James Mottram

It’s just a shame the formulaic story feels about as paper-thin as you might expect from an adaptation of a ladders-and-levels video game. As is so common in these Hollywood animations, the ‘family is forever’ theme looms large, but never once feels sincere or authentic.

Like an inoffensive light ale, the result slips down more pleasantly than you might expect.

The final act doesn't quite pay off, with characters' motives left frustratingly opaque, but the film is blessed with cast-iron performances, especially from Graham and Boon.

With so many of the gang now in the ground, this swansong doesn’t boast the same punk energy of the show’s early seasons. Only occasionally does it snarl and show its teeth, with flashes of the cold-blooded violence that gave it so much of an edge.

It’s a good exercise for Cooper in creating something more low-key, even if it doesn’t quite come off. Still, in the days where adult-skewing dramas are becoming an endangered species in movie theatres, this should be applauded for attempting the subject of divorce with a level head.

Even if No Other Choice will leave you stone-faced, you can’t help but admire the invention on display, especially in later scenes, where Park dips into the surreal.

Devised by Brutalist composer Daniel Blumberg, the songs are spirited, and Mamma Mia! star Seyfried invests fully. But with characters often reduced to making declamatory statements, it becomes an increasingly vexing exercise.

Powell is a very watchable everyman, convincingly demonstrating the man of the people integrity of his character. There’s great work too from Colman Domingo as the show’s slick presenter Bobby T and Michael Cera, who plays a loose-cannon contact that Richards makes during his quest for survival. Wright also handles the explosive action well, orchestrating elaborate, kinetic set pieces that throb with excitement.

Certainly, this lacks the cheekiness of, say, M3GAN. With the exception of an amusing riff about Depeche Mode (better than Mozart, according to Ares), it requires a much-needed humour injection. In Tron terms, the future is less bright than po-faced.

It would be unfair to claim this closing film concludes on a whimper. But neither is it quite the grand finale the title would have us believe. More like a pleasant stroll with characters you know and love.

Johnson, looking radically different under a cropped black wig, takes this opportunity and wrestles with it. Not since his work for Michael Bay in Pain & Gain has he done anything this out of his comfort zone.

This is a typically unsophisticated, heart-in-the-right-place comedy from Sandler, complete with Happy’s four sons mooning and making dick jokes.

Well made, but instantly forgettable.

You won’t be able to shake the feeling that there’s a lack of heart and soul here.

A few fights enliven proceedings, including one on a road lined with cherry blossom trees. But this is largely dull and disappointing.

Is it scary? Rarely, to be honest. But it knows how to twist the knife, at least.

A credible, if slightly limited, prequel that recaptures the atmosphere if not the originality of Rosemary’s Baby.

For those looking for an easy-on-the-eye, brain-in-neutral-thriller, Wolfs still hits the spot.

It’s just a pity that the storytelling sprawls all over the place, with some plotlines (like the Beetlejuice/Delores discord) failing to pay off. But mostly Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is a fun afterlife frolic.

But as the film lurches into the final third, there’s little emotional sustenance to keep you going. Just one yawn-worthy twist and some dud CGI. Avoid.

Murphy’s youthful cheekiness has long gone, stripping this sequel of some of its verve. But this is still an enjoyable, affable reunion: the heat is just about back on.

The final act loses its way, but in the main West wraps his slasher trilogy in satisfying style, putting a blood-soaked, Hollywood-branded bow on his eras-spanning saga.

The cast is given a boost by the star power of Vanessa Hudgens, Alexander Ludwig and Paolo Núñez all reprising their roles as members of AMMO (Advanced Miami Metro Operations), plus Better Call Saul’s Rhea Seehorn joining as the ballsy US Marshall daughter of the accused Captain Howard. It’s just a shame they’re all woefully underused in a story that feels so same-old-same-old.

As ever, Cronenberg leaves you with much to chew on, but dramatically The Shrouds feels rather inert, as if it can’t get out of second gear

It’s entertaining to a point. ... But whether the filmmakers truly get under Trump’s skin is debatable. Do we learn much new about him? Perhaps not, but it’s an absorbing journey all the same.

A competent if occasionally clunky biopic, enlivened by a superb Marisa Abela, who truly inhabits Winehouse and brings those songs to life.

Wingard does try out something different here, creating long dialogue-free sequences where it’s just the monsters going toe-to-toe. With Wingard relying on gestures, grunts and groans from his alpha-beasts, it’s like watching the most expensive silent movie ever made.

