Catherine Shoard

It gleams with a faintly-tacky, country club sheen, as if it'd been sheep-dipped in essence of 70s and come out feeling peachy.

The film functions as clammy thriller as well as poetic agitprop.

From time to time, the script contextualises a little clumsily...but the playing and pacing are terrific.

It's bracing, but it does feel closer to panto than melodrama, more exhausting than illuminating.

Scenes have a habit of stopping at any second, with or without whopping soundtrack.

Turturro has given Allen his biggest and best on-screen turn in years: the part was written for him and it's full of scope for amiable kvetching and nimble slapstick.

Curtis's heart is in the right place. In fact, it's all over the place – front and centre and backlighting the whole thing with a benevolent glow. But it is hard not to watch this, read the news that it will probably be his last as a director, and look to the future.

The Riot Club hands its audience a ticket, as well as a free pass to pour scorn over proceedings. That's a double-bill which should prove pretty irresistible.

Shame was erotic compulsion turned into opera, full of sombre vibrato. Thanks for Sharing is probably the more realistic, as well as more mainstream, and there's a generous pinch of very funny lines, mostly bestowed on Robbins.

It’s a fluid and nippy telling of a tale that still seems strangely urgent.

It is half turkey, half triumph.

With its frank approach to the basics of human desire, its steady, intense focus on a small-town story which could have come straight from Douglas Sirk, Reitman's fifth feature appears to bear little resemblance the four that went before.

The movie is strongest is when it strips away the facts and focuses on the emotional notes.

It has to be said, the performances are excellent. Winslet manages emotional honesty within anachronistic confines, and Schoenaerts escapes with dignity.

This is highly competent catnip for the watercooler crowd.

Aniston’s drab-act is diverting, but it’s not enough to sweeten a character who is one hell of a pill.

The Judge is a timeless film, in that it could have been made at almost any point over the past 80 years: rote plot, functional support, well-signalled twists. It’s a two-seater star vehicle offering little legroom for other passengers.

This is Where I Leave You is totally aimble, utterly unmoving filler given a major shot in the arm by its cast, people it’s simply a pleasure to watch, even with the creeping feeling they’re better than this.

Robert De Niro does further damage to a reputation much battered by "The Big Wedding."

It reduces a complex and extraordinary case to soap. It makes you care less, for all its heavy-breathing and cheapo coaxing.