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.

Ali G Indahouse delivers more than its fair share of saucy hilarity.

The film-makers are obviously so sure that they have a can't-fail franchise on their hands that they haven't even bothered with world-building.

This new Rebecca feels as if someone at Downton Abbey were having a bad day.

It is a flawed film with a kind heart, but a significantly less impressive progeny of The Father's talky triumph. Like father, like son? Sadly, that doesn't seem to be the case.

Depending on how you look at it, this demythologising exercise is either daring or it's irritatingly smug, but it's definitely not much fun. Phillips seems to be saying that if you fell for Fleck's Messianic self-image the last time around, then the joke's on you.

While Pain Hustlers is a perfectly fine title, the film probably should have been called Liza Drake, the name of the sales rep played by Emily Blunt, who single-handedly almost saves this tone-deaf drama from itself.

Foe plays to the strengths of its actors, two of the most natural and subtle on screen, and is endlessly engaging even though it eventually stumbles into head-spinning narrative problems.

Waititi's winning, winsome film is his most accessible and mainstream movie to date, Marvel aside, one that successfully mixes in funny jokes with zeitgeisty social commentary.

There is nothing in Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom that's fun or thrilling or moving enough to make you wish for any further sequels.

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.

A watchable, if by-the-book little movie.

And so it is that a film that was shaping up to be an intelligent and respectful homage to The Exorcist descends to the depths of a cheesy, straight-to-streaming rip-off. Viewers should do what Victor advises, and leave.

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.

The film's only major fault is Trevorrow's desperation to ensure that viewers get their money's worth. Jam-packed with silliness, spectacle, intrigue, romance and just about everything else, Jurassic World Dominion has regular popcorn-spilling scares, exhilarating, expertly choreographed action set pieces that would earn a tip of the baseball cap from Spielberg himself, and the numerous characters all have plenty to do.

The one Vaughn trademark that Argylle is lacking is the director's usual adolescent offensiveness. He's taken out all the sex, gore and swearing, which may be a sign of belated maturity, but which leaves Argylle seeming all too close to Ghosted, Shotgun Wedding, Freelance, Murder Mystery, and the other sort-of action, sort-of romance, sort-of comedy films which have been dumped on streaming services over the last couple of years. They're all vapid, anonymous blocks of content, but at least the others offer something vaguely glamorous to slump in front of in your living room when you can't settle on anything more nourishing to watch. Argylle, on the other hand, is being released in cinemas, so the shoddy and derivative nature of the enterprise is harder to forgive.

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

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