bacon, and everything goes tits up. An American version of In the Loop would undoubtedly, assuredly include at least one character trying to do the right thing for the right reason and good would win out in time for the happy ending. What makes In the Loop so painfully funny is that there's no right thing, and no right reason.

John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt, uses the skeleton of an often-told tale of “did he or didn’t he”, as well as the familiar plot points and characters from at least a dozen investigations of scandal inside the Catholic church. The story here concerns itself with guilt and innocence, rather than the very nature of faith itself. There is a religious school, a charming, dedicated priest, and even a rigid, humourless nun, but these archetypes are not meant to push a story forward in any conventional manner, except of course to challenge the audience’s expectations regarding their essence. Given the flood of detail that has emerged from Roman Catholic parishes all across the western world regarding sexual abuse and children, there isn’t a single human being who doesn’t hold an opinion on the matter, and the church itself, while maintaining millions of adherents, has suffered a public relations disaster so widespread that even the mere sight of a collar is now bound to arouse suspicion. Shanley takes these assumptions, exploits them for full effect, and damns us for playing along. He knows what we’d think from the very start, dares us to think otherwise, and runs away with the truth while we were still obsessing over minutiae.

A stereotypical nun, nasty but presumed loveable (films have taught us that crust always hides a layer of sweetness), accuses a popular priest of being too friendly with a young boy. That the child is awkward and black only makes the case more obvious. The priest exploited the boy’s weakness, flattered him with comfort and solace, and molested him as a matter of course. These things not only happen, but happen often, and nowadays it seems it is impossible to think otherwise. Where there are priests, there are young boys, and when they connect, sodomy ensues as the night follows day. It’s axiomatic. Undeniable. Inescapably obvious. The problem of course, is that the priest’s chief accuser, the maniacal nun in question, hasn’t even a single shred of evidence. She’s operating on gut instinct, naked assumption, and has but a single thrust that defines her - certainty. It was once said, “It is the dull man who is always sure, and the sure man who is always dull,” but for people like Sister Aloysius Beauvier, such dullness is the price one pays for dictatorial control over an otherwise unfathomable universe.

When anyone folds their hands, drops to their knees, and asks the unseen to comply with their wishes, it is but a short, easy step to conviction without trial. While Shanley’s film never force-feeds his warning, it is delightfully evident in the finer detail of the dialogue; showing just enough of itself to provoke a conversation, but retreating in time to allow a real give and take. The Catholic church is far too easy a target these days, and any story involving paedophilia is so trite as to be routine, but an attack on faith? It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Attacking a sect, be it Mormons, Wee Frees, Jews, Muslimists or Baptists, or even one of the major planks of dogma, takes a certain degree of courage, but little by way of imagination. We mock ritual, hypocrisy, garish costumes, and assorted quirks that provoke derision and laughter, even among those who believe. Despite that, too often the essential underpinnings are left untouched. While some debate the silliness of Biblical literalism, or whether or not Jesus walked the earth, the real discussion is to be found in the all-too-human impulse that continually sacrifices reason on the altar of belief. Doubt brings this discussion to the fore, and leaves it in tatters. For it is religious faith - and the blind certainty therein - that is responsible for every single occurrence of misery in the whole of human history. Conversely, doubt has clean hands and a clear conscience. No one has ever died because of it, no violence has ever been initiated in its name, and not a single instance of cruelty has ever been inflicted in defence of it. Bloodshed begins, after all, when the questions cease.

Aside from the four extremely strong performances at its centre, and the sticky, troubling moral issue that drives it, Doubt isn't all that cinematic, but the story is so strong, the ideas so complex, and the cast so talented, that the film’s strengths overcome nearly all its flaws. The prospect of Meryl Streep and Phillip Seymour Hoffman facing off against one another is irresistible for anyone who admires their work and scene after scene rewards the audience with simmering, expertly strung tension. Streep's Sister Aloysius is a dragon of a nun, ruling her school with stern looks and the fear of God. Stubbornly resisting the advent of the 60s, Sister Aloysius rejects things like adding secular songs to the Christmas pageant - and ballpoint pens, especially when they're advocated by Father Flynn (Hoffman). 20 years her junior and relatively new in town, Flynn is seen as more relevant and enjoyable by many of the students, especially Donald Miller, the school's only black student. Based on circumstantial evidence and her innate distrust of Flynn, Sister Aloysius first obliquely and then directly accuses him of abusing the boy.

Caught in the middle are Sister James (Amy Adams), who admires Sister Aloysius even as she sympathises with Flynn, and later Donald's mother (Viola Davis), who in her single explosive scene argues that, for a poor black boy in the early 60s, there are worse things than an inappropriately close relationship with a well-meaning priest. Shanley's taut, laser-focused script scrapes away layers of the two leads as they wage their battle against each other. Aloysius, though intolerant and sometimes brutal, is also an early feminist, bristling at the limitations put upon women in her beloved church. Flynn, despite the personal demons that may have brought him to Donald Miller, is clearly the only true friend to the only black boy at a school full of distrustful white faces. The on-the-nose title is present in every scene, and Streep and Hoffman both expertly navigate the boundaries between their characters' outward convictions that they are right, and a private knowledge that may reveal otherwise. Whether or not Flynn is guilty is never revealed, and two audience members could walk out having precisely opposite opinions on his guilt - a remarkable feat of both acting and writing.

The themes and goals are so clearly expressed by the actors that Shanley's intrusive direction, particularly the camerawork, becomes the film's sole pitfall. He hammers home the church's gender divide by intercutting scenes of priests smoking and drinking and feasting on blood-rare roast beef while the nuns silently eat their vegetables. Thunder claps after nearly every important line, and the camera rests at canted angles to depict the shifting balance of power between Aloysius and Flynn. Filled as it is with multiple monologues that literally spell out the film's themes and ideas, it's remarkable that Doubt succeeds so well as a film, a medium not particularly well-suited to allegory. The credit lies largely with its actors, who create real people out of vague concepts like Cynicism, Hope, Resignation and, yes, Doubt. Even Amy Adams, whose Sister James works as an audience surrogate, finds credible despair and wisdom within her naive character. Davis is simply a wonder in her single scene, embodying all of the film's complex moral issues in one woman who has experienced too much poverty and pain to see anything as cut and dried. A showcase for brilliant actors that will keep audiences talking long after the credits have rolled, Doubt is a fascinating, worthy adaptation, even when its own cinematic shortcomings dilute its power.