Kicking off this year’s series in which our writers advocate for one Academy Award nominee, our chief critic on why the Brazilian drama-thriller is the most audacious and fully realised film in the race

As ever, this year’s Oscars have their half-dozen or so favourites and frontrunners, some truly outstanding movies among them. But the one that has stayed in my mind is a knight’s move away from the talking-point consensus: an amazingly sophisticated, wayward and garrulous film from Brazil, a film about love and fatherhood, tyranny and resistance, and coming to terms with the past. It is digressive and droll and yet in its final act escalates stunningly from lugubrious mystery to cold-sweat tension and violence.

When the best picture Oscar is announced, my heart would sing to see its husband-and-wife producers Emilie Lesclaux and Kleber Mendonça Filho go on stage to accept it for their drama-thriller The Secret Agent. Directed by Mendonça Filho, it’s a movie made with effortless style and touched with pure cinematic inspiration. The opening scene alone, with its queasy black-comic unease, is itself a kind of masterpiece. It is like Antonioni’s The Passenger mixed with Leone and Peckinpah and a pulp shocker by Elmore Leonard. Yet it has a kind of novelistic, episodic quality – a cool, discursive self-awareness. You might call it a little miracle, although at near-epic length (2hrs 40mins), it’s actually a very big miracle.

This portrait of a multi-ethnic comic troupe could do with more unpicking, but its reflections on the grind of war, life on the road and the reactive nature of comedy are insightful

It must surely, sometimes, seem to everyone involved that the name should be Palestine Tragedy Club – but this theatre collective, founded by Alaa Shehada from Jenin in the north of the West Bank, and Sam Beale from the UK, is all about laughter. They are exploring the nature of comedy and standup as a response to being a Palestinian now. This documentary follows the group as they attempt to put together a national tour, with shows in Ramallah, Nablus, Haifa, Nazareth and Jerusalem. In so doing, they encounter the basic problem of struggling through roadblocks, and sheer dismay and horror at the wholesale destruction of the war between Israel and Hamas.

We also see how members of the company find themselves, in effect, in exile in Amsterdam and Berlin and experiencing the existential pain of loneliness and homesickness. Things are further complicated at one stage, by being in London – the seat of empire – for a particular show, making it clear that the British are the imperial villains of all this (it is Britain, not Israel, that is singled out for explicit criticism on stage). I would have liked to see more of the Palestine Comedy Club’s actual show, and more of the way the material is developed and performed, but we do get a very entertaining bit from Shehada as he says that over here, he gets solemn and supportive “mmmm”s instead of laughs – the audiences mulling over it, perhaps laughing later when they’ve had time to think.

When John Davidson involuntarily shouted racial abuse at Delroy Lindo and Michael B Jordan it set off two sets of alarm bells that should have been heeded much quicker and better

• BBC apologises to staff over N-word inclusion as Bafta announces comprehensive review

• Sinners studio say they raised N-word use with Bafta immediately as Google ‘deeply sorry’ for offensive notification

• Bafta judge quits over ‘utterly unforgivable’ handling of Tourette N-word incident

• BBC producers say they ‘didn’t hear’ N-word slur as ‘working in a truck’

• With N-word incident, Bafta have shot themselves in the foot

If you wanted to write a scabrous, over-the-top satire on liberal attitudes, you could hardly do better than use this weekend’s Bafta ceremony. As the end result of progressive, sensitive intentions, a white man sat in the audience yelling the N-word at two highly respected performers of colour – who were then instantly burdened with expected forgiveness. It would make a great novel from Paul Beatty or film from Spike Lee. And yet, the problem was not just the N-word, but the S-word – sooorrr-eeee. Of which, more in a moment.

Of course, it is complicated. A case of competing sensitivities and the now livewire issue of omissions, snubs and complicity-through-silence.