David Hughes

The Wrong Missy is a little hit-and-miss, but it’s funny and inventive, and Lapkus is good enough to make the word “zany” tolerable again.

McKellen and Mirren, sharing the screen for the first time, are exquisitely matched in this slight but enjoyable yarn, which is like watching two magnificent vintage cars in a road race, without minding too much who wins.

At a time when television is easier to make than films, it's a pity that a quart of plot in a pint-sized pot is largely to blame for this muddled misfire, which wastes some promising ideas and an impressive cast.

Dean Devlin finally steps out from Roland Emmerich’s shadow with a tight, twisty little thriller. Add a fourth star to the rating if David Tennant going full Nicolas Cage sounds like your kind of thing.

A sub-Hitchcockian thriller with enough forward momentum to thunder over its many plot holes, The Commuter is a surprisingly enjoyable if instantly forgettable crowd-pleaser that takes the audience for a ride — in more ways than one.

Cage and Wood make a hugely enjoyable double act (has True Detective season three been cast yet?) in this deceptively dark thriller with comic undertones, arguably sunk by a seismic tonal shift that not only wipes the smile off your face, but leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Tune into its offbeat frequency, however, and there is much to enjoy.

The late, great Robin Williams brings great nuance to the anguished Nolan’s inner struggle in a slight but sensitive story about a man facing a life-changing choice. It’s a worthy legacy for a beloved, talented and much-missed actor.

Nicholas Hoult does his best to bring Niven's weapons-grade scumbag to life, in a film hobbled by amateurish acting and absence of production value.

While Ascher brings the experiences to life in a way that could conceivably induce nightmares in casual viewers, the potency of these scenes is ultimately diminished by repetition.

An exposition-heavy opening gives way to a modestly effective Australian mash-up of sci-fi/horror hybrids.

If only he had probed a bit deeper, and widened his scope beyond the predominantly white, male subjects (including our own Rob Brydon, Steve Coogan and Stephen Merchant), this could have been a fascinating film as well as a funny one.

Zac Efron makes a convincing bid for movie stardom — and Ratajkowski proves she’s more than just a pretty face — in this flawed but fitfully entertaining film, even if it all goes a bit Pete Tong at the end.

Tom and Anna are so thinly sketched that by the time the painfully slow set-up starts to pay off, we no longer care who does what to whom, or why.

Ultimately, this has the feel of a lazy literary adaptation of a half-remembered novel.

A musical with almost 100% sung verse is not for everyone but Kendrick is as bewitching as ever.

Your opinion of this unasked-for but likable comedy sequel depends entirely on whether your reaction to the statement “It’s better than the first one” is 1) “Dear God, it could hardly be worse” or 2) “Awesome!”

If TV had a Saga Channel, this intriguing, if never quite gripping, serial killer thriller would play on a loop, in between reruns of Matlock and NCIS.

Reinforcing the very rom-com tropes it's sending up, this is a little too postmodern for its own good. Happily, Poehler and Rudd are as irresistible as ever.

Polanski’s unavoidably stagy adaptation of David Ives’ celebrated Broadway play is an enjoyably witty two-hander, confined to its theatre setting, yet with much to say about gender roles in the world beyond.

Intermittently funny but erratically structured, it's a rare disappointment from Shelton.

Often funny, outrageously vulgar in places and very, very French.

Chilean writer-director Sebastián Silva’s neither-fish-nor-fowl narrative plays tricks on our minds, without fully engaging our senses.

Newcomers will be puzzled by the clumsy contextualisation and muddled motivation of characters who, robbed of their inner lives by a clunky script, are left floundering amid the melodrama and speak-the-plot dialogue.

A documentary of two halves, Gibney's character study of Armstrong is tough and forensic. But whether through a lingering admiration or the film's origins as a straightforward celebration of the cyclist's talents, there are moments when its powder remains a little dryer than perhaps it should.

Another shake-and-bake Stath special, boasting the requisite punchy-fighty action and some pleasing sleaziness from Franco and Bosworth, but it's ponderously handled by director Fleder.

Whether or not the metaphorical aspects excite you, an unshakeable tolerance for high camp and lowbrow humour may be required to fully appreciate Almodóvar’s broad, bawdy comedy — even for fans of his early, funny films.

Far from the giant mess you’d expect from the delayed release, late title change and a production history as muddled as the source material, Singer’s tall tale is snatched from disaster by an all-hell-breaks-loose third act.

Fifty years after he first appeared, Donald E. Westlake’s antihero may have found his perfect avatar. Like Parker’s robberies, it isn’t entirely successful, but Statham and Lopez make enticingly mismatched partners in crime.