Paul Bradshaw

The Naked Gun isn’t big or clever and that’s just fine – silliness has been missing from comedy cinema for far too long now. It might not smell quite as ripe as the original trilogy but it’s never not wonderful to hear Frank Drebin let ‘er rip on the big screen.

The first two Deadpool films were funny and violent and original, but this one shows Marvel’s most gloriously inappropriate superhero at his very best and worst.

Tetris tells a cracking story, but it suffers from The Big Short effect – the thinking that no mildly complicated script is palatable without throwing every gimmick possible at it.

Fury Of The Gods gets a big, silly ending which is occasionally fun, but there’s a cheap and clumsy feel to everything – a superhero sequel made in the same vague shape as a dozen others.

Hopkins steals the film with a wonderfully unlikeable cameo, but it’s the triple-header of Jackman, Dern and Kirby that really lifts the film far above its own script.

Almost completely built out of clichés and corn, there’s very little in Plane that hasn’t been seen before, but it very rarely matters. Exciting without ever really thrilling, it’s an immovably solid actioner – a fun Friday night pizza movie packing a handful of relentlessly unfussy action scenes that deliver exactly what they promise.

This isn’t anyone’s personal story – it’s just the most filmable bits of a fake past, awkwardly, beautifully, pointlessly patched together at 24-frames per second.

Turning an awful true story about a serial killer into an awful true story about the system that let it happen, The Good Nurse is an important lesson for anyone who tries to package Cullen’s crimes too neatly. Better still though, it gives us one of Chastain’s best performances; one of the year’s most believable superheroes.

Fizzing along nicely, even as it tips the two-hour mark, Enola Holmes 2 fits the mould it broke two years ago with a twisty murder mystery that’s well worth solving.

It might not be much of an Owen Wilson movie, or even that much of a superhero flick, but if you ignore the poster and trailer and the casting and premise, there’s a fun little Sunday afternoon family film here just begging for a sequel.

Ending up in a CG mess that tries to say something about karma, Bullet Train isn’t the Pulp Fiction on rails it thinks it is. What it is, though, is a whole dollop of fun. Buoyed by Leitch’s expert eye for action as well as one of the most hilariously disposable A-list casts around, the film has Friday night written all over it.

Bristling with good ideas and two great performances, a rushed ending that dips into daftness ends up killing off what could have been a great pitch for an offbeat little TV show that we’re now never going to get to watch.

Fortunately, Hawke is fantastic. Over-acting like his life depends on it, his mad kabuki mugging somehow works perfectly.

Somehow, Raimi – with strong, grounded turns from Cumberbatch and Olsen – just about keeps the film from running too far off the rails.

There’s plenty to admire in Silverton Siege, but most of it comes from the true story itself, with the film squandering every opportunity it has to make an impact.

Never quite sure enough of itself to answer its own questions, this is a fun, sweet and occasionally funny film, but it’s never going to win a battle of the band movies.

Watching Pine and Newton try and erotically spoon-feed each other bits of bacon while secretly trying to work out if they have to kill each other is more than enough to hang an entire film off. It’s just a shame the rest of the movie isn’t up to scratch.

Apatow has assembled a fantastic cast of A-listers and friends for his take on the pandemic. Unfortunately, it’s not very funny.

Full of sex without ever being sexy, and twisted into the shape of a thriller without having any actual intrigue or suspense, it still stands up as the kind of adult relationship drama that’s gone out of fashion – just as trashy as it is complex.

With a super-spoof that’s occasionally funny but always forgettable, the Melissa McCarthy-verse falls flat at Phase One.

Just as daft as it sounds but not half as bad, this Alpine splatter-fest works surprisingly well thanks to the old-school FX, the creative death scenes, and a vein of self-awareness that never gets too smug.

As a comedy creation, David Brent is still a masterwork, and the film works best when the pathos hits as hard as the punchlines. But Life on the Road should probably be the leaving party we all thought had been thrown a few times already.

When Abraham leaves the camera on Hiddleston and Olsen long enough to let them chew on their characters, the film offers flashes of something much more interesting: a handful of domestic scenes prove that the actors, not to mention Hank, would’ve been much better served by a ballsier script and braver direction.

With more whimsy than a Wes Anderson wedding – and a clunky third act that potholes the plot – Jeunet’s American comeback is beautiful, heart-warming and a bit of a mess.

A sad, gloomy family drama dressed up as horror, Maggie proves that Schwarzenegger can act when he wants to – even if he still looks like he’d rather be blowing shit up.

The script keeps its gloves on but Gyllenhaal gives his all, notching up one of his very best performances.

His state of mind goes some way to explaining the something-missing air of his last film, but it inspires to see how deeply he cares about his craft.

Previously known as "Mariah Mundi And The Midas Box," the retitling came with the straight-to-DVD release – presumably to help hide it from fans of G.P. Taylor’s original book.