A pallid shopfloor fairytale with absolutely no magic to speak of, other than the spark in Kim Cattrall's eyes.

Cheap and cheerless, Norm’s appeal melts faster than the polar ice. With characters so completely devoid of charm or entertainment value, even David Attenborough would call for a cull of this lot.

Never quite as witty as it should be.

The toxic reaction in Cannes should offer fair warning: Weinstein's glossbuster is a bust.

Yes, Geostorm is bad, but it’s not a stinker for the ages.

Even if the film takes a moment to sheepishly acknowledge its more offensive gags, it’s still asking for laughs from them.

Despite good moments and an ambition to reach for the profound, Life Itself settles for trite, sentimental and patience testing. A killer cast deserve better.

At barely 70 minutes long, this still manages to stammer and stall between the meaningless atrocities. It's time this series met Abbott and Costello.

A disjointed mish-M.A.S.H. of cliched comedy and misplaced observational wit.

The bastard offspring of a charmless romcom and a toothless political satire.

Dreadful.

Far from the catastrophe the US bewailed, but still disappointingly clunky. Notch it between Eragon (below) and Dragonslayer (above) on a sliding scale of fantasy filmmaking.

It's watchable enough in a nothing-better-to-do sort of way, but comparison with a contemporary movie, say, Uncle Buck, shows just how thin it really is.

A few laughs come from Alec Baldwin as Mom’s posturing, deceitful boyfriend, but attempts at inserting risqué modern humour sit uneasily with the playfully innocent surrealism of Seuss’ famous characters.

Really, really bad. It's not good on any level. Not a good horror, not a good revenge flick, it's poorly constructed and has absolutely nothing to say or offer. Utter shit.

If "Wedding Crashers" is in your top ten rom-coms ever, you might not hate this. Otherwise, it’s too gross to be sweet and too sweet to be gross.

Irresponsible, exploitative trash.

Utterly stupid and full of lazy plotting and lazier dialogue, this is just idiotic enough to entertain on nights when you want to give your brain a rest.

As horribly funny as it is depressing, it gets pretty hard to take after a while, especially for anyone who is a committed cat-lover. A melancholy edge of deliberate poetry mutes the ugly realism but also serves to make bearable what might otherwise be an hour-and-a-half of hell.

Nothing more than a romp in Rio, which is fair enough if that's how your get your kicks.

Though Species II is far from serious and aimed squarely at the hairy-palmed, it really didn't need to be quite this rotten.

As it is, an unbearably irritating, shouty, gurning Affleck takes the anaemic script and injects it with strychnine.

Unengaging, uninspired and unwatchable. A criminal waste of time and talent.

Pretty terrible sequel in every respect.

A damp squib of a movie.

Hogan proved himself a better actor when pretending that American wrestling is a real sport, and the production team that brought you the Mannequin movies can add another excruciating dud to their CV.

Even with The Exorcist in the world, there is still scope for a contemporary, shocking and thrilling film to be made on the subject of possession. But this is not it: some found footage should really just stay lost.

Just no.

As it stands, it’s one of the worst films you won’t see in 2015.

Nielsen's performance is truly dreadful, yet somehow it seems strangely fitting for the movie, which is unlikely even to engage the younger audience for whom it is so obviously intended. When even the outtakes you see over the end titles don't raise a single titter, you know you're in trouble.

The Native American people have suffered any number of indignities over the years. But they haven't, until now, suffered Adam Sandler.

A Twilight pastiche with all the wit you'd expect from the makers of "Scary Movie" and "Meet The Spartans."

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.

The Human Centipede gets longer (how long before it becomes The Human Millipede?) but the shocks will be familiar to anyone who enjoyed the first film. The 180 seconds or so of cuts needed to get it past the BBFC open up some plot holes but won't sweeten the pill for everyone else.

This is probably worse than you’d expect, even from a sequel to a sequel to a sequel to a sequel to a sequel.

