The top 10 cultural moments of 2015: 8-10 include Denise Gough and Tangerine

How, and when, and why an actor gets a “breakthrough” moment is a mystery. When it’s being cast in a Hollywood movie or a sold-round-the-universe telly drama, you can see it coming. But, in theatre, these things are less tangible. And often, even less fair.

Which is something Denise Gough knows about. Meeting her in a rehearsal room once, she roundly sent up the oddness of theatre gongs and hype: she’d recently won “best newcomer” in the Critics Circles awards despite having worked for a full decade as a professional actress.

Then, this year, having even considered giving up, as she struggled financially to make ends meet, her star has finally ascended thanks to an unignorable performance in Duncan Macmillan’s brilliant new play about addiction and rehab, People, Places and Things, at the National Theatre.

She was visceral yet vulnerable, electric and funny, smart and sad and can’t-look-away compelling. But while it may have been a career-making turn, it also prompted a lot of critics to point out what a consistently impressive career she’d already had: last year, she was killer in Tim Crouch’s mentally somersaulting Adler & Gibb at the Royal Court, and made a stand-out part out of a supporting role in The Duchess of Malfi opposite Gemma Atterton, while she won that newcomer award in 2012 for an exceptionally powerful performance in Eugene O Neill’s Desire under the Elms at the Lyric Hammersmith.

However the rush of publicity around People, Places and Things – and a West End transfer in March – should make this a decisive moment.

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All of which hopefully means that Gough will shrug off her loss to Nicole Kidman for best actress at the recent Evening Standard Awards, which prompted cries of “she woz robbed!”.

Anyone who saw Gough on the Dorfman stage isn’t likely to forget it – there was an entirely spontaneous standing ovation for her when I saw the show. And an audience voting with their feet is surely the best vote of confidence an actor can get.

To call a work of art “inconsistent” might be considered derogatory. But what if its unevenness only adds to its power? Such was the gamble taken by Russell T Davies with Cucumber. Described by Davies as a “spiritual sequel” to his Nineties series Queer as Folk, it returned to gay life in Manchester, 15 years on.

But where QaF was pioneering, Cucumber started out merely grating: the story of a middle-aged couple – Vincent Franklin’s Henry and Cyril Niri’s Lance (above) – experiencing a relationship crisis, it felt cartoonish and strained. Was Davies having an off-day, or was it that, in today’s supposedly “post gay” society, a show about gay experience in isolation was destined to feel anachronistic?

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Well, no, as its sucker-punch of a sixth episode proved: so powerful was it that it suggested the previous five weeks had been a deliberate bluff, designed to lull us.

From the moment the episode began with the caption “Lance Edward Sullivan 1966-2015”, we knew we were in for a graver turn of events: what followed was a life and death journey of extraordinary force. A life which, as detailed in a series of flashbacks to pivotal moments in Lance’s 49 years, was necessarily defined by his sexuality.

And a death, the climax to the present-day flirtation between Lance and supposedly straight colleague Daniel, which was shockingly brutal, Daniel battering Lance with a golf club after an agonised sexual encounter. The image of Lance’s dented head, blood pouring down his face, will long be burnt on to the retina.

From that three-quarter point in, the show hit a different stride: brilliant on the lasting residue of grief, and essential in showing that for all our collective complacency that would paint gay life in 21st century Britain as plain sailing, it’s still rife with obstacles and threats.

Looking back at the series as whole, meanwhile, it seemed finally less inconsistent than boldly realistic: acknowledging, as few dramas do, that if we can rely on anything in life, it’s sudden, unexpected changes of tone.

You don’t have to see Tangerine to appreciate what a landmark film it is. If you’ve read anything about it, you’ll know it was shot entirely on three iPhones, making it a groundbreaking technical achievement. You’ll also know that it paints a raw, authentic picture of an underclass which most films ignore. Its protagonists are two transgender sex workers on the streets of West Hollywood, and the supporting cast includes homeless people on a food line and a taxi driver who is a recent immigrant from Armenia

Based on that description, you couldn’t ask for an indie film to be more socio-politically significant, although you might ask for it to be a bit less depressing.

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Only when you see Tangerine do you realise what a blast it is. Never mind how marginalised and believable its characters are, or how radical the cinematography may be, Sean Baker’s fifth film is a fast-moving, neatly structured comedy that leaves a warm glow in your heart and some filthy insults ringing in your ears. It’s all set on Christmas Eve: Sin-Dee Rella (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) has just finished a 28-day prison stretch, only to learn from her friend Alexandra (Mya Taylor) that her fiancé and pimp has been having an affair and, to add insult to injury, the other woman is “a real fish” with a “vagina and everything”. When the duo strut out of a donut shop in search of the guilty parties, and the soundtrack bombards you with deafening dance music, it’s clear that there isn’t going to be any moralising or hand-wringing here. These sisters are doing it for themselves.

Tangerine may be an unsparing missive from the poverty line, but it’s also a riotous buddy movie that celebrates love, positivity, and the Christmas spirit. Uproarious and uplifting.