Paul Bradshaw

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.

Gyllenhaal clearly loves losing his mind as the nice-guy/bad-guy with a mad streak, and Abdul-Mateen grounds it all in some kind of sticky morality, but it’s González that holds the film together from the backseat.

Hamaguchi’s literary and densely layered drama moves slowly through its runtime, but stick with it and Drive My Car rewards patience like almost nothing else.

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.

Flashy enough for pantomime but lacking the sense of fun, the rest of the film follows Branagh’s journey into dull excess, with Christie’s cracking whodunnit deafened by the camerawork and deadened by lazy writing.

Just as ugly and beautiful as any classic noir, del Toro’s dark, dazzling three-ring Hollywood circus proves the old-fashioned event film still has a lot of life left.

Driven by big-truck energy and lumbered with tired sports clichés and flat jokes, Home Team feels like its target audience is bad dads who don’t like spending time with their sons.

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.

Director Amber Fares finds a frankly astounding subject for her first feature-length doc, using the story of a few brave sportswomen to shine a bright headlamp on lives lived under occupation.

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.

Juvenile? Weird? Gross? Yes. But also the best flatulence-themed indie-comedy-musical-drama you’ll see this year.

Lovely animation evokes a world made from Fuzzy-Felt and Play-Doh.

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.

Taking Lorius’ own incredible expedition footage and giving it a whimsical bent and a voiceover, Jacquet shapes a powerful portrait of the world and its soothsayer.

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.

Anyone expecting opera and opium will be disappointed. But a majestic McKellen rescues a safe script, giving us a fresh look at an icon even the most casual viewer will be (over)familar with.

An existential flipbook and a heartbreaking black joke: stickmen have never looked so alive.

If you’re willing to let a few things slide, this is one of the best family blockbusters in years. Clooney and Robertson (literally) soar, the madcap action always feels grounded and Bird’s world is bursting with visual invention.

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.

Marches to the beat of its own drum… Lands with a bang… There just aren’t enough musical clichés to describe Whiplash. A masterclass in technique, power and rhythm, it stings and sings like nothing else.

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.

Like a Richard Curtis movie with an Instagram filter, director Christian Ditter makes everything look pretty.