It's a gem of a film to be cherished by one and all.

The funniest Spider-Man film yet, Homecoming is a true teen flick, its visuals full of colour and exuberant movement.

Skillfully mixing elements of horror while never alienating its core PG demographic, The 'Burbs also benefits from a wonderfully playful score by the late great Jerry Goldsmith. While the film bottles it slightly at the end with the obvious, neatly-tied-together resolution which would have benefited from maintaining an ambiguity, the enormous sense of fun established by Dante and his cast in the run-up more than makes up for any shortcomings.

The script is well-paced and packed with twists and turns that offers little in the way of respites to the beautiful mayhem. The characters, too, are wonderfully realised through the performances from the entire cast, each making a big impression no matter how long they're on screen.

Dirty Grandpa wants to be as filthy as a Tijuana peep show featuring a beleaguered performer and put upon donkey, but ends up as sickly sweet as a Werther's Original.

Stockholm, My Love is sure to induce warm feelings in those who share Cousins' love of the city, but that peculiarly urban paradox of distance and intimacy will resonate even with those unfamiliar with Sweden's capital.

A compelling re-telling of the singer's story.

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

As well as ruminating on grief and the impalpable, incomprehensible sense of loss in the wake of a lifelong love, A Man Called Ove gives credence to the notion that there is much more to any individual than merely a name, that outer appearance and behaviour belie an unknown past.

Harmonium remains a deeply affecting narrative of guilt, consequence and failed redemption.

Adapting Melanie Joosten's novel, Shaun Grant has been unable to recapture the grimey darkness of everyday evil of his previous script Snowtown. Instead, we get a sojourn in place of trauma.

What the director and writers have done is turn something that's considered by many to be dumb-but-fun into an overlong, unfunny film that's just plain dumb.

Wonder Woman is not a great film, nor is it the feminist glass ceiling-smasher that many had hoped for. But after the offensively stupid Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and Suicide Squad, Wonder Woman feels nothing short of revelatory.

After the Storm is undoubtedly one of Kore-eda's best.

My Life as a Courgette is a tender, funny and wise-beyond-its-years stop-motion animation that takes on tough subject matter through the eyes of a child.

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.

Serraille avoids every miserablist cul-de-sac and tries for something much more radical: optimism.

Mitchell's understanding of punk seems to be the brandishing of two or three cliches, shouting a lot and name-checking bands.

It isn't that it's hard going: it simply can't decide what it wants to be. [Cannes Version]

Over the years, Phoenix has given us some of the most memorable portraits of dark flawed men from Commodus to Johnny Cash. Here, he is excellent, utterly convincing as a man who has been hammered by the world and so has decided to hammer it back.

Garrel and Miller manage to create a credible chemistry.

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.

Happy End may be something of a greatest hits mixtape, but it's also an arresting offering.

Zvyagintsev is masterfully compiling a cinematic record of suffering, and the indifference surrounding and facilitating it, which will live on.

Bright Sunshine In is a pithily precise portrait of the love life of an artist.

Sculpture is the art of turning lifeless stone into something that looks alive, flesh, living bodies and movement. Jacques Doillon's Rodin, in competition at Cannes, does precisely the opposite, turning living beings - passionate artists, no less - into lumps of lifeless clay.

There's something highly familiar about the material and although it is artful and occasionally powerful, Akin and co-screenwriter Hark Bohm have constructed their story without straying far from countless other versions of the same thing.

Despite a first half of great promise, the film is ultimately ground down by the endless suffering even as it bloats with a bizarre lurch into satirical fantasy.