A decent, affectionate, fitfully funny take on the fantasy genre, but this could have been so much more.

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 you came for cute canines you’ll get them, but you’d get more entertainment from an hour of dog videos on YouTube.

This latest attempt to adapt the world’s laziest cat for the big screen just feels plain lazy: pure kids’-movie-by-numbers. The cinematic equivalent of a Monday.

Smart, funny and really quite hot, this is worth a look no matter what you think of "Charlie's Angels."

Re-prehensible, re-heated, and certainly not re-commended.

Not nearly as terrible as burped-out Sandler disasters of recent years, there's enough funny stuff here to remind us of his talent. Still, it's not for everyone.

As dysfunctional movie families go, the Rubins hardly linger in the memory.

Sadly, Donald Trump hasn’t quite found his Leni Riefenstahl: this is a film too embarrassed to be what it is. And shorn of capes and costumes, vigilantism is pretty ugly. Though Roth’s gift for the gruesome gives it a small voyeuristic appeal.

Designed to showcase Culkin at the expense of everyone else, this will have trouble appealing to the adult contingent of the family audience it's aimed at.

Plenty of shock and gore, and David Harbour is more than worthy to wear the horns. But this is a reboot in need of a reboot.

You'd think it'd be hilarious. Think again.

A note to Fonda: even thin, fabulous 67-year-olds shouldn't wear strapless gowns. It's scary.

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.

At a time when television is easier to make than films, it's a pity that a quart of plot in a pint-sized pot is largely to blame for this muddled misfire, which wastes some promising ideas and an impressive cast.

Long-delayed. Arguably not long enough.

Holmes’ wholesome charm keeps the movie afloat, but only just.

Mildly titillating, but not very good.

No surprises here, nor many laughs, though the romance has a simple, sentimental appeal.

Neil Marshall’s return to his homegrown horror wheelhouse doesn’t reach the heights of Dog Soldiers and The Descent. Instead, it’s a witch-hunt thriller that lacks the texture to be realistic and the no-holds-barred energy to be pulpy. Sean Pertwee has fun though.

There’s too much going on and too little character development for this to become a Christmas classic.

A clunky, lumbering sequel that, like its masked protagonist, has no redeeming features.

It’s genial, with appealing stars and fair giggles.

Flat and unfunny, this merits a second star based entirely on Scott’s cameo. Kev, get thee to a typewriter. You’re so much better than this.

A few old favourites – like the inconveniently wonky torch and the probably-not-quite-killed maniac – deliver the required jolts, but early promise dwindles to hokum.

After a gentle engaging start, The Book Of Henry makes an ill-judged move into thriller territory. But the performances, especially from Jaeden Lieberher, are strong and it delivers that rare cinematic treat: a real surprise.

No plot, no real story, no point really.

Competent, but so utterly bereft of any memorable moments that it becomes a bit of a bore. Perhaps it's time for a reboot – guy wrapped in bandages, shuffling around a pyramid, scaring people. You never know, it might just work.