Terry Staunton

In all fairness, Tuason ups the ante in the last reel, the pedestrian tease of what went before giving way to more palpably spooky shenanigans, but it’s a ludicrously long wait for the yarn to step up a gear that runs the risk of the audience having already given up on the whole affair.

This is science fiction with a reassuring soul, where the sombre comes bearing a smile, and the vastness of space is never quite so scary when you’re sharing it with a new pal.

Of the newcomers to the saga, Keoghan imbues Duke with a tender vulnerability beneath all his surface bluster and violence, and his scenes with Murphy give the film palpable heart whenever it runs the risk of being overwhelmed by beatings, bullets and bombs.

There are undeniable faults, plot holes and a dubious ending, although it’s still a crowd-pleaser executed with zest, suggesting Williamson is integral to Scream, if you wanna go faster.

Neville, an Oscar winner for his 2013 study of backing singers 20 Feet from Stardom, devotes perhaps too much time to biographical details fans will already know well, but should be applauded for scratching deeper below the surface of a superstar in transition.

Both actors imbue events with personality, bringing rich textures to the story that have been largely missing since 28 Days Later, resulting in a supremely satisfying horror thrill ride with unexpected depth.

It goes without saying that the screenplay, unavoidably melodramatic in places yet never mawkish, is designed for audiences to root for the couple, but Jackman and Hudson are so on their game, so engaged in making Mike and Claire believable that only stone-hearted cynics won’t end up loving them.

Feig could be accused of over-egging puddings in the way he ultimately ties the threads of his characters together, and there are one or two moments when too close an examination of his house of cards might send it tumbling to the ground, but the end result is a satisfyingly scary chiller that benefits from not always taking itself seriously.

It should be funnier, it should be more frightening, and it needed everyone involved to bring a feistier game to a film that began life as, well, a game. Here’s hoping any future reservation at the deathly diner has a more mouth-watering menu.

Deliver Me From Nowhere works best when it’s small, when its sharper focus is on a troubled thirty-something burying himself in the creation of what would become one of his most celebrated records, digging deep into music both haunting and healing.

The pity is that one look at the cast list promises riches that never surface; these are hugely talented actors feeding on the scraps of a solid premise made stagnant by the screenplay’s myriad shortcomings.

There’s still a good time to be had, but such beloved characters deserve a better film than this – and seeing as the actors wrote it they’ve only themselves to blame.