William Thomas

A worthy diversion for the very young, but against their more venerable stablemates - notably DuckTales - The Rescuers's identification/memorableness factor remains second division.

Connery was perhaps wise to call it quits the first time round.

Engaging performances by Penn and Walken can’t quite turn this brutal curio into something more substantial.

The technique used here to plonk Martin in classic movies seems out of place given the kind of sophisticated effects we have on tap today, but there is a real sense of fun at work nonetheless.

Not as closely controlled as My Beautiful Laundrette, but still a purposeful cross-cultural comedy that raises a few questions alongside the few laughs.

As a fish-out-of-water comedy-drama, it works well.

Entertaining family movie for rainy nights and Christmas holidays.

Weird, but kind of cool.

The script self-destructs, but the performances — including Daniel Stern as an expendable sidekick — are fun, and John Badham stages some super stunts with the insectile title machine.

From the visceral plunges of the first person mind clip sequences (including a terrifying, controversy courting rape sequence) to the overwhelming finale this is a, literally, stunning event. Some directors can, thank God, still make you experience films.

Knowingly kitsch, Liquid Sky uses the most basic effects and featuring music and fashion that were cutting edge at the time, it now looks fashionably retro. With lots of sex and violence, it sounds a lot more promising than it is, let down by its poor acting, script and a cast we feel little sympathy for.

Maddin's surrealism is always gently persuasive rather than all-out shocking. Nobody else is doing anything remotely like this; reason enough to treasure it.

With a heavily improvised script Cassavetes gets the most from his actors, each giving emotive performances.

Tense, powerful and considerably less crass than "Crash," Elah may be jammed with ideas that don’t all connect, but Jones’ devastating performance makes this a compassionate and very human look at the Iraq conflict.

While the backgrounds and animation are wonderful, the film suffers from an intensely depressing middle section, full of heart-stopping chases, damaged friendships and forgettable songs more likely to invoke fidgets than sniffles among the younger contingent in the audience.

While never as trailblazing as its subject, The Express is a worthy addition to the lengthy canon of sports biopics

Enjoyable enough nonsense, even if it barely cracks a smile.

A dedicatory, sometimes sombre recreation of the career of 50s teen-throb Richie Valens, which feels like a personal project by director Luis Valdez.

Beyoncé proves her Dreamgirls turn was no fluke in this so-so Blues melodrama.

The trouble with spoofing soap opera is that its dramatically deranged conventions - dead characters resurrected, hitherto unknown progeny claiming birthrights and bedrooms, characters metamorphosed into new actors - are already so absurd they are hard to send up any further.

Stagey filming aside, this is a sharp and controlled study of celebrity obsession.

Worth a look, if only for the surreal groupings of the gangs (The Wongs, the Del Bombers and the Fordham Baldies...that's right, they're bald).

Never brave enough to feel far-reaching (or, ironically, far-fetched, when time-travel and space flight are so popular at the movies), Navigator still fulfills its mission, distracting the family for bang-on an hour and a half.

Beautiful to look at, but shot with a cruel and unerring eye, it gives no quarter to the German people for their complicity in events, and in turn disgusts, amazes and frightens.

Douglas and Turner make a great double act in this exuberantly directed adventure movie with a great start turn from the always enjoyable De Vito. Good stuff.

As Lowe systematically dismantles Spader's antiseptic existence, Hanson and writer David Koepp handle the thriller plot well, with Lowe effective as the plastically beautiful but deeply dangerous bad influence of the title.

The script might have benefited from being directed by someone more daring, instead George Roy Hill settles for more mainstream territory.

A screwball comedy, with two well-cast leads, with a pre-Sex and the City Parker and a amusing Cage. The plot is ridiculous but enjoyably so, with enough jokes to carry it for an hour and a half and a relatively fast pace prevents you from seeing the holes in the story.

There's no escaping the teen angst or, for that matter, Araki's thumping message with the angry director managing to slip the odd political curve-ball into proceedings as if he's been watching too many Oliver Stone movies.

With a slew of body swap films in the late 80's it was expected that this would be another one to fall by the way. Except with a promising script by newcomers Rene and Craig and strong performances from Ryan, Baldwin and Walker, it manages to be more memorable than most.

