Angie Errigo

A stand-out romantic fantasy and surefire hit of Ghost-ly proportions. But all you cynical and smart-arsed brethren, beware: this is definitely not for you.

Occasionally irritating farce but inventive and boasting an endearing as well as laugh-out-loud performance from Murphy in and out of fat suit.

Outdated and predictable revenge saga.

These episodic adventures are a joy to watch and although not all of them are as memorable as each other, each has an entertaining quality that means the film as a whole will stick with you for a long time. Feore is excellent as the pianist, even though you never actually see him play.

Devoted Trekkers will have to see it to keep abreast of the ships’ logs, but Saturday night at the flicks fun-seekers are apt to concur this one only fires on stun.

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

An over-strung last act aside, this is funny, brilliant and sickening all at the same time.

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.

Minus delightful stars, this would be laboured indeed. Thanks to them, it scrapes along as modestly appealing fluff.

Two absolutely riveting performances and a smart reversal of the usual male-female stalker scenario leave behind a nasty taste and an unforgettable cinema experience.

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

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.

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.

For another, this film is that still shamefully rare pleasure, an absorbing ensemble piece in which a fine group of actors get to show their class and range, playing a black American family who are prosperous, cultured and complex.

Remains hilarious throughout.

DJ Audrey Wells' crafty screenplay brims with truths about the sexes, providing great lines for Garofalo, and great business for Thurman's confused waif, and cranks the feelgood factor up so high it's almost off the scale.

The only phoney note, ironically, comes from Miller's gaffe of enlisting retired Yorkshire biochemist Don Suddaby, extractor of the said oil, for a self-conscious appearance as himself. That aside, this is exhausting, intelligent and undeniably moving .

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

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

This is a startlingly superior piece of craftsmanship, with the flavour of life and richness of the script conveyed via uniformly wonderful performances. Above all, though, it's Lee's foodie masterstrokes, as Chu prepares his elaborate menus, that make the film so mouth-wateringly unforgettable.

It's a tale told with considerable warmth and humour, some spiffing explosions and a multiple-hanky act of self-sacrifice to round things off.

Despite Lumet's home-spun pincer movement on the espionage/conspiracy genres, cliché still sneaks up and nips the film into submission.

Falling on the meaty, potential role of a lifetime like a ravenous lion, erstwhile comedian Jamie Foxx, so good in "Collateral," is just wonderful as the eponymous star.

An, at-times, marvellous muddle of high farce and low-brow chuckles.

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

Harry Palmer, charismatic but grounded in reality, is the perfect popular bridge between the spectacular escapades of Bond and the cold, harsh milieu of Deighton's embittered, betrayed spies.

Offbeat and downbeat, it’s a film full of thoughtful stillness, powerful moods, reflective internal struggles and shattering, lonely self-realisation, suggesting more critical kudos than commercial impact.

Trying so hard to recreate the stylish spy comedies of the 60's, Turner and Quaid pose unconvincingly as the couple in New Orleans when their maternity leave is cut short. Sadly they the required chemistry and their banter falls decidedly flat. The only redeeming feature is the support of Stanley Tucci.