Gordon-Levitt is perfectly fine as Snowden, getting the voice and cadence fairly spot on and he looks almost right. The problem is that he's such an introvert and blank slate - that's pretty good for espionage but not especially compelling for a character arc.

When Danny and Stu are on-screen together – The Escape Artist is immensely enjoyable.

It’s a shame that the real hope gap here is that between expectation and reality.

Something about the film’s tone fails to convince. Chekhov was the master of subtext and lauded for his compelling psychological naturalism. On screen, though, the characters’ desires come across as melodramatic and their impulsive actions lack Chekhov’s subtlety.

Hotel Artemis is a bold, loud, ambitious film, far cleverer than the bog-standard summer blockbuster fare, and with sharp humour and driving suspense it makes this pulpy-sci fi thriller a very fun watch.

A fluid, dreamlike tone poem of mothers and fathers, death and continuance.

Hosting's film is not for everyone; it is unforgiving and it is relentless. But for those of a certain disposition, The Greasy Strangler offers a great deal of distressing pleasure.

It feels more that Gemma Bovery goes through the motions of the novel, restricted by its own pretensions to meet high-brow literature.

The Dial of Destiny starts with a prologue that easily stands up against the classic trilogy, is often disarmingly poignant and never less than entertaining. Much of this is down to Ford, who has always excelled at bringing depth and charm to a character who on paper is fundamentally little more than a silhouette.

Hopefully, Soderbergh’s film will raise more awareness as well as a chuckle.

Ultimately, Benson's Eleanor Rigby disappears into the gap between its rom-com and drama stools.

It remains remarkable that, at the grand old age of 73, Bertolucci is still making films of intelligence and guile, let alone features about teenage angst and sexual maturation.

This is a good solid three star movie. Which is perhaps where Snyder should be anyway, away from the extremes of deification and vilification. When he’s not trying to be great, he can actually be quite good.

It's a finely made thriller that's a little bit more contemporary than other le Carré adaptations before it, and allows the central trio a chance to shine and Lewis to do some weird things with his accent and mouth as a weirdly laid back and unconcerned British agent.

All of the film is handled in such a way: from the beautiful monochrome photography that only extends the disconnection Olga feels with the world, to the understated and haunting performances, particularly Olszanska's.

In sensual romantic drama Simple Passion, Lebanese-born director Danielle Arbid captures viscerally that peculiar detachment that comes from romantic and sexual infatuation.

Despite a few sentimental missteps and a second-act move away from horror that will upset some hoping for more slashing, Happy Death Day 2U is a fluffy and surprisingly smart, if shallow, tumble through genre tropes.

Sadly, Love and Thunder proves that it’s possible to have too much of a good Thor.

The dark heart of In the Courtyard makes its comedy ever more piquant, while Deneuve and Kervern are exceptional as two lonely souls finding solace in each other's company during the twilight years of their lives.

Whilst Sutherland gives an impressive and powerful performance as an American on the run, the lack of substance and originality leaves you feeling somewhat unsatisfied.

With a lot of filler and none of the killer questions that are crying out to be asked, The Lost Sons leaves a lot unsaid. Take a step back from the effect of the shocking material, and the by-the-numbers construction of the film makes it too formulaic to leave a lasting impact.

Binoche's potent performance [cuts] to the quick of the struggle to balance a passion for work with a commitment to family.

Though it may not be one of Craven’s very best efforts, it does create a sense of tension seldom felt in horror cinema.

When push comes to shove, A Walk Among the Tombstones carries its B-movie thrills with aplomb.

This is a powerful and beautifully shot film of love and survival.

This is the fourth instalment in the Guest mockumentary 'canon' and it's evidence that the format has now solidified into a template that needs refreshing, as much gentle enjoyment as it might bring.

That the drama should hinge on a series of bizarre novelistic coincidences and the irrational dopiness of the characters with whom we're supposed to empathise drains the film of realism and sends us into Mills & Boon territory.

The Driver is a film of types and trends; a cinematic expression of our basest narrative impulses. Directed with remarkable economy, the seasoned Hill keeps everything as tight as possible.

Diary of a Chambermaid is beautifully shot and Jacquot's adaptation, co-scripted with Helene Zimmer, effectively conveys the casual violence of country life as well as the petty obsessions and miserliness of the bourgeoisie and the harsh treatment of their servants. The performances are also superb and Seydoux's stillness and quiet hauteur is particularly memorable.

