The Robinson Institute presents an object lesson in Englishness. The latest in the long line of Duveen Commissions, series' of new works by contemporary artists housed in the Duveen Galleries at Tate Britain, this installation by Patrick Keiller replaces another vision of Englishness: A Harrier jet, suspended from the ceiling, by Fiona Banner.

Patrick Keiller revisits a walk through England taken by his semi-fictional counterpart, Robinson, the unseen narrator of Keiller's films London (1994), Robinson in Space (1997) and Robinson in Ruins (2010). Known for moment of reflection at sites of forgotten significance, researchers at The Robinson Institute piece together the final known journey of their namesake figurehead and reinterpret his efforts through access to works in the Tate collection - and what a collection they have amassed in his honour.

Works by Turner and Gheeraerts, Joseph Beuys, Gursky, Richard Hamilton, John Latham, Eduardo Paolozzi, Andy Warhol and a certain Ms. Banner. There's a first edition of Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan, and a series of photographs by Keiller himself. The exhibition is a result of a research project, The Future of Landscape and the Moving Image. If this is a vision of the future as imagined by our past, it's more breathtaking than we could imagine.

The Robinson Institute is at Tate Britain until 14 October.

Returning to Sadler's Wells Theatre, and ending its second run this week, is the sell-out dance smash The Most Incredible Thing. With a score by the Pet Shop Boys and choreographed by Javier de Frutos, the piece is an adaptation of the classic fairy tale by one of the masters of that particular form, Hans Christian Anderson.

The plot is as similarly comforting as great fairy stories can be: The King promises his daughter's hand in marriage to a person who can bring him The Most Incredible Thing. A simple clock-maker devises and delivers a piece of art unlike nothing that has seen been before, but must struggle against the evil machinations of a dastardly villian.

It was one of the most high-profile shows that the renowned London theatre staged in 2011, and tickets were sold by the bucket. Those lucky enough to be in the audience were treated to an aural-visual extravaganza that was more than just the sum of its electropop-meets-ballet parts. Its soundtrack infuses through the entire display, with postmodern tinges affecting the set, design, scenography and choroeograpic elements. De Frutos, an enfant terrible of the contemporary stage, defuses his wildchild history to tell a story that is as delightfully innocently moral as Anderson intended and as neon-nostalgic as the music created specially by the Pet Shop Boys. It was not entirely unexpected that the show would return at some point after it's initial run but now that it is here again we should celebrate it before it leaves once more. A feast for the eyes and ears, and really a most incredible thing.

The Most Incredible Thing is at Sadler's Wells Theatre until 07 April.

There are certain films that can be made at certain times and in certain places. Jafar Panahi's This is Not a Film is one of these and every lover of film in the world wishes that it didn't have to be made.

Panahi is one of the world's most acclaimed film directors, winner of awards at Cannes, Berlin, Venice and Locarno (to name only four of the most major). In 2010 Panahi was arrested on the jumped-up charges of colluding against the nation of Iran, committing crimes against the country's national security and for creating propaganda against the state. It was whilst under house arrest in these circumstances that Panahi created this film alongside fellow filmmaker Mojtaba Mirtahmasb.

Sitting at home, waiting for the verdict of his appeal against his sentence, the filmmaker picks up a camera and records his life, conversations and thoughts. After a telephone call, his friend Mojtaba arrives and takes over the recording. We see Panahi reacting to outside events - either the news of the tsunamni in Japan on the television, or bangs from outside first representing the beginning of celebration for the Iranian New Year, and then gunshots - and rehearsing scenes from unmade screenplays with lo-fi, handmade stage set representations patterned on the floor. After Mojtaba has to go home, Panahi rides the lift, chatting with the boy who collects the litter of the apartment block about his life and future plans.

A defiant symbol of quiet resistance from a man who has been at the forefront of Iranian cultural export since the release of his first feature film, The White Balloon in 1995, this film had the honour and disgrace to be smuggled out of Iran to Cannes on a flash drive concealed in a birthday cake. It plays on a run at the ICA opening tonight. Panahi is currently awaiting trial on these charges and is sentenced to six years in jail, a twenty year ban on making any films, writing any screenplays, giving any form of interview - nationally or internationally - and is not allowed to leave the country. In the week of the film's release, Mirtahmasb was also arrested, though details on that are still scarce.

Shot on consumer HD video and on an iPhone, this possibly the rarest example of documentary as journalism, as personal diary, as dramatic narrative, and is truly one of the great films to be made, and, conversely, not. It's funny, bittersweet, sad and always touching.

This is Not a Film plays at the ICA from today until 12 April.