It's in the animal capers that Disney's skill really comes into play, as stunning wildlife photography combines with an Incredible Journey-type treat-animals-as-furry-people attitude to the narrative, transforming an average adventure film into a humorous, dangerous and immensely watchable movie.

Like the stranded astronauts, we are forced to sit around for too long in stale air, waiting for something to happen. An overly-long, vacuous foray into space.

It all adds up to just another glossy Love Story.

A self-consciously grubby and silly slasher that'll be lapped up by gorehounds, but which really belongs on the rental shelves.

Vice Versa knows its place and, rather than attempting anything oddball, sticks close to the body swap formula in order to gain a decent smattering of laughs. No classic, but a watchable comedy that will find an audience.

An otherwise fine sports fantasy is dragged down by an overindulgence in sentimentality.

Loud and ludicrous, The Jerk is a strong contender for the funniest film of all time.

This is the Bond flick blessed with the best plot, a genuine sense of emotion and a spirit closest to Ian Fleming’s novels.

Disney’s adaptation of the first book in T. W. White’s colourful Arthurian trilogy The Once And Future King (which also served as the source for the musical Camelot) is formulaic matinee fare, competent and sprightly but undistinguished.

An embarrassing mish-mash of comedy and horror which fits neither criteria.

This film is more known for being the one which introduced Goldie Hawn to Kurt Russell than anything else, which is somewhat unfair as at its heart lies a sweet romance, with good performances from both the leads and an Oscar nomination for supporting actress Lahti.

Don't expect the puppet to wisecrack - there's more pain here than in "The Passion Of The Christ." It never quite comes together in a satisfying way, but it's still a brave, strange, brain-stirring piece of filmmaking.

A suspense-filled nailbiter that plays on a fear no weapon weilding psycho can top.

This is arguably although unfortunately Goldie Hawn's most memorable role. For while she embodies the character perfectly and when the jokes are funny they are hilarious, sadly there just isn't enough to keep the film going and it begins to run out of steam half way through, with an attempt at a deeper meaning ruining the film.

What could have been an effective excoriation of US drug policy and a proper look at the violence inherent in the trade is wasted on a simplistic thriller that offers very little, especially given who is behind the camera. Sorry if that harshes anyone's buzz.

A welcome surprise, containing more bona fide scares than Romero's vision, while paying grand lip service to the old master. Truly worthy of that famous title.

A sentimental drama that's 'good in the air' and something of a throwback to war films of old.

Another coming-of-age tale about three boys and their quest to become men, which invariably revolves around having sex and puerile behaviour but then changes tack completely by giving us lush scenery. If the director had remained with one idea then perhaps the end product wouldn't seem so varied.

Thankfully Annaud's stunning direction takes in the beautiful scenery allowing a mild diversion from the scenes of romance.

Same old sequel squanderings.

It's a million miles from MTV chic; instead a timeless record of a timeless band, now fifty-somethings uniting an everyman/woman/child audience. Feel the power.

Take an uncharismatic leading man (Bill Campbell), an obviously pre-Oscar Jennifer Connelly, a scene-chewing Timothy Dalton and action that doesn't start until halfway through the film and what you have is one of 1991's more disappointing summer flicks.

An unsatisfying conclusion, but an inspirational story deftly handled by Freeman.

Despite some good moments, Agents J, O and K are missing an E.

Reynolds was coasting at this point of his career, with zero risk-taking it ends up as a soulless, below-average movie.

Impressive visual invention by Nimoy and the reliability of his cast mean that Trek III does more good than harm to a franchise still competing with it's younger, more tehnologically advanced adversaries.

Undemanding, entertaining and thoroughly enjoyable.

De Niro's little known masterclass makes this essential viewing.

Interesting but flawed.

The likeable veneer of the film never threatens to evaporate, which is both a good and a bad thing; the comedy is plentiful but the dark laughs are never quite dark enough, given the subject matter.

A fun, action-packed reintroduction to Conan Doyle's classic characters. Part Two should provide more in the way of scope.

A fair-to-middling auto-noir with a hole in the middle roughly the size of its leading man’s head.

Unashamedly sentimental, but all the better for it.

It's not as poetic as My Darling Clementine or as historically accurate as Sturges' sequel-remake, Hour Of The Gun, but it is a wonderful evocation of the brassy Westerns of the 50s, when Burt and Kirk demonstrated more machismo than a whole posse of Arnies or Slys.

