James Mottram

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.

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.

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

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.

Well made, but instantly forgettable.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

A notch above its predecessors.

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

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

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

Fascinating story, flawed telling.

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

A grand folly that makes the Wachowskis’ "The Matrix" trilogy look prosaic, Cloud Atlas is a fascinating if flawed work that will leave you gasping one minute and gagging the next.

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

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.

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.

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.

Assured, adult filmmaking from a writer/director who knows her way around the ups and downs of relationships.

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.

Another silly but sturdy instalment that’s as well-oiled as The Rock’s muscles. If the ‘Letty in London’ story doesn’t exactly have that new-car smell, this is still the fastest soap opera on wheels.

With Yakin's all-action plot operating like clockwork, an on-song Statham proves anything but expendable in a genre he dominates. Predictable, sure, but equally pleasurable.

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

Shepard’s film is fun but forgettable in the first hour, then disappointing in the final third. But Law’s raucous turn keeps you watching.

It may lose its way on occasions, but thanks to a committed cast and a script that captures the Kerouac vibe, Salles' adaptation never ends up on the road to nowhere.

What emerges is a touching study (in more ways than one) of the trials, terrors and triumphs of living with physical disability.

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 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.

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.

Outrageous, outlandish and overboard, The Dictator will satisfy Cohen's army of fans. But it never feels as funny, full-on or fresh as "Borat" and "Brüno."

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.

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.

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

Quillévéré’s elliptical plot isn’t always spot-on, skipping years to a near maddening degree. But treading a fine line between poetry and realism, it’s still heartfelt and harrowing.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

It’s wildly melodramatic, typified by the ear-assaulting score. But there’s something compelling about Dolan’s supreme self-confidence, even when misplaced. He takes risks – and that’s attractive.

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.

Two fine performances - particularly from an unhinged Winstead - almost elevate Smashed to greatness. But an under-worked script leaves you feeling groggy and bleary-eyed by the end.

Reversing his "Take Shelter" role, Michael Shannon convinces as her grounded husband and "Mad Men's" John Slattery offers good support as a fellow vet. But this is Cardellini's film, and she dominates with a terrific, tough-minded turn.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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 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.

It’s no "Drive," and even hardcore fans will struggle to love a film that’s as mad as a bag of prawn crackers, but as an exercise in style, it has many moments to savour.

Typified by Penn's blustery performance, Gangster Squad is sleek, stylish but superficial. Easy on the eye, even easier on the brain, it doesn't last long in the memory.

Cool cast, hip directors, but a movie that's less than the sum of both. Like its title character, Jeff is gentle, warm but a little forgettable.

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

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.

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.

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.