Here's a film consisting entirely of things you've seen before. Especially indebted to the hardly classic students-on-rampage sagas Class Of 1984 and The Principal, it even takes its title from a forgotten Amanda Donohoe DTV movie of a few years back. Furthermore, it's choppily directed by Robert Manel (School Ties) and toplined by the still-in-decline Tom Berenger.

The type of movie often described as a fever-dream: weird, offbeat, otherworldly… An experience that also coincides with feeling ill.

Jacki Weaver is excellent in this colourful culture-clash comedy which, despite an uneven tone, offers a welcome message about the power of love and acceptance.

Seemingly wishing to start another Conjuring off-shoot, this will be lucky to get out the gate. Without an original or fresh bone in its body, The Curse Of La Llorona smacks of unelevated horror for the very easily scared, not to mention pleased.

Yes, it’s offensive, stupid and loud, but its cartoonish, macabre wit should be evident to anyone with a brain in the first ten minutes. Whether it’s funny or not, though, is another matter entirely. Approach with extreme caution -- and/or rubber gloves.

Pointless re-make. One of (the once great) Carpenter's worst.

It just scrapes two stars on the strength of Wilson’s best efforts. But for God’s sake, someone give this man a sparring partner.

Over-reaching and unintentionally amusing, this is straight-to-video quality inexplicably delivered at blockbuster scale. A thunderous volca-NO.

Pretty cinematography and a committed performance from Amy Adams fail to save The Woman In The Window, a film that aims for Hitchcockian thrills and lands in afternoon TV territory.

Director Alan Pakula's sympathies seem to lie in the landscape, never less than exquisitely framed. But even this mute star can't fill the space left by dour performances.

One for fans only.

About as good as a big, stupid American action movie can be without ever being anything better than a big, stupid American action movie.

Cool, handsome, self-assured... but, as the existentialists might say, what’s the bloody point?

Proof that you can make good movies based on video games, as long as you don't bother making a video game first. Juice us up for Crank 3D.

A most fascinating disaster of genre making.

Passengers is as surprisingly traditional as it is undeniably effective. A timeless romance wedded to a space-age survival thriller, it may be a curious coupling but Tyldum’s Turing follow-up is a journey well worth taking.

The big surprise and highlight is not in the clumsily structured, jerky plot of the monotonous mood but an uncredited Robin Williams, actually chilling as a mad bomber anarchist.

Objectively ridiculous but mostly fun, this is better than you could have predicted given the title but squarely aimed at a young and undiscerning audience.

A bloody, scuzzy, progressively preposterous whodunnit, blending old school and new wave to neutering effect. One chunky plus: the all-new Antihero Arnie.

Strong performances keep the viewer guessing as much as our heroine, but the character drama recedes as the thriller element builds, to its detriment.

We've seen it all a million times before, but there are abundant (foul-mouthed) funnies, and debut director Michael Bay shows his commercials expertise propelling the noisy nonsense into a frantically slick and thoroughly enjoyable extravaganza.

A tragic waste of acting talent, with nothing new to say. Can we please now politely close the door on middle-class repression before we get really angry?

A sequel nobody needed, and very few demanded, but one that is nice to have anyway. Very daft and very childish and mostly very funny.

A generic but competent reboot-quel enlivened by good performances across the board and some stylish direction. No grudges need be held here, but maybe it’s time to put this franchise to bed.

A promising debut that stumbles in its final act, but its pseudo-documentary and found-footage sequences make Shelby Oaks a suitably creepy calling card.

Little more than schmaltz and pitchfork-handed fisticuffs.

For all its originality, O’Dessa can’t help but get tangled up in its own mythology, dragged down by a romance that never sizzles.

Be warned - Damon isn't in this one.