The worst part of the production is the dull screenplay by Jeff Nathanson, which has Mufasa plodding through Africa, bumping into various members of the supporting cast, and having tedious soul-searching conversations that sound like therapy sessions.

For now, Sweeney's celebrity still overshadows her acting.

Cats needed more narrative, more comedy, more show-stopping tunes, and more choreography that hadn’t been chopped to ribbons by the editors.

Almost entirely free of context or comment, it’s like watching a grim, sordid and in fact rather dull porno flick, where the director documents the sexual demands of a number of ‘imaginative’ businessmen and then – unlike the prostitute herself – does nothing with them.

A disorientating, maddening whirlwind of haunting sights, thunderous music and fiercely intense performances, Alpha confirms that Ducournau is a visionary artist. But once you've recovered from the brain-bashing experience of watching her latest film, it comes to seem a lot less satisfying and stimulating than Titane was.

The Russos clearly couldn't decide which tone to go for, so they made a zany farce about cheerful super-spies, and then they made a cynical conspiracy drama about death and trauma, and they kept cutting between them. The result is a film that never seems to know what it's doing, or why.

The story is thin, repetitive, and almost entirely dependent on the heroes being clumsy.

Some films can re-energise a genre, like last year's huge hit Godzilla Minus One . . . Godzilla x Kong is the opposite, a dazzling visual accomplishment that already feels old.

It becomes increasingly hard to care as pace, reality, and even believable fantasy are buried under a wreath of ye olde boredom. As always though, Elizabeth Taylor brings a little bit of class to her scenes.

Nearly everything about it is stale and derivative, all the way to the teasing extra scenes during and after the end credits. Instead of feeling like the birth of a thrilling new franchise, it feels like the last gasp of a worn-out old one.

If you can't improve on Spielberg – and really, when it comes to this kind of film, who can? – better to try something bold to prevent any waning dino-interest.

The stage is set for a rip-roaring adventure, a space opera sprinkled with debates on the ethics of colonialism and assimilation. But then Cameron takes the film in a new direction - and The Way of Water becomes a damp squib.

Nothing exciting happens. There are no challenges to meet, no obstacles to overcome, no Death Stars to destroy.

Behind the impressive CGI, Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is the definition of generic, all two hours and 25 minutes of it. The ending teases a sequel that offers a more intriguing conflict ahead, but that doesn't help us now.

Whatever you think of Jackson, he was driven to create spectacular and innovative entertainment. And yet the film has none of that spirit. It was clearly intended as a tribute to him as a person, but it's a grievous insult to him as an artist.

When a gigantic octopus tentacle reached out of the ocean to grab Meiying, it suddenly made me think of a very good octopus dish at a local restaurant. I wasn't even hungry. It's just that easy to lose interest in anything going on in this movie.

Anyone fascinated by artistic follies will take an academic interest in its excesses, and it's certainly loopy enough to build a cult following. But this pretentious, portentous curio will test the patience of everyone else.

Neil Jordan's re-working of Michael Curtiz's 1954 film We're No Angels is a woefully shoddy, misfiring, and mis-conceived affair typical of the director's frequent forays into Hollywood.