Too many characters and callbacks plus a formulaic plot means Frozen Empire doesn’t touch the original movies, but it’s a likeable-enough brand extension.

In the end, Road House is a solid actioner, a frolic that Liman marshals competently. This is a fun Friday-night fight-fest, best enjoyed with a few bevvies – brash, loud, knockabout and liable to leave you with a cauliflower ear or two.

Throughout, there’s a tendency to descend into farce, which yields laughs, but ultimately hampers these Letters’ potential to say something more profound.

Certainly, it’s not for those looking for fist-pumping sporting triumphalism. But in this age of franchise vapidity, it’s still a film worth grappling with.

A neat mash-up of high-school comedy and horror tropes. Pity it flounders in the final third, though.

But while DaCosta’s Candyman reboot was thrilling, this never musters the same level of engagement, despite a script that is chock full of good lines and a cast of willing participants. More meh than marvel, you might say.

Bell is as low-key brilliant as he always is – that ominous, gravelly voice gets a great workout, while his withered, grey-haired appearance lends the film real gravitas. And yes, there is enough Saw iconography here to keep the bloodthirsty on-side.

At least Scream star Matthew Lillard brings some creepiness into his little screen time. Otherwise, Five Nights At Freddy’s is moribund.

It’s a big old mess of a movie, in other words: flawed and (sometimes) fun.

As summer blockbusters go, it’s only ever really mildly diverting. But bringing us a first Latino superhero in a DC movie, ably played by the charming Maridueña, is still to be applauded.

Sadly, a generic script doesn’t aid the film’s overall ambitions. A little less than the sum of its parts, Run Rabbit Run is ultimately more intriguing than outright terrifying.

A notch above its predecessors.

A sweet-natured love story, well-intentioned, animated and acted, but lacking the depth of some of the studio’s greatest triumphs.

An impish Peter and an enjoyable Hook shine in this comfy, occasionally inspired take on J.M. Barrie’s classic.

With the story lacking real jeopardy, the feeling this leaves isn’t quite fury, but it’s certainly apathy.

All of this is watchable enough, but Strange World does rather lack dynamism in the final third, especially after such a hallucinatory set-up. As the story heads towards resolution, it becomes more likely to elicit shrugs not shrieks.

The film falters mostly with its disappointingly one-note female characters ... It’s a shame, for Reminiscence has some impressive ingredients floating around in its murky mix.

There’s a lack of genuine emotional heft, not helped by some clunky dialogue (lines like "we are literally living on borrowed time"). But what the film really misses, amid several ear-splitting, CG-heavy alien-attack set-pieces, is humour.

The sticking point for some will be the bone-crunching violence, of which there’s A LOT. But if you can stomach that, then this ticks that dumb-fun summer-movie box nicely.

Classy work from director and cast, but an anti-climactic second half doesn’t quite knit together the incident and intrigue.

The odd spirited turn aside, this is a throwback to the bad old ’90s days of comic-book movies.

The excessive CGI can be distracting, some performances veer towards caricature, but this is still a big-hearted take on London’s classic.

Ritchie makes a solid return to his wheelhouse with a crime yarn that turns the air so blue you can swim in it.

A generic cop thriller that rumbles along thanks to a quality cast but ultimately offers nothing fresh.

Not subtle (and might put you off getting hitched), but hits its mark with baseball-bat force.

There’s still a thrill seeing Stallone dig out a classic character for one last rumble, but this is formulaic action fare.

Pleasingly silly sequel is a colourful, creative, deliciously daft animation.

Testosterone, muscles, action, guns and cars… it’s Fast & Furious business as usual. Could be tighter, mind, and the constant dick-measuring gets a little wearying.

Definitely not Killer Queen, but thanks to a blinding turn from Malek, fans of the band will get their kicks.

If the story doesn’t strain itself in pursuit of originality, it does build to a satisfying conclusion.

Respectable. Boyega adds real bounce and DeKnight delivers spectacle, even if the plot doesn’t strain too far from the original’s crash-bang formula.

A fun romp with a great comic performance from Oyelowo. Doesn’t linger, but you’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

Its love-in-later-life insights are well-worn, but with Staunton on song, Richard Loncraine’s film mines genuine feeling.

Loaded with flashbacks, it’s unevenly mounted but kept watchable by the lively script and classy cast.

From the generic title to the formulaic plot (stolen plutonium, highest bidder etc.), you can imagine the rest. But director Michael Cuesta (Kill the Messenger) injects vitality where it’s needed.

