Hotel Transylvania 2, much like its predecessor, never aims too high, so the fact that it comes as such a pleasant surprise makes it all the more entertaining.

It's impossible not to be sucked into, but it's equally impossible not to imagine how much more significant No Home Movie might have been.

Conceptually, Azor, is brilliant and its dreamlike editing that joins one meeting to the next with little connective tissue is often intriguing. But as a viewing experience, it is roundly obtuse with a repetitious, meandering narrative.

As moving and timely as The Final Year is, it doesn’t quite hit these marks.

The film lacks the crackle of Grant’s later masterpieces yet there remains a great deal to enjoy here with an ending that surprises with its tenderness, not-so-subtle eroticism and visual wit.

This might not be the film you’re quite expecting from the director of arthouse dramas focused on modern life in Brazil, but it fits right in as a variation and continuation of Mendonça Filho’s pet themes.

An earnest, forensic examination into the slaying of the Israeli Prime Minister.

Julia’s journey is one of nihilism having transformed into a quest for meaning: Rodeo’s final image speaks to both of these impulses.

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.

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.

There’s nothing inherently problematic about reverence and homage, but the partial focus on the Strodes, and the ideas cased within regarding the bonds and abscissions violence brings, makes one wish more time was spent studying their multi-generational dynamic than on Michael’s murder spree.

Louis Black and Karen Bernstein pay warm tribute to the filmmaker in what is a fitting ode to independent spirit more than a penetrating portrait.

Loaded with unremarkable statements on moral resolve and brimming with arrogance, this desultory study of grief and the need for an artist to suffer in order to create great art is as hollow and throwaway as the redundant platitude it derives its name from.

Though not without merit, Cold In July finds Mickle happily stalled in front of the drive-in cinema screens of his youth. Let's just hope he can find the exit.

Move Me No Mountain is an emotionally and thematically inert experience.

Fun, violent and cathartic, but with an air of arch self-satisfaction that misses the complexity of the debate it constructs around itself.

Amini has proven his narrative acumen before and will undoubtedly do so again, but his inaugural stint behind the camera offers only fleeting glimpses of Highsmith's seductive, satirical prose that old hands such as Clément, Hitchcock and Minghella have so notably put to good use.

A stylish and fitfully engaging crime thriller with a great concept, let down by incoherent plotting and impenetrable characterisation.

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.

Put simply, the adaptation doesn’t work and the movie is instantly forgettable.

There is much to like about Elle, first and foremost a witty and bold performance from Huppert and the generally seasoned ensemble.

Mitchell’s third film feels like a script that was locked in a drawer after numerous rejections but now can be brought out and pushed through with clout earned from the success of It Follows.

Sadly, In Secret's script is so loaded with dud lines that any of the more successful elements are quickly erased from memory.

Where Snyder’s previous film at least tried to consider the ramifications of Gods living among us, Justice League is about nothing other than the vapid, commercial need to make a Justice League film.

Endless drone shots, perspective switches and too many CGI animals undercut any grit or claustrophobia that Trachtenberg – director of the brilliant 10 Cloverfield Lane – might otherwise have crafted. Meanwhile, the interminable score refuses to quiet down and let the images or emotions speak for themselves.

Arnie completists will enjoy seeing the Austrian Oak in good form, but as a whodunit thriller Sabotage is found severely wanting.

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.

Described as a darkly comic horror movie, Cold Fish manages to defy the trade descriptions act on both fronts.

Despite a delicate handling of Kyle's internal struggles on home soil, deeper complexity appears to lie just out of frame throughout.

Despite a liberal dose of full frontal nudity, The Canyons fails to fully revel in its sleaze, struggling to even work as a deadpan satire on the kind of vacuous and deadened Hollywood types Easton Ellis brought to life in the pages of his debut novel, Less Than Zero.

When you're pining for Bill Paxton and the relative emotional realism of Twister, you know you're in trouble.

Seidl is a filmmaker of both talent and merit, but the blatant manipulation of his subjects and the nakedness of his own intentions and dribbling fascination make In the Basement irrelevant as a comment on Austrian society as a whole, and only passingly interesting as an unsurprising picture of what some very odd people do in the privacy of their own homes.

There is no soul, and no heart to the story. A good sci-fi is never merely about the effects, it's about the plot, character and thoughts they bring to life, all of which Valerian lacks in abundance.

Bearing in mind the dramatic nature of the real life-and-death story at Dormant Beauty's core, this is an unacceptable and irresponsible piece of filmmaking for all of its good intentions.

