Angie Errigo

A prime example of what works in a book not working in a film.

A tasteless concoction - one gay character is particularly misjudged - that's instantly forgettable.

The script is weak and obvious and the direction disappointingly unimaginative. But stars are stars, and the old boys are terrific - enough to make this a funny and sometimes moving buddy picture.

It’s absolute nonsense, of course, but does quite nicely as knockabout Friday night fun. We can smell a sequel if Travolta can be bothered.

It's just like a spectacularly excessive and melodramatically daft Cantonese crime opus, but in English, with a thumpingly trendy soundtrack.

We've seen it all a million times before, but there are abundant (foul-mouthed) funnies, and debut director Michael Bay shows his commercials expertise propelling the noisy nonsense into a frantically slick and thoroughly enjoyable extravaganza.

Be warned - Damon isn't in this one.

On such a limited level this delivers; if you take the kids, leave them to it.

There’s beautiful visual and verbal comedy, and the film has the creative spontaneity of a dream, foreshadowing Spirited Away (it influenced Miyazaki). However, the lack of momentum and focus may end up boring children, while the English dub actors sound a little stilted.

Crude, patronising and mawkish, but rescued by excellent performances, beautiful landscape photography, and hard-to-argue-with themes of natural justice, delivered with a punch.

A riot of confused, clever and dazzling moments, Toys is a true formula-defying one-off for which the phrase love it or loathe it might have been coined, and one so audaciously zany that you will be captivated or enraged.

Outdated and predictable revenge saga.

Poorly written nonsense, but lovers of beefcake action will be happy enough with the heroes gymnastically vaulting monsters and slicing and dicing their way around the ancient world. An extra star for Ralph Fiennes, who is a god.

It's like "The Bridges Of Madison County" with more shouting, only not nearly as good. No surprises whatsoever, but nice scenery, attractive stars and another credible, affecting performance from Lane that hoiks it up an extra star.

A Pixney misfire.

While the kids may sing a storm when at last they get down to mixing Beethoven, gospel and rap, in the good clean fun department this is monumentally weak and derivative.

Sadly the plot leaves a lot to be desired with major flaws never far away. The in-jokes are amusing but their novelty soon begins to wear thin.

Sleepwalkers, Steven King's first original screenplay, is horror filmmaking by numbers. It has monster fiends, a few swooshing tracking shots, many a touch lifted from every self-respecting vampire movie ever made, and several weak but intentional laughs to indicate that no one here is taking the thing too seriously.

Particularly disappointing given the names involved, it's only mildly amusing at best, and more often downright tedious.

Unapologetically preposterous, but it is a (very sweet) fairy tale and Highmore is captivating.

Swank’s moving performance, the period dressing and beautiful planes all appeal, but dramatically it doesn’t really soar.

Talk about a pleasant surprise! Real storytelling, well thought-out and beautifully, at times insanely, executed, with excitement, laughs and fun to make you feel seven years old again.

Powerhouse cameos, just enough sauce and extra anchovies that no one will be complaining about.

Commercially it looks a disaster. Artistically, if very far from a triumph, it’s interesting, almost held together by its charismatic stars.

More terrible and tacky than one could have imagined, it will soon be forgotten and consigned to the True Movies channel to play alongside television movies about Karen Carpenter, Jayne Mansfield and Jackie Kennedy.

Trivialising despair, it’s a depressing waste of a major cast, and an early bid for mess of the year.

Relentlessly ugly, preposterous and hackneyed of dialogue: guilty on all counts. It will do well, then.

The mammoths aren’t all that is wild and woolly in this innocent, old-fashioned, amusingly self-important, entertainingly mad, rip-snorting throwback to vintage Saturday matinee fare, with all the swell set piece thrills state-of-the-art technology can throw at it.

Despite some nifty Japanese style tricks and ghostly illusions this isn't scary. It's muddled, same-old mayhem, just with a more international cast going crazy.

Williams' virtuoso hijinking and Daniels' Huggy Bearish bonhomie save this from complete ignominy, but we’ve seen it all before.

Separately the characters are annoying; together it’s unnervingly like watching one actress playing twins.

A little muddled and derivative but what do we expect, really?

Ambitious but very tedious and talkatively hackneyed, redeemed just a smidge by the money shots of a swarm of extras on horseback sweeping across the sands.

A note to Fonda: even thin, fabulous 67-year-olds shouldn't wear strapless gowns. It's scary.

It’s genial, with appealing stars and fair giggles.

A bold but ultimately doomed effort that will irritate all but cultists of the bizarre and the most rabid fans of Mr. Cage.

Arguably worse than its sadistic absurdity is the depressing, limited scope.

Gauged on a count of wit or originality this doesn't even register.

Undermined by a plot that doesn’t make sense and plays like three-and-a-half genre movies fighting for screentime in one overlong one.

There may not be a laugh every minute, but there are enough to satisfy most devotees of the relentlessly silly, tasteless school of parody.

There is scarcely a laugh to be had unless you are six years old or immoderately fond of such wheezes as depositing dog poop on a white carpet.

The bastard offspring of a charmless romcom and a toothless political satire.