Okay, a couple of sniggers sneak out, but on the whole the effect is stone cold.

The first film was imperfect but solid as game-adaps go and fans revelled in its clammy shocks. No such luck this time out. Director Bassett oversees a vaporous horror sequel that rarely raises the pulse.

As a subversive take on Milne, it’s achingly banal. As a rural horror film, it’s more inept than the most wretched Wrong Turn sequel. As a would-be cult classic, it commits the ultimate sin of being no fun at all. This bear is sh*t in the woods.

It's now become Hollywood gospel that if a high concept film is reasonably successful, then make a sequel and if that raises any interest at all, then, hey why not try one more. It's a shame that here the studios just don't know when to stop with this episode ruining the name of what was once an enjoyable franchise.

Self-serving, storyless tripe.

Really, really bad. Production company-destroyingly bad.

It plays a lot like a Porky's holiday comedy for the first half, and then the seagoing killer fish learn to fly and big rubber toothy things terrorise the survivors.

No doubt its small fans are thrilled, but even young kids will have to be pretty undemanding to enjoy this mess.

Significantly worse than the rest of the series, this film is one of the worst flops in recent cinema.

The Last Days Of American Crime takes a potentially entertaining, if silly, premise and drains it of any reason to get invested. You can just imagine a John Carpenter would have doubled the thrills in half the time.

A horrific waste of time, money and oxygen.

The whole madcap production is at best faintly amusing, at worst, painfully protracted

The beginning of Steve Martin's non-funny comedies. Ephron should know better as well.

Unfortunately this isn't even half as fun as the shortest bumper-car ride, with the cast lost in a sea of unfunny situations and badly executed antique jokes on loan from The Munsters all obviously puzzled about why they are actually there.

Cruise oozes as much charm as in Top Gun and The Colour of Money, but the mix of bar-acrobatics and Caribbean love isn't anywhere near strong enough to get you drunk.

While it's tempting to sum up in thumbs down emoji, when they go low, we go high. So let's just say, abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

It would miss the point to complain that the plot is nonsensical drivel peopled by paper-thin characters and a paucity of ideas.

Energetically humourless, with travelogue and circus footage inserted between the dog-piss and big boob jokes.

A lowest common denominator spoof.

Lacking a single honest laugh, this is shoddy by comparison with the other Scary Movie sequels… which throws it in a pit with Transylmania, Breaking Wind and Stan Helsing.

Another soulless, pointless rip-off, this doodles around the plot parameters of John Carpenter's Halloween movies with only Pleasence, who died during production, and Carpenter's theme tune as links to the series' beginnings.

Despite the always-good Harvey Keitel, this is just embarassing sci-fi nonsense.

Lame and clunky in many places which doesn't manage to save this bizarre premise from dull absurdity.

Setting out to be a killer-cop satire for the social media age, the result makes Paul Blart look like Taxi Driver. Unfollow immediately.

Ugly in more ways than one.

A risible attempt to modernise classic science-fiction by adding WhatsApp and political chicanery. This thin, frenetic, soulless adaptation is misguided moviemaking cubed.

Like it or not, Six has contributed something fresh and demented to pop culture.

An obsequious, ring-kissing portrait of the current US administration, dressed in gauche, glossy reality-TV clothing. And yet somehow still better than Rush Hour 3.

Most unforgivably, the period detail is all over the place and the punk/disco soundtrack a real hotch potch, leaving this a story with no real sense of time or place.

Extreme and outrageously blasphemous.

Filmically it's more of a pleasantly diverting kick about in the park than a 90th minute back-of-the-net at the world cup final.

This is one expensive folly.

A moody, engaging end-of-the-world horror-drama, if a bit too apocalypse-lite.

Genuinely original interpretation of the Brit gangster and Lewis Carroll's surreal tale.

Josh Fox puts a fresh spin on a well-drilled - if continually relevant - story.

Excellent performances from the cast elevate this otherwise slightly flawed a hokey interloper story.

