Burton continues to capture the essence of the Batman legend and more importantly his audiences imagination.

All along, of course, we are supposed to realise they're made for each other, except that that's a little hard to swallow when there's so little chemistry between them.

Way ahead of its time, this is a balls-out satire on the disgraceful layers that can lurk just beneath the Avon surface. This is anti-Ferris Bueller and fiendishly funny.

Despite its hopeless predictability, this is one of those preposterous and sweet-natured family frolics that you find yourself enjoying in spite of yourself. Check your critical faculties in at the door and get stuck in.

Highly-evolved it ain't, but this Stone Age slacker is a lot of fun.

Labyrintine and hypnotic, there's undoubtedly more style than substance to the film, but Von Trier manages to blind and bewilder his audience in a truly masterful manner.

If you like fast food movies that you digest and then 10 minutes later forget what you had - or if a simple evening’s entertainment is what you’re after, this will certainly do the trick.

First-time director Franklin, a former actor, proves himself remarkably adept behind the camera, wringing the plot for every bit of tension, then sitting back and letting his cast stew in it.

A good performance from Barrymore, the admirable Gilbert (who talks as her character on Roseanne would if she was covered by an 18 certificate) and director Katt Shea Ruben, a Roger Gorman associate hitherto best known for sleaze thrillers set in strip clubs.

As a throwaway 80's B-movie you could do much worse. Hauer, as is his way, plays the rough and silent type, this time a cop with Scot Duncan as his partner. There is enough gore, monsters and violence to satisfy but a good plot is sadly lacking and worst of all, they even managed to make Kim Catrall look unattractive.

Apart from a couple of nice touches - like a faked orgasm scene that's almost as off the wall as the one in When Harry Met Sally - mark this firmly in 'Should Have Been Better'.

Sleepwalkers, Steven King's first original screenplay, is horror filmmaking by numbers. It has monster fiends, a few swooshing tracking shots, many a touch lifted from every self-respecting vampire movie ever made, and several weak but intentional laughs to indicate that no one here is taking the thing too seriously.

A modern classic.

This is still a delightfully original picture, poised perfectly between farce and horror.

Splendid landscapes and interesting faces - the usual virtues of the Western - keep the film burbling along, even as the actual plot is falling apart.

It’s overly long and the Rosie Perez sub-plot leads it astray, but mostly, it rocks.

Crude, patronising and mawkish, but rescued by excellent performances, beautiful landscape photography, and hard-to-argue-with themes of natural justice, delivered with a punch.

If there were a special Academy Award for Contrived Premise, this picture would be a hot favourite to scoop the statuette.

The jokes start wearing thin, and most of the noisy characters become rather tedious well before the rag-bag of thesps finally pitch up on Broadway.

At two hours, something as thin and unexceptional as this, is just too long. The result is that all the running gags run out of steam and there are far too many fudgy bits between the comic highlights. Nevertheless, lightly likable.

Although patched together from loose ends, this works surprisingly well, with interesting and well-integrated visual effects, some nice humour and a few genuinely visionary touches.

Whatever his intentions, the finished product is about as deep and meaningful as you’d expect from a work starring the Man Who Is Clark Griswold. Which is a good thing really, as, uncomplicated, genuinely funny comedy players are thin on the ground at the moment, and it means Memoirs can carry off the semi-slapstick, borderline-cretinous gags with pace and panache.

However, thanks to engaging performances and a sharp script, this movie - essentially a series of three-minute sketches filling 101 minutes could be just the right choice for that Saturday night date, while Wayne-speak will no doubt be quoted and become part of the English language.

Despite an above average cast and interesting use of the Catholic angle, this film just isn't quite scary enough for hardcore horror fans.

Entertaining in places, Medicine Man suffers from a predictable story and annoying supporting characters.

That most essential element in a thriller, the suspense, collapses mid-film, making it hard to care about the eventual denouement.

Nair has made a truthful film about race which avoids hatred. It leaves a joyously hopeful taste.

The tale from the past is very nostalgic, heartwarming and mouth-watering and all, as Idgie and Ruth cook up a storm, are kindly to their black domestics and stand up to piggy men while events fitfully progress to a courtroom climax. And Masterson is a peach. But the best bits belong to Bates as her dreary Evelyn raises her consciousness, lowers her weight and starts speaking her mind. It's a nice, pleasant celebration of friendship, but without much meat to chew on.

In some quarters this will doubtless be hailed as "gritty" and "realistic". Movies about junkies just aren't much fun, however, and to be really powerful or tragic they need to be a lot less hack­neyed and directed with more inspira­tion than this.