The farcical third act, wrapped up too neatly by director Lucia Aniello, softens the blows. More edges needed.

Despite winning work from the lead, it’s a tame, feelgood effort from writer-director Hannes Holm. Academy bait.

While director Ceyda Torun lets the focus meander too much, it’ll leave you, ahem, feline good.

With recriminations turning to compassion, the film sings when these French titans share the screen, Deneuve’s loose cannon a mixture of hedonism and terror. If only the other scenes were as compelling.

An intriguing insight into Lynch’s genius, intimately crafted and leaving you wanting more.

Say what you like about director Justin Lin’s lack of subtlety (or understanding of the laws of physics), but he knows how to kick-start an action movie.

All hot wheels and dick jokes, it’s fun but forgettable.

LaBeouf is committed, and it’s fun seeing him go toe-to-toe with Gary Oldman (as his boss). But amid Montiel’s jigsaw-like structure lurk some generic revelations. Disappointing.

The 'dual roles' conceit doesn’t quite work, despite Ferguson's best efforts. But, while it struggles to find rhythm, you can't fault Sarif's ambitions.

Fascinating story, flawed telling.

There’s Fassbender’s charisma, an unhinged Sean Harris and Tom Rowland music.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt is credible as the former NSA contractor, but Stone gets side-tracked by his relationship with Lindsay Mills (Shailene Woodley) and Rhys Ifans’ leering CIA suit.

With robotic depictions of Iran's 'morality police', the political subtext is strictly one-dimensional. But with ace choreographer Akram Khan on board, the dancing is powerful.

Meandering like a jazz riff, Miles Ahead is a curio that doesn't quite come off. But credit Cheadle, both in front and behind camera, for refusing to play the easy notes.

Valiant, but flawed. Some of the set-pieces are superb, but there isn’t enough meat on the bones to turn this into a classic.

True, Hendricks has fun with her role as a good girl with a bad streak, while Shauna Cross and Johnny Rosenthal’s script fires off a few zingers. But with Thornton surprisingly disengaged and the robbery plot formulaic, it’s a limp dick of a sequel.

While there’s sweetness, the big, sweeping emotions you hope for never quite arrive.

Luchini’s excellent, but this is guilty of gross tonal uncertainty.

Guilty of being slavishly loyal, Taylor’s film never quite translates into the cinematic equivalent of Hawkins’ page-turner. Blunt, though, is excellent.

Uplifting it isn’t, but there’s poetry to be found in these desperate lives, and Riccobono never judges or sensationalises his subjects. Sensitive, if slightly unfocused.

With a wraparound narrative that never really strikes a balance between past and present, all that axe-flinging, ice-casting action makes a modest impact.

More Blue Steel than Magnum, this is a perfectly serviceable sequel, but dogged by repetition, it lacks the original's speed and sizzle.

A valiant effort that never quite scales the dizzy emotional heights required, running out of oxygen in the final act. Visually, though, it’s stunning.

Ponderous, pretentious and, most damning of all, just not much fun.

Fresh cast, fresh ideas and full-on action gives Taylor’s reboot momentum, even if an overloaded script threatens to topple it at times. Doesn’t touch Cameron’s two movies, of course.

Packed tight, Jacobs’ straightforward sequel may boast less up top than the Soderbergh-directed original, but still bulges where it counts.

Not the promised insider’s peek but Assayas and Binoche are still a potent combo, nailing the fragility of an actress facing the ageing process.

One of the strangest films you’ll see this (or any) year, it unsettles, bores, elates and amuses in equal measure. Not for everyone, but there’s plenty to chew on.

A competent rather than classic follow-up. If the action feels generic at times, the addition of Watts, more Winslet and the strength of Woodley are worth watching.

A genuine disappointment, given the talent involved, and a rare misstep for Penn, who can’t save this moribund vanity project from flatlining.

The home stretch is drenched in sticky-sweet sentiment, but Murray’s fans will rejoice at the chance to see their idol in full-on grouch mode.

Disappointingly limp, with precious few belly laughs, despite a try-hard attitude.

Adams is as watchable as ever as Margaret, backed by fine support, but the problem lies with Waltz. He’s more caricature than character, and Burton proves unable to harness his energy as well as Tarantino did.

It’s absorbing to a point, but adds little to what’s gone before.

A few lowbrow laughs… but far too many one-note characters, performances, and plot points to make them worth showing up for.