The casting is perfect and the acting uniformly superb. For all its lack of depth, the script is sharp, zippy and only occasionally hokey.

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

The politics serves as footnote to the aesthetic for Wheatley and High-Rise is certainly style over substance. For fans of the British director, that may well be more than enough.

It must be said that Foster - who adhered to the actual doping program during filming - excels as Armstrong. Bearing an unnerving physical resemblance to the fallen cycling hero, he is a revelation in a remarkable tour de force - not France - performance.

Ozon is firing on all cylinders here, giving viewers a neat slice of cinematic confection that showcases what he does best: present morally complicated but very human stories that have enough panache to keep all eyes at attention for as long as he desires.

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.

De Palma is a timely reminder of one of cinema's most infuriating yet entertaining characters.

The acting throughout is superb, with Swinton sitting back and watching with obvious pleasure as Fiennes gnaws up the scenery and beach furniture with genuine vim. Schoenaerts once again proves himself a charismatic and compelling actor alongside the excellent Johnson.

Anomalisa might be bizarre, surreal and far out, but it always feels paradoxically real, grounded and deeply true.

The Martian is ultimately a love letter to the spirit that saw humanity reach for the stars in the first place. When it's channelling that spirit via Damon and witty writing it lifts off, but then can't quite sustain its trajectory in orbit.

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

What starts out as creepy descends into a creature feature that's more laughable than scary.

The Danish Girl is as handsome yet disappointingly flat as a painting on a chocolate box. It should certainly be applauded for bringing to light an unsung hero of the transgenderism, but in its unremitting tastefulness and sentimentality - even a beating has beautiful setting and a lovely bit of blood - it ultimately left this reviewer as cold as a dip in a Danish bog.

Black Mass is ultimately a decent film with some great parts, but unfortunately it falls short of the canon to which it aspires.

Fukunaga and his actors - especially the two leads - have managed to create a riveting drama which is suitably appalling.

Ultimately, Everest is not concerned with the why, but with the how and it's grimly efficient at building up the drama, helped on by Clarke's wonderful character study, even if the film as a whole never quite reaches the dizzying heights of its subject.

By adopting an eerily voyeuristic approach and filming the barren North Dakota landscape with a cold, penetrating gaze Welcome to Leith creates a bone chilling atmosphere not too dissimilar to a horror film; leading the audience down a compelling, yet genuinely unnerving path into the darkest rudiments of the human psyche.

Quemada-Díez filmed The Golden Dream chronologically using natural light and real locations, utilising Super 16 film to give his first feature a documentary shimmer. He also worked as a camera operator on Alejandro González Iñárritu's 21 Grams (2003), with whom he shares his penchant for opulent landscapes and narratives, and a sense of beauty amidst unforgiving reality.

The Dance of Reality is a rich and expressive new offering from a man who has always tried to sculpt something resembling cinematic poetry, whatever that might look like.

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

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

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

Perhaps the greatest shock is how decent the boys turn out to be. They're sincere, articulate, yet self-aware: they have been shaped, not ruined, by their experience.

Hitman: Agent 47 is tedious, soulless and, for a film with a relatively trim runtime, seemingly never-ending.

Straight Outta Compton proves as infectiously entertaining as it is educational thanks to F. Gary Gray's richly textured direction and a thumping soundtrack that confirms rap as the protest music of its time.

This brilliant, beautifully observed comedy is a joy to watch throughout. The Second Mother's narrative works on so many levels, reflected in the film's ambiguous title, and the characterisation is flawless.

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

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.