What begins as an intriguing premise is gradually squandered, used as little more as background noise for comic tics and lazy characterisation.

Triple 9 becomes a victim of its own inane script. All the usual cop tropes are there - and that's part of the problem. Rarely does screenwriter Matt Cook throw anything at the page that hasn't been done better elsewhere.

On this evidence, maybe the eighties weren't so great after all.

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.

Mary Shelley is a film at relentless pains to tell us how poetic and ethereal its heroine is, but without remotely grasping the political and philosophical underpinnings of her work.

Ozon's Frantz is, sadly, an underwhelming tale of a European union that didn't quite make it, its chocolate box sheen belying the emptiness at its heart.

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.

Venom is a desperately confused piece of work which has only a few compensatory pleasures to offer along the way.

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

Caution should always be taken when branding any film about an 80-foot ape "illogical", but such is the gross stupidity of the film's movable feast - and the abominable dialogue spewing from their mouths - that you'll likely thank the primate deity himself every time one is crushed, impaled or bisected.

Of the many problems the film has, it’s the different plots that never quite bounce off each other.

With a weak structure and little chemistry, Fantastic Four proves itself to be a franchise that was better off lost in space.

All of this is intoned with such a humourless sense of self-importance that anyone who genuinely loves their music (such as this reviewer who [full disclosure] would rate Funeral and Neon Bible as two of the best albums of recent years) finds themselves alternately stuffing their fingers in their ears or, when it gets too excruciating, their elbows.

Ghost Protocol is action fluff, and on that level alone it works well enough.

A dry and surprisingly dull film, it is a comedy which doesn't induce a single laugh and a drama that doesn't engage emotionally or pull on the heartstrings at all.

Some actors can play anything, but asking super-posh and glamourous Seydoux to play dirt poor is an ask too far.

The film does have a few merits, not least the cast being on great form and the script is, on occasion, very funny.

Directed by Sean Anders, the film goes out of its way to contrive its central masculinity crises in ways that quickly settle for lame, lowest common denominator jokes.

A run-of-the-mill, plodding drama, the 'social realism' of which never feels particularly real.

Demons and Demons 2 are classic (if that’s the right term) examples of what happens when any pretence at style or subtlety goes out the window, in favour of in-your-face carnage which is so over-the-top that it is no longer remotely scary, but just plain nauseating.

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

Much of this documentary sequel to to Thomas Balmès’ 2013 film Happiness is beautiful and humane, but is more often simplistic and questionable in its exploration of the impact of technology on a traditional society.

Ultimately, Anna and the Apocalypse ends up lacking the requisite bite to really make it fly as that quirky leftfield offering it so badly wants to be.

Even at ninety minutes Popstar feels too long. The funniest moments are the songs.

8 A.M. Metro is a sweet but ultimately shallow film whose final act ultimately finds depth and dimension too late to redeem its prior narrative shortcomings.

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.

Barnz's Cake could have been an intriguing look into the world of chronic pain and depression, but trying to be a jack-of-all-trades ruined the film and left it a master of none.

Accomplished as the filmmaking is, on a certain level the directors’ good intentions fall flat, resulting in an often clever but fundamentally flimsy comedy.