Indeed, the only bright spot in the film is Amanda Plummer — the wacky object of Robin Williams' desire in The Fisher King — with a brief but memorable cameo here as a futuristic nun who swears like a trooper, carries around a rifle and thinks turning the other cheek is kicking a guy in the balls.

A unexpected pleasure to watch, disturbing for new parents, slightly silly but ever so enjoyable.

This doesn't have the high style that made Taxi Driver or American Gigolo instant cultural icons - although Schrader shows more than a few traces of Scorsese as his camera creeps- perhaps because it's concerned with a chilly 90s that looks back with a sort of nostalgia on the cocaine-fuelled craziness of earlier years. But it does develop powerfully the themes of Schrader's earlier work and will not disappoint his fans.

It's solid Miyazaki, although he has reached greater heights both before and since.

Cronenberg's attempt to meld his style with an established writer didnít exactly pan out.

Graced with fine performances and commendably biting off more than it can ever hope to chew, The Prince Of Tides is a rare slice of romantic moviemaking for all those grown-ups feeling ignored since Kramer Vs. Kramer last rattled their value systems. Best to take along your mother, a large box of hankies, and a hefty dose of salt.

We get a mother-daughter murder melodrama even more farfetched than the Joan Crawford classic, Mildred Pierce, on which this would appear to be loosely based.

The film does work, but not quite as well as the Hepburn-Tracy classic that it seeks to replace. Mildly amusing.

Truth or not, this is an exceptional piece of cinema, deeply provoking and audacious.

If you can overlook the smarm and the historical airbrushing there's much to enjoy here.

This is a movie for the boys who like watching men being real men - cursing, shooting and fighting - and anyone who likes this kind of wham-bam entertainment will certainly get more than their money's worth.

Jarmusch leaves us with a highly entertaining and thoroughly oddball collage celebrating the typically inconsequential nature of most daily encounters.

How did such a dream project on paper turn out so wrong. It should remain one of the great mysteries of cinema. The less said about this one, the better. For Spielberg completists only.

Despite being an entirely formulaic heartstring-tugger with some finger-gag­ging moments, the performances are appealing, particularly the endearing Chlumsky.

Although not all the loose ends are tied up in the telling of this bizarre and absorbing tale of love, grief and goose-bumps, one scarcely minds at all, since the fourth-dimensional doings on offer, (underlined with a marvellously moody, haunting score by Zbigniew Preisner) are like an erotic trip into The Twilight Zone.

With its strong characters and lively storytelling, animated or not, this deserves its place alongside the cinema greats.

Deliciously sick and delightfully cast.

No plot, no real story, no point really.

This movie-movie gem scores on levels few horror films ever have. Not just a disturbing ride but also a hard-hitting political statement.

Leigh has the skill to inspire with the everyday.

With a more accomplished script and an actor of rather more technical prowess than Reeves (nabbing the Prince Hal role), this may just have worked. Here, it is just squirmingly embarrassing stuff.

Former teen idol and sometime rap artist Vanilla Ice made his movie debut in this lightweight tale of young love that serves best as a cinematic interpretation of the photo romances much revered by pre-pubescent pinup magazines.

Frankie & Johnny is a salutary reminder of what happens when two Hollywood stars, no matter what firmament they may inhabit, are lumped together without any real storyline, subtlety or sex.

As a psychological drama, it's a sophisticated, gripping piece that unusually leaves you wanting to go on past its unsettling conclusion.

Dynamite action. This is a good bet for a night with the lads. And weedy girlies can at least wake up every ten minutes when Denz takes his top off.

Fans of the Say Anything/ Running On Empty school of drama could do a lot worse that give this one a go.

Although adequately put together, this is entirely unnecessary as a movie, with nothing to add to its limited interest sub-genre, no surprises at all in its by-the-numbers script, and no credit at all to the various servicable members of the cast.

A reminder of the astonishingly kinetic talent that John Woo maybe still possesses, this at times is on the verge of melodrama, but rescues itself from the brink with some fine gunplay.

While [Penn] has all the heavyweight America-gone-sour themes and confused characters found in roadside movies like Five Easy Pieces, Electra Glide In Blue or Thieves Like Us, he misses the eccentric and exciting spikiness that made them more than just gloomfests.

You know Freddy may or may not be finally dead, but he's looking pretty damn tired.

This is an infectious musical story of rise-and-fall.

No award winner, but at least it delivers the rubbishy goods.

The ambitious, initially intriguing Dead Again fails so spectacularly it may well become the fetish of a camp cult.

For a while, its crassness is amusing, but as the plot sets in, it gradually turns into a stultifying bore.

The allusions and illusions are just a treat until about two-thirds of the way in, when a genuinely shocking development takes the film off into psycho-horror that is almost as baffling as it is unsatisfying.

