Jane Crowther

Entwining Irish folklore, dead-parent issues, eco-anxiety, and reality-show commentary, The Watched is an acceptable mid-tier horror. It'll be far more interesting to see what Shyamalan does next.

Frankly, if you’re buying a ticket purely for the behemoth battles then you’ll get your money’s worth: take your pick from a trippy rumpus that defies gravity, a Copacabana beach-off, some Planet of the Apes-esque monkey business, and a literal dust-up at the Egyptian pyramids.

DuVernay captures the universal experience of loss: the regrets, the suffocating sorrow.

This ultimately feels like a story that didn’t need remaking, with performances that would have tickled in a one-night view on Broadway. It’s Friedkin’s swan song, yes, but is it representative of his output? Probably not.

It suffers an abrupt ending and, compared to the creativity displayed in Coppola’s other biopic, Marie Antoinette, is a more muted affair.

Like Ferrari’s motors, the production is sleek, expensive-looking and runs handsomely. But unlike the brand’s famous 0-60 mph starting capabilities, Mann’s film takes time to run the tyres in, only really reaching top gear in its second half. It works as a companion piece to Le Mans ‘66, but doesn’t manage to surpass it.

Classy but curiously empty, The Son may be a spiritual sequel to The Father, but it’s not its equal.

This (will’o-the-)wisp of a film is a beauty depending on the eye of the beholder; frustratingly slender yet with moments of profundity.

As glossy as any of the surfaces that Alice polishes so diligently each day, it’s a feminist film that asks viewers to evaluate their own social complicity in oppression, while not skimping on really great costumes, gorgeous cars or horny sex scenes.

Though ambitious and visually stunning (gorgeous cracked deserts, beautiful beaches, houses filled with sand), it’s willfully elusive and unwieldy to the point of frustrating.

A glossy, undemanding confection that doesn’t make waves, but shouldn’t be given a wide berth either.

Well executed if not entirely original – with werewolves, what is? – Eight For Silver is an assured, engaging chiller.

Polished but pedestrian, Hillbilly Elegy is a boilerplate underdog tale that lacks bite – but gives good Glenn Close.

Love Eurovision? You'll love this. Never heard of Eurovision? You may find it all bewildering.

Though it dabbles with the horror of the Third Reich it never examines their worst atrocities ... And that perhaps, is too careless in today’s world of a rising far right and stealth dictatorships. But if you’re looking for giddy escapism, Bowie tunes and an unapologetic good time with a side order of remembrance for of WW2, then you’ll have as much fun as the cast clearly had making this.

An uncomfortable fit for the Time's Up era.