It should be a delicious chocolate gateau but Emma. makes heavy weather of Austen’s charmer, delivering a tonally uneven, mostly airless affair. Amy Heckerling’s Clueless — Emma in the Valley — remains the big screen benchmark.

Apparently unable to decide whether to take its own mythology seriously or not, this is a mess of sculpted cheekbones and incoherent romance.

The end result, while not entirely unrewarding, is another step away from the singular vision Cronenberg once expressed even in his marginal works.

Compared to its direct inspiration - Hal Ashby's blackly brilliant "Harold And Maude" - Restless comes off like an anemic facsimile. After the excellent "Milk," this is more like curdled cheese.

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.

Scuppered by a lazy script that fails to effectively build tension, Unforgettable lives up to its name, but not for the right reasons.

This plays like a collection of translated, stylised scenes rather than a seamless narrative that arouses one's sympathy with Finn or forbearance for Estella. File under well-meaning failures.

Not even a decent performance from Richard Attenborough can save this disappointing production.

Good fight scenes, but a confusion of plot, culture and accents make this a lesser example of the sword 'n' sandal epic.

Gloopy family drama meets Hollywood cod-spirituality in a movie that’s defeated by its over-ambitious scope.

Despite winning turns by Lewis and an on-form Goldblum, the laughs are in short supply.

Doesn’t deliver a sliver of the fun and thrall the ride serves up in a fraction of the time.

It's not as risqué as it wishes it were, nor as likable as it should be. Butler's rarely been better-cast, but the material's too patchy to support him .

Heroes in a half-arsed shell.

As the plot gets even worse than that of a bad serial killer movie, not even the OK fight scene at the end can redeem it.

Hardly a classic given the talents of Carell, Rudd and Roach at his best. It bungles utilising plenty of talent in a lightweight comedy effort that brings little fresh to the table.

A frustratingly ungraspable movie collage compiled with real visual flair.

There is nothing reprehensible about Palmetto; it simply falls short of conviction because you're too aware you've seen it all a hundred times before.

Though Spike Lee would clearly like this movie to remind you of ills-of-TV satires like A Face In The Crowd and Network (there's a spin on the well-remembered "mad as hell" speech), it comes out as a weird, unsatisfying hybrid of Robert Downey Sr.'s Putney Swope and Mel Brooks's The Producers.

Even the excellent Gong has a tough time trying to twist her character into a tragic heroine, while the utter despair to which sympathetic characters are condemned suggests a significant point in Zhang's career, but does nothing to relieve the viewer's ennui.

All the boys might love Mandy Lane - discerning horror fans, however, will not.

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.

In spite of A-list acting and directing talent, this is a tick-the-boxes recovery and redemption true story that never rings true.

Much like Parker’s career, the film begins with scintillating flashes of what might have been, but slowly deteriorates into waspish repetition.

Casting aside the forgettable ragbag of a cast, tiptoeing round the leaden script, and avoiding the story's many pot-holes (how come he only breathes fire twice?), Godzilla does provide plenty to look at. But that, for fear of sounding ungrateful, is all.

Isn't one "Wild Wild West" enough? Okay, so Jonah Hex didn't come with the same expectations, but it's still an object lesson in how not to adapt a comic book. A crushing disappointment.

Straining for significance at every moment, this is one of a wave of late '60s/early '70s Westerns that represent Hollywood's idea of the counterculture in love beads, feathers and picturesque gore.

It’s occasionally sick-funny, but large swathes are unforgivably dull.