Kevin Harley

Kijak finds poignancy behind the pomp as he builds to a fist-pumping finale.

An earthy, affecting and droll celebration of the unique alignment of influences that forged a great band – and the thrusting live footage rams Pulp’s greatness home.

Next to message-laden, CG-soaked kids’ animations, SpongeBob stands alone. His return is a skittish but winning splash of nonsense: dip in.

Even now we know he’ll thrive post-Hogwarts, Radcliffe impresses as Arthur Kipps, the solicitor, widower and father with an invested interest in the afterlife.

The end-stretch is overlong, but the Flash animation style pops with colour, the music is fun, and off-the-scale creature cuteness abounds.

The deaths are exuberantly grisly and explosive, too, the sound mix relishing every gooey squelch. Yet as predictable twists and an underused final cameo arrive, all the blood isn’t enough to cover up the nagging shortfalls of final-act invention.

It’s also enlightening, the Spicers and us learning things about Tom that inform, move, humanise and suck us into his story.

Lie Laas' furrowed lead and Nørgaard's taut orchestration of flashback-pumped plotting help flesh out old clichés – at least until the climax takes a glum turn for the overwrought.

Gyllenhaal is engaged and engaging in Denis Villeneuve’s adventure in psychological surrealism: let’s hope they stay friends.

You’ll flinch, yes, but you’ll forget it just as quickly.

It’s the fully invested leads and graceful, poetic direction that give this study of emotional interiors its subtly heartbreaking power.

Bigger, bloodier, blunter. Ghostface goes all-in for the kills in a brash but broad requel-sequel, sharpened by Barrera/Ortega’s ace pairing.

Reynolds moves on from Green Lantern in Satrapi’s psycho-romp, pitched awkwardly between funny-haha and funny-peculiar, but blessed with enough style and smarts to merit a look.

As we watch Lee still encouraging ‘true believers’ well into his old age, it’s hard not to be moved.

Coherence croaks as Gout dishes enough jump-cuts, whip pans and slo-mo assassinations to make Michael Bay look restrained, but the multi-handed mood music offers meaty compensations.

A little more than a remake yet less than a makeover, Tina Fey’s watchable, well-cast revisit needed more daring to be wholly worthwhile.

Over-ambitious perhaps, but Freyne’s intensely executed ‘infected’ fable packs tension, resonance, and clout.

The punning title is true; his bracing words narrated by admirers, Fuller’s amazing journey is lovingly honoured. Fuller Life, full of heart.

Dagg keeps things simple, but his jogging camera whips up the urgency and he’s well-served by Sutherland’s rangy physicality.

Like E.T. gone wrong, director Kiah Roache-Turner’s underdeveloped but briskly suspenseful, suggestive arachno-shocker sees a kid with family issues find solace in alien company. Only this spidery E.T. will gobble you up before it phones home…

The sheer volume of potential readings eventually stalls on reductive soundbites about a faithless generation, but the set-pieces sizzle with style.

Solid casting and scares mix with thin plotting and middling monster moves in Savage’s King riff.

Davis, Dinklage, Zegler, and the Games thrill, but Snow doesn’t quite summon the substance needed to fulfil this long-haul prequel’s ambitions.

Reid’s a fine lead, but DuVernay’s usually firm footing wobbles in the CGI clouds of Disney fantasy.

Taking a cold, cruel plunge into its sociopath’s world, Winterbottom’s latest genre swerve is an accomplished neo-noir.

Sometimes fun, sometimes flatly awkward.

There’s a chemical imbalance here… Netflix’s super-drug thriller is less than addictive.