Crackling with energy and fizzing with ideas, this fresh take on Frankenstein is a thrilling adaptation that reinvigorates a well-worn tale.

The chief horror here is the cliffhanger promising a third instalment.

A preposterous premise that never makes sense. A tedious thriller that offers no thrills. An A-list cast reduced to C-list material. Piers Morgan. We can but pray that scientists invent a procedure to remove the memory of ever watching this film in the first place.

It's a good job this works so well as a machine-made movie, because its grasp of political realities is nebulous.

Even John C McGinley (Dr. Cox from Scrubs) can't save this lamest of comedies.

All told, a fairly shameful enterprise, displaying a breathtaking paucity of imagination.

But for all her slinky, undead-chic looks, Beckinsale can't carry the film on curves alone and there's not much else here worthy of attention. Evolution's action sequences are as horribly bungled as its plot, resulting in a string of repetitive confrontations that feel toothless even by the last movie’s standards.

Destined to be forgotten the minute it’s finished, Time Cut is a passable addition to the slash-up genre – acceptable Halloween fare for the fright-challenged, or anyone with a soft spot for the music of Hilary Duff.

Brazenly exploitative stuff, stirring in anything which has done the business in kids' movies previously, this, of course, should have its target audience laughing like drains.

Typically paper thin, the plot and the morality are blown away by the charms of the leading man and a soundtrack that has been hand-picked to get an audience on side. Unadulterated silliness, but harmless fun.

The frenetic action is Assassin’s Creed’s saving grace. Inventively choreographed and beautifully executed, its game-inspired brand of wushu-meets-parkour delivers some genuinely awe-inducing feats.

The lesson to be learned here is that movies are far more complex than music videos. Most videos require little or no thought of plot, structure or characterisation, but look great. Which is probably why Williams is so good at them.

Morita still charms, Macchio still tightropes between petulence and raw optimism, whilst the fight scenes are competent enough to offset the woeful romantic sub-plotting.

There is much pleasure to be had watching a born storyteller juggle more balls than even he can carry.

It’s predictable and troubled by continuity errors, but as undemanding romantic comedies go, it’s a pleasant enough watch with a heartfelt script from debut writer-director Tom Gormican.

Cowering in the shadow of the Picture Show, this sequel of sorts builds on none of the risks take by its predecessor.

Commercially it looks a disaster. Artistically, if very far from a triumph, it’s interesting, almost held together by its charismatic stars.

However exotic the locations and starry the stars, there’s no escaping this is The Devil’s Advocate of online gambling. Fold.

For a while, its crassness is amusing, but as the plot sets in, it gradually turns into a stultifying bore.

Loud, silly and tired. Aside from an almost-fun Jackie Chan cameo, this is enough to give anyone a severe nut allergy.

An immensely enjoyable slice of romanticised fisticuffs, this is a Western in every respect except the stetsons and six guns.

Lacking the bite of "Attack The Block," Stiller and co. are happy to fall back on their usual shtick, with director Schaffer providing barely enough juice to power the laughs.

Jim Caviezel is a one-man scourge of child predators in this well-meaning thriller that doesn’t entirely deserve to be written off as culture-war propaganda.

Overlong and underpopulated with gags that really land, there's still moments of mirth for devotees of the original.

If you can make it through the bland schmaltz of the first half you'll be rewarded with a spectacular blast of sustained action and the promise of even better to come. This could be the start of something great.

Bland enough to make millions as culture edges closer to oblivion.

A mirthless shot in the dark that misses the target by some distance.

Herrington stages his action efficiently enough - the opening car chase manages to put a couple of spins on a hackneyed cinema staple - but is let down by his own script which seems to have been hanging around in the water so long it's become bloated.