There are glimmers of a more complex, empathetic film here: the main cast do fine work with what they’ve got and the film’s apparent detachment from its characters mirrors the empty indifference that often characterises depression. But any potential for complexity is undone by the film’s tacky reveals, mawkish speechifying and its often spiteful approach to its own characters.

It has to be said that Van Sant is not above doing one for the studio but quite what sins he had committed to be made to make this pile of sub-Nicolas Sparks tripe will be beyond most.

Other than a sinking feeling, there’s not much else The Chamber is going to give you.

The final twist is so manipulative and cynical as to be actually enraging.

American Honey ticks off all of the indie clichés. Fireworks? Check. Standing up in convertible with your arms outstretched? Check. Grubby children? Check. But all of this could be forgiven, or at least put up with, if the film wasn't so long and meandering.

Sea Fever proves better in concept than in execution, let down by a second act of fumbled editing and slackened tension.

The metaphors of colonial history, the subjugation of women and Aboriginal peoples, vicious social ills and a nation’s hidden guilty past are all alluded to. But their treatment in The Legend of Molly Johnson are not developed to the extent needed to leave the lasting gut punch, and change of consciousness, this admirable project could have achieved.

Bitch Ass is an off-the-shelf genre flick with some decent ideas and a fun cast, sadly lacking in sufficient inspiration or originality to merit recommendation.

The trademark brutal violence remains effective, and Zahler maintains a pervasive feeling of dread throughout his films, but Dragged Across Concrete shows the limits of taking the game long.

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

Another limp, almost laugh-free comedy to add to Diaz's long list of failures, Kasdan's Sex Tape fails to ignite the obvious chemistry between her and the usually solid Segel, himself in possibly his least entertaining performance.

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.

Like Skyfall, Spectre is loaded with allusions to the previous films in the franchise, undoubtedly providing much glee for Bond fans. The nods, quips, and general formula that audiences have come to know soon becomes weary and tiring, however.

Some of it is funny. Some of it is moving. More of it is plain dull.

It’s not that Abigail is terrible: all its pieces slip together where they should, but its for all its excessive violence and gore it is a dull, lifeless experience.

Leach's camera remains sympathetic to these characters. He doesn't judge, and for a time it is intriguing to see why these people are so obsessed with this myth.

There are just too many jumps to make and spaces to fill to fully believe this fantastical obsession.

Asking little of its stars, and even less of any watching audience, Get Hard is a familiar studio comedy that barely succeeds in its attempt to drown out a thin plot with jokes that will appeal to people who have seen a lot of the actors' previous films. Perhaps the offensive thing about it is that we've seen this all before.

The Mauritanian is not the film it could, and really should, have been.

With no fun to be had, The Gunman also lacks essential thrills. If Sean Penn is winging for an action-hero renaissance like Neeson's, he'll be in need of material a lot more compelling than this.

While the core concepts of Transcendence and the questions they pose are inherently interesting, the manner in which the themes are explored feels extremely superficial.

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

Constructed with his trademark panache, it is bold, bracing and stylish in both its aesthetics and an outstanding retro soundtrack, but as its parallel leading ladies will discover to their peril, not all that glitters is gold.

Rio 2's Amazon adventure finds its wings clipped by more tired and unnecessary subplots than you can shake a feather at.

The script, credited to no more than three screenwriters (one of which being Vanessa Davies, who came up with the idea), is predictable and innocuous, yet peppered with comedic moments that are deserving of a chuckle or two, if only for the way they’re played by the talented cast.

As fate closes in on the lovers, the silliness of their own behaviour and Marguerite & Julien in general prevents any pathos from entering the scene. The taboo of incest never troubles as one never truly believe that they are brother and sister - or in love - or anything else.

Though its 60s-inspired, Gilliam-esque animation style is certainly awkward enough to draw the notice of the arthouse and indie crowds, Cryptozoo’s storytelling and themes fail to come up to the complexity of even a middling Pixar effort.

Petzold struggles to keep hold of the reigns, wielding the effects of melodrama with little to no precision or psychological acuity, and leaving the essential romance at the heart of the story to be rendered almost entirely unbelievable.

A handsomely crafted, yet overacted revenge tale with a broken moral compass, Prisoners fails to build upon its taut atmosphere of suspense with anything of particular social value.

The Girl in the Spider’s Web demonstrates how uncertainty is a detriment, just as it proves Alvarez will always be a stylist worth watching.