Van Damme's doubling up merely tends to make this movie, co-written and co-produced by the self-styled Muscles From Brussels, twice as avoidable as it would otherwise be.

While this combination of Michael J. Fox, light comedy and uncomplicated values must’ve looked fine on paper, on screen it doesn'’t quite make the grade.

Life stinks, Brooks' character stinks and the film, after all the Brooks magic in the past, stinks.

One of the most worthwhile sequels of recent years, maybe funnier than the original as it intelligently expands the potential for the surreal and it ties up all the loose ends managing, quite remarkably, to give pointlessness a purpose.

The film not only lives up to its "Increase The Peace" subtitle but by refusing to overtly moralise puts its concerns across with astonishing impact.

Regarding Henry is ultimately just about bearable thanks to Ford's sheer presence and the occasional reminder, the first 20 minutes in particular, of what might and should have been.

This unconventional film will offend anyone looking for a plot, but Linklater's smart observations speak volumes.

Because it is a sequel, it's less satisfying than the more idea-driven original, but this is still top-flight kick-ass entertainment

Take an uncharismatic leading man (Bill Campbell), an obviously pre-Oscar Jennifer Connelly, a scene-chewing Timothy Dalton and action that doesn't start until halfway through the film and what you have is one of 1991's more disappointing summer flicks.

With so much money and talent at work here, though, this latest incarnation of the legend is considerably smaller than the sum of its parts.

Witty one-liners one-liners crackle and cowboy cliches are given a good kicking as the three stars give excellent accounts of themselves.

Amusing fluff.

Not quite the classic that Spike Lee had been threatening to make for so long, but, after a return to form after Mo' Better Blues which proved a huge disappointment.

The trouble with spoofing soap opera is that its dramatically deranged conventions - dead characters resurrected, hitherto unknown progeny claiming birthrights and bedrooms, characters metamorphosed into new actors - are already so absurd they are hard to send up any further.

What director Lehmann has made is essentially a multi-million dollar cult movie with great effects, a witty script and some good performances, but although some of the eccentric (and occasionally slapstick) humour may not appeal to a mass audience, it is certainly one of the more original blockbusters coming out this summer.

A divisive film - too overwrought for some, perfectly emotionally pitched for others - how much it will appeal will depend on how romantically inclined the viewer is feeling.

There is scarcely a laugh to be had unless you are six years old or immoderately fond of such wheezes as depositing dog poop on a white carpet.

By the time everyone's done their darnedest to undermine this romance and the tirelessly selfless St. Danny has begun to contemplate cutting the apron strings, they've all nearly worn out their welcome. It's simple, sweet and uninspired.

What makes the film work is the double act between the two actors, and some great one-liners that pepper the script and cover up the fact there isn’t a great deal of originality in the plot.

Despite the presence of four credited screenwriters, the plot is a rehash of cliches and tired jokes.

It's all totally farfetched and skates imperturbably over several questions of logic that will spring unbidden to the most accepting mind. But it's entertaining, inconsequential fun.

Certainly crude and unrefined are among the adjectives that apply to this sex farce, along with derivative and shallow. Most important - and perhaps, sad -of all, is unfunny.

The execution could be improved, but the sheer zip of the real life story just about carries this wartime tale along.

What's missing here though is the novel's trick of being a wonderfully contrived mystery on the surface while underneath lurks an angry and upsetting analysis of class injustice in the USA.

After the global success of Ghost, Demi Moore consolidates here with a diametrically-opposed follow-up, not only proving her willingness to eschew the many Ghost-alikes that have inevitably come her way, but also allowing her to show genuine versatility in the thespian-prowess department.

This looks lustrous (thanks to cinematographer David Watkin) but it's bankrupt in terms of ideas and execution and both leads seem uninspired.

The three stories do not make a whole in this disappointing arthouse film.

The movie is lavishly designed and assembled. However, the sometimes muddled, sometimes boring, and definitely overlong screenplay, lacking subtlety and definition, disappoints the expectations of enjoyment that are set up in the first 15 minutes.

Slow and foreboding with a memorably creepy Christopher Walken. If you're looking for fun, this ain't it.

This lacks the darkness and subtlety that makes the first film so good, and so adult, but its simplified plot and gags will appeal to the under tens.

Class Action, which becomes unbearable whenever the lead characters talk about their relationship, has precisely two and a half things going for it, the half being Mastrantonio's Italian grin.

The pace drags terribly, however, and the period detail is distractingly off in small ways that become annoying. Thankfully, though, things perk up with a bravura finale, when Merrill finally takes the witness stand before the dreaded inquisitors.

Spader and Cusack go through the motions as political sparring partners in this coming of age drama.

One of the most cinematic movies to come along in a while, with sparse dialogue, top-notch action and plenty of visual razzamatazz.