A road trip movie filled with simple pleasures. Ashmore does a solid job as a mariachi musician without a single grenade-launcher in his guitar case

An unconventional sequel to an unconventional film, this works as a standalone picture with its own distinctive take on alien invasion but also expands what now seem like a franchise with potential to deliver more and varied snapshots of human behaviour in extreme circumstances.

It’s not the worst of the trilogy, but this is less for fans of thrillers and more for people who are pining after last year’s holiday to Florence.

Despite the formidable talents of Timothy Spall and Vanessa Redgrave, Mrs Lowry & Son doesn’t really get under the skin of the artist or the man, resulting in a film as dreary as Pendlebury’s colourless skies.

Günther executes stray powerful moments, but his lack of a handle on the material leads to two hours so meandering that the story drifts away in a haze of boredom.

Pacy and punchy, this is a promising first official outing for the new Captain America, even if some awkward and inconsistent moments hold it back from greatness.

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.

There is a great deal of action in Renegades, yet it still manages to be a faintly boring film.

By turns wry and sarcastic, the film does a good job ridiculing the home shopping phenomenon in general and the audience that supports it, but lets itself down with occasional lapses into lame slapstick, dubious plot twists and the kind of soap opera-isms it elsewhere decries.

A tasteless concoction - one gay character is particularly misjudged - that's instantly forgettable.

Dean Devlin finally steps out from Roland Emmerich’s shadow with a tight, twisty little thriller. Add a fourth star to the rating if David Tennant going full Nicolas Cage sounds like your kind of thing.

A fun night in with the tellybox, but then it never claimed to be anything more.

It’s not just that Wild Mountain Thyme is bogged down by overripe Irish trappings. It also fails to work on the most basic romcom level — wanting to see a couple get together. Sadly, not even a strong cast can rescue a pot of gold from the end of this rainbow.

This is about as noir as Pete’s Dragon, best to accept its superficiality as a boon - Hackford, at least, gives it a slick exterior - and enjoy it is a vacuous thriller and extended Phil Collins video.

Fifty years after he first appeared, Donald E. Westlake’s antihero may have found his perfect avatar. Like Parker’s robberies, it isn’t entirely successful, but Statham and Lopez make enticingly mismatched partners in crime.

Nicole Kidman has perfected the art of the wronged housewife, but that’s not enough to elevate the shallow nightmare of Holland. This derivative thriller is in need of some Dutch courage.

If it all ends in cornball reconciliation, the dumb, fuzzy smile it leaves suggests it’s well earned.

It’s funny, wonderfully performed by all, visually inventive.

For all the exploding gore, graphic eviscerations and combustible corpses, it’s not shocking, not sexy and not scary.

Fondly conceived but short of that razor-sharp Jane Austen wit.

We've seen all these stunts pulled before, and seen them done better, but there's some pleasure to be had here — even if it's of the extremely guilty kind.

There are plenty of fun CGI monster-skewering scenes, but a clunky plot, rigid script and equally stiff acting make this a crumbling disappointment, if not quite a disaster.

In between his successful Back II the Futures and his stint on Spin City, Fox's career was in freefall with this film proving the point. Although he is as charismatic as ever, it's not enough for the viewer to actually sympathise with Fox's character, or even lift this poor comedy enough to get a laugh.

A Journal For Jordan is probably better suited to the page than the screen. Despite winning chemistry from Michael 
B. Jordan and Chanté Adams, Denzel Washington’s film etches a romance that rarely delivers substance or surprises.

It features more weed than a pot-warming party at Bill & Ben's but offers little more than spliff-glazed promotion for Snoop's reggae reincarnation.

The script is weak and obvious and the direction disappointingly unimaginative. But stars are stars, and the old boys are terrific - enough to make this a funny and sometimes moving buddy picture.

Another to airbrush out of the De Niro back catalogue.

A startling performace from Findlay doesn't quite make up for a disappointing third act.

It creates a seasonal glow, but inconsistencies keep Fred Claus off the ‘Nice’ list this Christmas.

All is very much what it seems from another one of these all-is-not-what-it-seems thrillers — but there are fun, enjoyably unhinged performances from Edebiri and Malkovich.

It’s absolute nonsense, of course, but does quite nicely as knockabout Friday night fun. We can smell a sequel if Travolta can be bothered.