Like much of his recent scripted work, it's a mannered affair that's vague and clumsy.

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.

There will be those for whom Angel of Death provides precisely what they are after, but a couple of brief flashes of quality aren't capable of making the film anything close to creepy enough.

While Binoche is reliably magnetic and the fitfully pretty visuals match a ripped-from-the-headlines script, Who You Think I Am’s pot never quite comes to the boil.

An imagined biography of a fictional pop star, the film is ambitious in its structure but only occasionally flickers into life.

Ultimately, though it hints at moments of wit, Cuck never feels serious enough to be a convincing character study and not garish enough to head into genre territory. Ultimately, this sordid tale feels both real and inconsequential.

It's an undeniable hoot that plays very much to a specific audience but a word of warning: even those that are fans of this kind of ridiculous and farcical actioner might find themselves checking out of Yakuza Apocalypse before their stay is up. Again, with emphasis on the word 'might'.

When I Saw You too closely resembles a Children Film Foundation treatise on a subject that deserves (and needs and demands) better treatment; something that will focus people's gaze on the horror and displacement of exile and all that entails.

Terminator Genisys' ambition overrides sense and depth in the pursuit of a new direction, and then unwittingly proves how little life there is left in this franchise.

In the end, Mid90s is harmless and, at times, funny and charmingly nostalgic. But unless you’ve spent the last 25 years lamenting the loss of VHS, Super Nintendo and Nirvana – or are a manic Katherine Waterston completist – then there’s no real need to see this film.

Though the grins, laughter and cheering of the film’s climax is a little too heavy on the sweetness, it’s a harder heart than mine that would fail to be just a little moved by Bunton’s speech about our dependence on one another.

A neat little thriller which unfortunately never achieves plausibility.

An uneven blend of melodrama and the horrors of civil war, it should be anchored by strong leads but instead remains listless and adrift.

The period atmosphere isn't alive with bold ideas as much as decay.

San Andreas' whirlwind of action and devotion to the disaster movie playbook will satisfy those looking for a loud, effects-filled ride. Those inspecting it any closer will find a cookie cutter studio blockbuster which stretches disbelief to its limits.

Jones has great talent as a director, but even with good performances by the cast, Mute is let down by a weak and bland script.

Despite a promising concept and strong production values, Summertime's poor execution makes it one to avoid.

The material is weak, overly familiar and cliché-ridden. Dolan throws the cinematic sink at it but his latest feels like a shorter, not particularly watchable sequel to August, Osage County.

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

Both leads produce solid performances despite a sloppiness in both the direction and the writing.

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

Budgetary restrictions offer a narrow visual scope which isn’t helped by the plodding, stagy pace (maddeningly slow at times).

Hughes' sequel fails because it makes no attempts whatsoever to rise above its predicable formula, even with the new cast additions and a promising director.

It soon becomes difficult to dismiss the suspicion that Goldthwait had set out to make a comic horror but forgot to insert any laughs.

Hill does his best but Jim is woefully underwritten, a shuffling loser who various other characters try to bolster with the dignity of a back story that doesn’t seem to fit his actual behaviour.

Pompeii make tick all the necessary movie checkboxes, but its execution is unoriginal and uninspired.

Doremus doesn't appear to take the world he has created at all seriously. The rules shift and bend, are observed - or aren't - according to the exigency of the narrative, which ultimately renders the whole exercise fundamentally unconvincing and fatally irksome.

The Legend of Barney Thomson has a few redeeming features scattered throughout, but for Carlyle it's much too bland and undefined.

It's essentially a collection of shoddily edited action sequences, underpinned by a monotonous narrative that has no purpose, let alone moral heart to reward viewers' waning attention.

Despite its myriad issues, Glass is often a hoot to watch – particularly once Elijah comes out of his self-induced fugue to wreak havoc on the facility, with Jackson hamming it up with infectious relish, bouncing off the gurning McAvoy.

In the end, it’s more disappointing than bad. A great cast and an interesting period of history (even if it has been done to death on screens and in classrooms) wasted on a sombre muddle that wants to have both the gravity of Shakespeare and a fresh, dynamic perspective.

Woman in Gold is ultimately a worthy endeavour even when it is not entirely successful.

It's a rancid cocktail of misogyny, homophobia, and much more besides, that never convinces as scathing satire as much as back-slapping celebration.

Vita and Virginia is a remarkably chaste and safe film given its wealthy subject matter.