As an audience, you're infected with the languor Abby suffers, realising that as pretty as Concussion looks and with such an interesting premise behind it, beneath the surface there is precious little to really sink your teeth into.

An entertaining and suitably gruesome gangster thriller which nevertheless feels like a missed opportunity.

The Seasons in Quincy is most compelling when we and it listens to Berger or captures him listening to someone else.

Jupiter's Moon is a highly ambitious and thoroughly entertaining trip and if the politics is more backdrop than subtext, what remains is compelling and occasionally beautiful enough for you to enjoy the flight.

A well-behaved and unashamedly populist film, the kind that could be shown in schools and community centres, Akin's The Cut remains an undeniably important film regardless. What it does extremely well is to movingly illustrate a terrible moment in history which has been sadly neglected in the West and actively suppressed in other parts of the world.

Paul Verhoeven’s first English language film Flesh + Blood is bloody, cynical and unrefined, but indicative of his later satirical tendencies.

Sadly, Radioactive is as lifeless and inert as a rock, badly let down by a dismal script, and carrying all the half-life of an unfinished fish dinner.

Films about teens looking for love and acceptance may be well-trodden ground, but Paper Towns finds a fresher path to get there.

Tom of Finland is imbued with playfulness but not the cutting edge, and bravery, of its eponymous leading man.

Gerard Johnson's sophomore feature might look on the outset like the type of London crime thriller usually populated by Jason Statham, but it's more emotionally complex than its outset gives it credit for.

Little Accidents may be a little too sober, lacking the occasional spark that would make it more than just a film about moral decision points - but it's a likable small-town drama all the same.

This is a heartfelt and charismatic teen movie that gives a platform to a promising young talent.

Ultimately, Sorrentino’s sympathies lie with Berlusconi because – in their vacuity and their need to impress – they have something in common.

It's a good-looking film and the three leads hold our attention, yet the lacklustre plotting and lack of narrative drive undercut The Man from U.N.C.L.E.'s overall charm.

War Machine is a good film but not a great one, hamstrung by too many ideas and too little focus, its effectiveness eroded as it pulls itself in multiple tonal directions.

With a fantastic stunt team, a gamely macho star and some wonderful editing, Rollerball is so convincing, urban legend had it there were fatalities during the shoot.

Though it may tell of one family's story in the late nineteenth century, and the superb costume and period attention to detail are firmly rooted in its time and place, the case that Tommy's Honour makes for breaking tradition, being true to oneself and challenging authority establishes thematic ties that are timeless.

Despite its pitfalls, Maleficent entertains because of Jolie, who holds the wavering threads of Stromberg's spinning wheel together with aplomb.

The style, one senses, is overcompensating for a narrative slackness that has nowhere particular to go other than anti-climax. That's not to say that Manglehorn isn't a good film - it is. It's just that Pacino's seasoned performance deserved a great film.

It's a banana flambé with extra rum that brazenly throws together folksy storytelling, arch soap opera melodrama and a typically eccentric cast into a golden Hollywood crack at the American Dream.

Betty Blue, in either of its forms – whether it be the 121-minute theatrical version or the 185-minute director’s cut – takes a bad situation and makes it true-blue and beautiful.

The film feels like yet another product of the recent studio appropriation of mumblecore as a commodity, ultimately removing any semblance of individualism and feeling like just another product off the factory conveyor belt.

There are undoubtedly kinks to iron out - the film has a particular problem with pacing during a section that requires careful handling - but this is a handsome and assured feature and certainly suggests a bright future behind the camera for Portman, who also stars.

Visually arresting and well-acted, Dogs shows promise but one would have hoped for some new tricks.

The film’s biggest weakness is its reluctance to interrogate the personas of its supporting characters.

I Love You, Daddy is a hilarious, awkward and boundary-pushing comedy about fatherhood, anxiety and the ethics of relationships.

With Old, Shyamalan appears to have embraced a devil-may-care attitude fitting for a filmmaker known to astound and dismay audiences in equal measure. Whisper it quietly, but it may be his best work in over a decade.

Money Monster hobbles towards the most unsurprising of finish lines. Thankfully, reaching the finale does put everyone out of their misery.

Its narrative might reach cliché towards the end, but powerful performances carry this fine fable of the American Dream lost in heartbreak.

Despite its manifold flaws, Jackie & Ryan is still oddly watchable.