Deeply icky on many different levels, with Ross Noble's feature debut illuminated by stomach-churning effects.

The performances are solid - Goodbye Lenin! actor Florian Lukas is the standout - but ponderous pacing makes this true-life tale a lot less enthralling than it might have been.

Charming, if disjointed, it’ll give you one hell of an appetite.

An exposition-heavy opening gives way to a modestly effective Australian mash-up of sci-fi/horror hybrids.

Tougher than a box of nails, this is a brassy revenge thriller that refuses to pull its punches.

Jonny Owen’s winning doc appeals beyond football tribalism with a universal underdog story, boosted by a thumping disco score that gives a thud to the match footage.

Goldstein is enormously endearing, while Drever milks the mundanity for laughs and unexpected sweetness.

Persuasively played by fine leads and a well-cast ensemble, this thoughtful treatise captures provincial life and the medical mindset with authenticity and tact.

Pallid doesn't do it. This is offensively bad in every department and should be left to rot in a vault somewhere.

An ordinary, if effective horror picture, is predictable fare with two big ticks to its benefit: a penchant for creep-out scares involving its looming spectre; and a committed, sympathetic performance from Macdonald.

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

This is made with skill and thought, but this kind of character piece needs to wield a microscope, not peer down reversed binoculars: otherwise why bother? You will, however, find yourself Googling canal boat holidays.

Regardless of the skittish structure and illegible subtitles, this is a valuable reflection on an incalculably influential career, which serves as a timely reminder about the pitfalls of artistic tyranny.

Despite lashings of bright red gore and the obvious enthusiasm of its gibbering hordes, Redcon-1 is a hard slog. Nearly two hours of grunts vs zombies feels punitive.

Less Tales Of The Unexpected, more Tales Of The Unconvincing, this uneven comedy horror fails to handle its ambitious structure, or deliver on its promising premise.

The Occupant is a slow burn of a thriller that never catches fire. Looking to skewer the pursuit of perfection during late capitalism, it misses both its satiric targets and a sense of kitsch fun.

A forgettable fantasy cheapie whose gruff earnestness feels hollow thanks to the unforgiveable thinness of its story and the weakness of its grip on its source material. Oh, and a note to whoever came up with the title: neither Arthur nor Merlin are knights of Camelot.

Although its intentional twist on age gaps, sex and gendered dynamics is provocative, Nocturnal can’t quite hold the interest for its whole running time — in spite of a brilliant performance from Cosmo Jarvis.

A kind of Italian Fitzcarraldo, Rose Island persuasively argues that dreamers can move mountains. It offers little in the way of surprises, but it’s hard not to be won over by its small-scale delights.

He Dreams Of Giants never grips like Lost In La Mancha but it is an entertaining look at Gilliam’s damned-fool idealistic crusade, and an interesting portrait of a filmmaker whose eyes are way bigger than his budget.

A few storytelling decisions don’t ring true, but the winning performances and loving celebration of Black British culture help conjure up just enough holiday cheer to make this worth watching.

Filmed over 13 days in Tuscany and based on genuine Balkan Route testimony, this is an innovative, immersive insight into the migration crisis that also reveals much about human depravity.

A simultaneous celebration and subversion of popular surfing culture, Girls Can’t Surf makes for a dynamic cinematic experience, celebrating the real badasses and unsung heroes of the sport: women.

The sharp economic filmmaking of this meta-textual satirical mystery is ultimately weighed down by its cleverness.

A so-so animated adventure that can’t ever find a compelling story to tell despite a few catchy songs and some colourful design. Maybe some dead things should stay buried.

As twee as its title, Harold Fry probably won’t win over anyone immediately turned off by its premise. Broadbent and Wilton are as reliable as ever, but this tear-jerker mostly feels removed from real human emotion. It might inspire you to go for a nice walk, though.

This overambitious, flawed feature debut is simply trying to do too much. It lurches erratically between genres and themes, resulting in a muddled story whose reach exceeds its grasp.