An improvement on Transformers 2, but then what isn't? To paraphrase the Bard, it's a tale, full of sound and fury and extremely stupid dialogue and nonsensical plotting and preposterous stunts and robots punching each other's heads off, signifying nothing.

Directed by Tony Bill and written by Mitch Markowitz, there are far worse comedies than Crazy People out there on the market and Dudley Moore's adverts are, at times, pretty darn hilarious.

It does become marginally less cringe-making in the latter half, but aside from a hilarious set piece involving a cat/tranquilliser dart interface and a vaguely entertaining Russian Mafia subplot, this is tired stuff which should have stayed at home.

Union is committed and convincing, but the script apparently never met a cliche it didn't want to adopt wholesale. This offers some thrills and considerable pace, but never enough narrative force.

However you dress it up, laughs where there should be frights is patently piss poor.

All-in-all a fairly unpleasant experience for most audiences.

A return to form for indie darling Drake Doremus, who brings his nuance, sensitivities and homespun feel to a formulaic love-triangle set-up. Jamie Dornan, Sebastian Stan and especially Shailene Woodley make it very watchable.

It’s funnier this time, but still veers noticeably from kid-friendly slapstick to adult-friendly banter.

Tom and Anna are so thinly sketched that by the time the painfully slow set-up starts to pay off, we no longer care who does what to whom, or why.

The grave tone makes it stiff and leaden, the digi-saturated look is a turn-off. Damnable and disordered.

Predictable and been-there, seen-that, but entertaining nevertheless at times.

If you like to stagger away from a film feeling numb and slightly sick, this one's for you.

A movie that's too patently "heart-warming" for its own good, and boasting one of the most revolting title-songs of all time.

The female-first vibe is refreshing but Something In The Water is something old, nothing new, a lot that is borrowed and an eyeful of twinkly blue.

Never scratching below the surface "facts" of the story, this is too thin and unsophisticated to truly compel.

One of von Trier’s most confrontingly horrible films is also one of his weakest. A story about a man disguising his lack of worthwhile contribution with violent self-interest is guilty of every point it’s making.

Even with a strong cast to gild its endless chambers and salons, there's barely a spark of soul to fuel its story. Pattinson is no Malkovich either.

Elle Fanning and Sally Potter triumph again. It’s not always an easy watch, but The Roads Not Taken tackles a distressing subject with care and invites us to reconsider our preconceptions.

It’s by no means good, but there are moments of effective emotion and comedy that make up for some of the dumber jokes, and sheer charisma largely carries it along.

The best thing about this is Tom Savini's superb, uncensored special effects.

It's just like a spectacularly excessive and melodramatically daft Cantonese crime opus, but in English, with a thumpingly trendy soundtrack.

Despite the odd fun bit of bloodshed, Halloween Kills is mostly tired, tedious and an insult to everything John Carpenter got right first time round.

Mike Figgis raised enough cash to make this with a pretty good cast and a lot of technical skill, but it's still hard to endure at feature length.

While the script occasionally plummets to the nadir of un-funny, there are plenty of MTV-style pop interludes to keep the little ones from drifting, and a stonking version of Money (That's What I Want) by Zendetta that is reason enough to sit beside them.

Suburbicon is a strange beast: a by-the-numbers ’40s film noir bolted to an unsatisfying ’60s racial drama wrapped up in a ’50s Americana satire. A strong cast and talented director never make the whole add up.

A much bolder, braver horror sequel than most. Except for a wispy ending, it’s a match for the first.

It’s enthralling as well as rambling, you do miss the songs, but there is clearly no place for them here. Best to see them as individual films with nothing in common apart from source material, one a classic, the other a strong enough picaresque amongst some decent fabulation.

Although it flickers to life at times, King Arthur: Legend Of The Sword devolves into a jumbled affair, weighed down by confusing supernatural elements and a lazy reliance on visual effects.

If you like your Bayhem pure and unfiltered, this one’s for you. Others need not apply.

Paul Feig is mostly back on form with a likeable, frantic, murderous, madcap money-grab of a high-concept comedy. It could be funnier, but it rarely stops for breath.

It’s hard to remember that this extremely unexceptional film was a major hit back in the 70s.

Massively throwaway, but funnier and more likable than the first entry. Mainly that's due to an A-list pairing that's as inspired as it is demented.

This one coasts by on Hanks' immense appeal and charm, but more focus and a touch more sharpness are needed to make it really come alive.