Legend crucially lacks almost any sense of gravitas, although the bold and brash approach does keep you entertained.

While Kursk doesn’t have the sufficient depth required for a truly effective historical drama it certainly works as a well-mounted and occasionally gripping, if somewhat formulaic thriller.

A basically entertaining, but flimsy and shallow object, The Flash may not be the final entry in this long-beleaguered franchise, but it might as well be.

Broomfield’s triumph is in reimagining Biggie and Tupac’s murders out of their mythology and into a new context in which they are emblematic of a social malaise characterised by toxic masculinity, misogyny, racism, and police corruption.

Directed by Jon Cassar, Forsaken is a humdrum Western which never demonstrates even the suggestion of a trick up its sleeve.

The Current War feels like a history lesson with interesting visuals, rather than a compelling, fully-realised historical drama.

Like Pride Rock itself, this remake seems a spectacle to behold afar, but when you step closer all you can see are its monotonous shades of grey.

It’s just Huppert on autopilot and like that dry white wine, you can have too much of it.

The sheer insanity of the premise alone is enough to make Tusk a surreal hoot.

Garrel and Miller manage to create a credible chemistry.

Home is funny, colourful and fast-paced.

A far darker side of London is painted in bleakly realistic tones in City of Tiny Lights but, like its protagonist, Travis' film shoots from the hip, has a glint in its eye and packs a mean punch.

Piece by piece, Assassination Nation lays out and deconstructs the misogynistic assumptions that underpin many of our reactions to the girls’ behaviour.

It mostly holds together, but you'd have to hope that David Brent: Life on the Road represents the farewell tour.

An Evening with Beverly Luff Linn, tries to make a virtue out of extreme silliness and disjointed, oh-so-random plot points, but the end result is a desperately tiresome viewing experience.

An entertaining-enough survival romp that at only 90 minutes long feels oddly slack.

It makes for entertaining viewing but its power is undermined by a ultimate lack of insight amongst the debauchery.

Beneath the video nasty hysteria lies a horror of substantial craft and skill. Its iconic synth theme is on a par with the work of Goblin, whilst its rich cinematography makes the very most of the film’s luscious locales.

A lacklustre, frustratingly inconsistent work of music history sugar-coating.

The reticent interactions of Lanthimos’ trio of despairing souls mirrors the faded hopes of a transitory generation of dreamers, yet sadly Kinetta is too lost amongst the small, ostensibly insignificant gestures of its characters to truly grasp the larger movements occurring within the periphery.

Aïnouz has eschewed the post-modern fun of Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Favourite for a much grimmer, darker vibe. This is the kind of film where torches most definitely gutter and men call out directives “on the orders of the king!” But for all the weighty gravitas of Simon Russell Beale as a conniving bishop and Eddie Marsan as a conniving noble bring to bear, the story never takes the history seriously enough either.

Intermittently entertaining and laudably short, for all its best intentions Cymbeline is cursed by doing again what others have done better.

Sadly, Schroeder lacks the confidence required to elevate this average drama into something more substantial.

It might be that there’s a meatier version of the film – a Carlos-style miniseries perhaps – but as it stands, shifting between a lighthearted caper and more consequential political tragedy, Wasp Network is an entertaining fumble.

This is a largely uninspired rehash which fails to improve upon the superior original, stuttering along until the demented, anything goes finale.

Superficiality soaks the entire film.

Saturday Fiction certainly demands patience, shrouded at first in a smog of exposition.

This is a timely and necessary reminder of Trump's practices, but like Michael Moore's Michael Moore in Trumpland, this seems like another missed opportunity, a wry exasperated sigh, when we desperately need some full on rage.

Richard Wenk and Nic Pizzolatto's screenplay completely lacks the interpersonal vibrancy that a film like this needs and this is glaring given that it maintains the slow-build tension of the original.

Behind the closed doors of this lakeside paradise it is clear that there’s trouble afoot.

A Jarmusch joint through and through, The Dead Don’t Die is as charming, affected and perplexing as we’ve come to expect from the long-time darling of US indie cinema.

By showing that self-worth and acceptance of one’s faults are to be valued, DuVernay has shown how empowerment can come from changing your own outlook, and perhaps adults as well as kids will be able to take something positive from this movie.

Sono throws everything at the screen – samurai battles, shootouts, Cage shouting and threatening to karate chops the locals – but it rarely provides anything but the sense you’re watching bizarre performance art in place of a good film.