Angie Errigo

A stirring, lushly-constructed celebration of youthful spirit.

Madonna knocks herself out and deserves cheers for the emotional range and humanity with which she sings in Alan Parker's spectacular film. But whether you think the movie is great or grisly, rests in large part on your palate for Andrew Lloyd Webber's music.

The dazzling ensemble perfectly captures every nuance in one of the finest acting showcases you could hope for.

If it weren't so darned "sincere" this would be an unmitigated bird-brained delight, but it undoubtedly remains a genial crowd pleaser.

For anyone who appreciates artistic integrity and is interested in genuinely independent films, the prolific and highly personal work of John Sayles is essential viewing.

Smart, honest, sickeningly funny and supremely well judged in the writing, direction and acting.

Inspired, innovative, stunning, with unforgettable performances and images, this is up there with the great screen Shakespeares. The playwright surely would be thrilled with it in its full-blooded vigour.

Extremely well done and well acted, it’s an attractive, appealing, involving adaptation, just not as iconic as the ’60s film.

There have been many Draculas. But the one against which all others are measured is Bela Lugosi. Tod Browning's 1931 film is stagey and creaky, but it also has wonderful, unforgettable moments.

Unfortunately, left alone on the big screen, distinctly thin characterisation and a plot that looks like a distended television episode, let the new crew down slightly but there are still enough classic moments to keep fans happy.

C'mon, it's Fred and Bing! Depending on your disposition, you can take that as a recommendation or a warning.

Among the excellent principals, top-billed Turturro enlivens things wonderfully, but the real star, Buy, is magnificent.

Happily, Jamie Lee Curtis gurning through a guitar solo (she is Lady Spinal Tap, after all) while her floundering ‘mother’ mimes on stage is amusing.

Reygadas' big ideas translate with mixed results.

Those who find men in feathers inherently divine will have a high old time here, and there are enough hilarious cinematic moments for the gob-smacked rest.

Director Sullivan lingers too long in every photogenic location and drags out every incident as if he's making six episodes of a not very sparkling serial.

Handsomely done and beautifully acted, just slightly wanting in a screenplay that leaves questions unanswered about what's behind these unhappy people. And it's ultra-depressing...

Yippee-ki-yay! Willis still has the goods.

The chemical combustion just isn't there between Julia and Clive, and you can't help wondering if Gilroy wrote this with George Clooney in mind. Still, a glamorous, diverting escapade that over-30s in particular can enjoy.

Handsomely crafted, with meticulous performances, yet it plays out drily and in monotone.

Dedicated to Morris’ champion, Roger Ebert, who would be proud, this is a provocative, revelatory and disturbing film.

The allusions and illusions are just a treat until about two-thirds of the way in, when a genuinely shocking development takes the film off into psycho-horror that is almost as baffling as it is unsatisfying.

There are brilliant, bewitching moments allied to hilarious and touching ones. Just not enough of them in what veers, at length, between the clever, the terrifying and the bit tiring.

Unnervingly, it is both hilariously funny and quite disturbing, with Allen's neuroses and fixations manifested in some shocking ugliness and intimately personal revelations we'd rather not have seen confirmed.

Entertaining Sunday afternoon stuff.

The cute puppy almost steals the show but Hardy is ace and quite the watchable chameleon in his surprising switch from lovable dumb ox to cannier-than-we-thought.

Streep and Eastwood's chemistry makes the film.

It starts off well enough but slowly sinks under the leaden weight of its worthiness.