This deeply disappointing new Fear Street instalment leans too hard into worn-out tropes and excessive gore, at the expense of fun, engaging characters or any genuine scares.

A load of formulaic nonsense that should still turn a few young heads thanks to its fantasy plot and Jesse Metcalfe's chest

None of the energy of Mick Dundee's first foray has crept into this sequel, despite it being so close on the heels of the original. A must for lovers of the weathered outback and the even-more weathered Paul Hogan only.

Nowhere near as creepy as the original, nor as effective a scarer.

Big, dumb and only mostly fun, this doesn’t always find the right tone to marry action and charm, but Johnson’s remote and ruthless superhero is a welcome change from the norm.

Fast Five was a good example of how applying The Rock to a tired series could bring it back to life. G.I. Joe, by opting for self-seriousness instead of knowing daftness, has squandered its secret weapon.

Cinderella is given more independence, but at what cost? An irritating script ruins the sincere magic of the beloved story – strong music isn’t fabulous enough to preserve the DNA of a classic.

A solid haunting-possession movie with good character work and unusual local colour, this works in a few surprises, sufficient scares and a nicely barbed punchline.

Clint doing roughneck humour with an orang-utan, what's not to like?

Given all the elements involved, Fountain Of Youth should be a blast. That it isn’t is a real disappointment. Maybe best left buried.

Violent, silly, embarrassing, clumsy, confusing, juvenile, occasionally offensive, occasionally a little bit fun.

In another variation on a theme, this plodding drama may have its heart in the right place but, along side a gaggle of angst-ridden Hughes dramas of the period, fails to stand out amongst the crowd.

A little slow and vastly outdated now, but nonetheless very watchable.

Miss.

Lacks sparkle, and finally tips its gallery of colourful protagonists into the realm of caricature.

A typically formulaic seasonal sugar rush that’s only blandly mediocre, rather than so-bad-it’s-good. But Lindsay Lohan’s romcom-dominance cannot be denied.  

It’s third time unlucky for a series that still hasn’t worked out what it wants to be. The Last Dance can’t find its rhythm.

Stallone and Russell play well off each other, and with Palance lurking in the background, this buddy-breakout never loses its way.

Neither Bautista nor Jovovich can elevate this ugly-looking misfire. Fans of entertaining fantasy action need not apply. 

Better than the silly second instalment and boasting an effectively creepy empty world setting, it’s nevertheless scuppered by a lack of coherence.

Whatever it is they do so successfully on TV clearly fails to translate to the big screen, particularly when saddled with a script that does no one any favours. Sinbad, as an Afro-heavy 70s throwback, does his best to elevate things, but this stodge is beyond help.

The pair muster some chemistry but it's the big musical moments - including a gusto-packed Soft Cell riff - that impress most. Sadly, the pair's romance is predictable and the plot unfolds with all the freshness of a two day old fish supper.

This overwrought thriller is a pedestrian period piece that squanders its potential.

It’s Sliding Doors with place settings, but Love Wedding Repeat can’t make its time-loop conceit work (stick with About Time). Bouquets to the cast and production values; a quickie divorce from everything else.

On a scene by scene basis, it is mostly great fun but suffers from a contrived script which repetitively drags characters back to the eponymous magical board game for another effect-producing throw of the dice.

Alvin does high school rom-com and very poorly at that.

The action is sharp and imaginative, and Jordan strongly establishes his action-flick credentials. But story-wise it’s all very familiar and more than a little dour.

Perfectly watchable, undemanding fun, but you can't help thinking that a slightly darker tone would have gone a very long way.

A few laughs are salvaged due to the sheer quality of the talent present.

Moonfall is precisely what you’d expect a film called Moonfall to be: deeply, defiantly, sometimes exasperatingly daft. It’s Roland Emmerich on apocalypse-autopilot.

Part fever-dream, part supernatural thriller and not entirely successful as either, Louis Drax is nonetheless watchable, bolstered by provocative themes.

A more modest success than the first "Kick-Ass," but still of-a-piece with its scurrilous predecessor. Nobody flies a jet-pack up a skyscraper this time, but Kick-Ass 2 still has its share of over-the-top action, and the sweary laughs are just about intact.

Fleeting charm and pretty packaging will leave you partially satisfied but later craving a bolder film that puts its battle-worn title character to better use.