It’s tastefully shot and Crowe commits to the horrors of Jake’s illness (his seizures are upsetting) but the writing lacks depth, the character psychology is dime-store Freud and the performances are variable.

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.

Occasionally fun, always pretty, completely a mess, Casanova never quite finds its footing.

This swords-and-sorcery throwback has little imagination on display, instead doubling down on computer-generated flair to pass the time.

With a better story, director and support cast, Martin could have made Clouseau his own. Still, it's not as bad as the one with Roberto Benigni.

This is not the messiah. Nor is it a very naughty boy. There was an opportunity for a truly original spin on the so-called Greatest Story Ever Told here, but The Carpenter’s Son pulls its punches to make a rather rote horror that amounts to little.

It's the thriller aspect that most lets the film down, failing to truly engage or offer enough plausible red herrings to send your mind whirring through different theories as to what could have happened. The twists rarely, if ever, have the impact that were intended.

Charming performances from Bailey and Page can’t make up for the crushing levels of cringe. More an underwhelming pasta ready-meal than a fine-dining experience.

Ruinously prioritising chic over content, this is intellectually and stylistically shallow when it should have been dynamic and compelling.

Minus a couple of brisk, black laughs, this hollow remake botches the twists and sucks the fun right out of its feisty source.

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

Not bootiful.

Gauged on a count of wit or originality this doesn't even register.

Amused, maybe - but you won't be seduced.

An opportunity to exploit childhood nocturnal fears is missed in a second-rate horror.

A crushing disappointment for fans and a scuppered opportunity for a cinematic event. That the first book has been so mishandled doesn’t bode well for the (already greenlit) more complicated ones to come.

This plays very much like a standard biopic, lacking the dangerous spirit of the movie that inspired it.

An energetic but erratic film that straddles about a dozen genres at once, none of them that successfully. One for those who like oodles of odd.

If you crave Emmerich-esque disaster-porn with a mega body count, there’s plenty here to OMG at. But when it comes to character depth or plotting, San Andreas is a sadly familiar wasteland.

With a cast this talented there will always be decent moments, but they never cohere. Credit for its casting and design, but it’s not the movie messiah, just a very disappointing mess.

Curiously uninvolving. It never comes to life -- even after someone is found dead. Nevertheless, there are pleasures to be found in the performances, particularly in Eddie Izzard's lovelorn Chaplin and Edward Herrmann's paranoid Hearst.

Despite some dazzling animation, this is a mess of celebrity and corporate cameos that fails to capture the weird spirit of the ’90s original, or the ’40s heyday — more ‘suffering’ than ‘succotash’.

The topical nightmare has potential to get under your skin, but relies too much on familiar jump scares and easy violence to achieve anything long-lasting or truly groundbreaking.

If Danny Ocean and Barney Ross from The Expendables had a baby, it might look something like this — but should they?

A disappointment. A premise with much promise has been turned into a bland retread through YA’s most familiar faults — despite some bold efforts from Holland, Ridley and Mikkelsen.

Arguably worse than its sadistic absurdity is the depressing, limited scope.

Belying its title, this is a pretty flaccid offering which fails to gel the comedy stylings of Hart and Ferrell.

All style and no anything else, especially plot coherence.