Good performances, but If you're looking for an uplifting tale of hope against despair, look elsewhere.

A slicky edited, white knuckle ride to the depths of depravity.

It wants to be a modern "Taxi Driver"; it manages to be the new Falling Down, with Foster as fierce as ever.

Slow, ponderous and as shallow as it thinks it is deep, lifted only by an impressive opening and fine work from Damon and Howard.

Both leading ladies display great willingness to send up themselves and Hollywood, and Willis' quiet nervous breakdown showcases his previously unguessed-at comic skills. But it's the pitch-black comedy and celebrity satire that make this so enjoyable.

Always a spoof rather than a homage, this comedy soon realises there's only so many laughs you can plunder from the heavy premise and the repetitive carriages.

There's some likable energy to the performances and a strong soundtrack, but the lack of sustained dancing make this more of a nostalgic fantasy than a proper musical, whereas 'Shagging' itself seems far too complicated to catch on.

Sweet but predictible angst-ridden Brat Pack outing.

Hardly a classic given the talents of Carell, Rudd and Roach at his best. It bungles utilising plenty of talent in a lightweight comedy effort that brings little fresh to the table.

Unfortunately shallow characterisation, a script so laid-back you can almost hear it snoring and the occasional outburst of hokey dialogue lead to a movie a good deal less charming than it thinks it is.

Election Year maintains the nervy tension that made the first films entertaining, but doubles down on the political metaphors, overwhelming you with its soap-box rhetoric.

A bizarre, intriguing combination of political allegory and old-fashioned paranoid horror.

Good, gory fun.

Life stinks, Brooks' character stinks and the film, after all the Brooks magic in the past, stinks.

About as funny as contracting cancer.

Ultimately lost in it's own contrivances, Big Business still manages a few laughs thanks to it's big name leading lady.

An unusually thoughtful look (and a broad one) at powers on the wane, at America's shift from Vietnam polarisations to 80's apathy, and at one man teetering on the brink of a lonely old age.

A classic screwball comedy that draws its inspiration from the 1930's genre. The jokes are quick and amusing enough to carry it through it's hour-and-three-quarters. Russell and Hawn have fun with the characters which comes through and makes it all the funnier.

There is bound to be a large appreciative audience for this chick flick. But it might not be you.

Despite winning turns by Lewis and an on-form Goldblum, the laughs are in short supply.

Fun, but it mugs too hard.

Sound silly? It is. Very. But it's also highly enjoyable, incredibly slick and a damn sight more entertaining than numerous other bombastic actioners. Bogosian makes for a splendidly deranged villain.

How did such a dream project on paper turn out so wrong. It should remain one of the great mysteries of cinema. The less said about this one, the better. For Spielberg completists only.

Most of the people who see this will own funnier home videos of wedding disasters.

Humdrum adaptation that should, given the ripe nature of its source material, have been much better.

An insipid '80s nostalgia piece really, held together by Fox's performance and several neat turns from his support.

Even worse than it sounds.

Not only do the pair have to prepare for the upcoming race, but, hey, they also have to deal with a hysterical mother, a dying father, and the knowledge that one brother is destined for the same fate as pops. Not quite as sickly as it sounds, with a fair few hints of the onscreen magnetism to come.

The big screen was where none of them had gone before, and you can tell.

Too glossy to evoke real sexual tension or, more crucially in this genre, fear, Laura Mars suffers from the over complication of something so simple as serial killing.

Decent premises and the promise of Billy Crystal pale in a film that fronts up to, then whimpers away from, the prospect of leaping out of its genre's boundaries.

Outrageous and endearing, the Zombieland team swaps horror for crime in a daft caper that's undoubtedly slight but terrifically entertaining all the same. Very fast and lots of fun.

If it doesn't make you at least giggle, then you clearly don't understand the true meaning of the festive season.

Whatever his intentions, the finished product is about as deep and meaningful as you’d expect from a work starring the Man Who Is Clark Griswold. Which is a good thing really, as, uncomplicated, genuinely funny comedy players are thin on the ground at the moment, and it means Memoirs can carry off the semi-slapstick, borderline-cretinous gags with pace and panache.