5>3>4>6>1>2.

Lean, mean, almost Camus-like social realism, with stunning opening and closing shots - and, in the white woman's teenage son, one of the most nimbly-sketched arseholes in modern cinema.

Game Of Thrones for bed-wetters.

Great films should grab you by the heart, the mind or the crotch, and Holy Motors clamps its claws around all three. Gets better every time I see it.