Sex and swearing from David Mamet: the family guy. Fun for grown-ups only.

Olivier is truly remarkable in his portayal of the hammy actor, anti-hero Archie.

Herself tells a compelling story, but combining a tough realist drama about domestic abuse and homelessness with an optimistic tale of solidarity weakens the foundations of this otherwise admirable film.

While it proves an all-round well-mounted distraction, Ant-Man And The Wasp undeniably lacks the scale and ambition of recent Marvel entries.

It's every bit the great songfest it's hailed as, with bucketloads of innuendo thown in behind some of the most energetic musical numbers ever to grace the inside of a movie theatre.

Among the excellent principals, top-billed Turturro enlivens things wonderfully, but the real star, Buy, is magnificent.

Convincingly sozzled performances but, like Bukowski's poetry, there is little meaningful here to take away.

It may climax with an overly formulaic splurge, but The Winter Soldier benefits from an old-school-thriller tone that, for its first half at least, distinguishes it from its more obviously superheroic Marvel cousins.

A delightfully offbeat reminder of how inventive and witty blockbusters seemed when you were a kid.

Hunter is superb as the alcoholic mom trying to keep her life from falling apart, and Wood and Reed are scarily convincing as delinquents.

Happily, Jamie Lee Curtis gurning through a guitar solo (she is Lady Spinal Tap, after all) while her floundering ‘mother’ mimes on stage is amusing.

Unable to strike enough fear in an audience, this brave foray nevertheless takes a hatchet to the notion that it had gone soft.

Imagine "The Lion In Winter" set at a Kylie gig. You can have too much of a good thing, but it is a good thing.

As a metaphor for England at the dawn of the 70s, The Italian Job is a hard one to top.

Entertaining satire from a talented cast.

Reygadas' big ideas translate with mixed results.

The two stars are very good, doubtless enjoying their high fashion outfits, and the script has one clever plot reversal in the third act, but it really could have done with a few more thrills (the motives for the killings lead to necessarily slow plot development), either in the murder or the sexual perversity departments.

It suffers occasionally from self-consciousness and over-indulgence in its own oddity, but Gondry’s grasp of emotion and visuals is enchanting. Even if he seems several sandwiches short of a picnic.

It may sound dismissive to call a film ‘nice’, but that’s exactly what this is. It’s beautifully produced, entirely uncynical niceness. If you’re after just a lovely time, come on in and put your feet up.

Baalsrud never claimed to be a hero and the emphasis of this gripping reconstruction rightly falls on the resourcefulness, courage and self-sacrifice of those who epitomised the spirit of resistance.

A Western that hits many of the expected beats but which does so in an unexpected manner, being centred on a tender, loving relationship rather than gunplay and grit.

A mighty actor, a smart play, a clunky adaptation.

Holm’s well-judged adaptation of the bestseller keeps the maudlin to a minimum and plays the black comedy just right. A strong contender for feel-good film of the year.

It's worth hanging on for the spice of the closing credit outtakes, which effectively rounds off a reliably entertaining slice of comic nonsense.

Initially, the film works well as a tense, teasing suspense vehicle. But one of Dead Calm’s major problems is that it brings to mind ideas and plot similarities from so many other films that you are constantly being reminded of its own rather humble status.

In the absence of any genuine emotional wallop, it is the directorial pizzazz that pulls you through. Just about.

An apt tribute to a major figure in film history. The talking heads and archive clips do the job — but hearing it told by Sidney Poitier himself is the real treat.

Those who find men in feathers inherently divine will have a high old time here, and there are enough hilarious cinematic moments for the gob-smacked rest.