Despite the odd flash of gore (this is a ‘15’ certificate, so expect minimal scares), the film’s biggest crime is that it’s utterly boring.

Wicked: For Good doesn’t defy gravity like its predecessor but fans will want to hold space for a sequel with a very poignant payoff.

Powell is a very watchable everyman, convincingly demonstrating the man of the people integrity of his character. There’s great work too from Colman Domingo as the show’s slick presenter Bobby T and Michael Cera, who plays a loose-cannon contact that Richards makes during his quest for survival. Wright also handles the explosive action well, orchestrating elaborate, kinetic set pieces that throb with excitement.

There is some good stuff here: it looks beautiful, the score is flesh-crawlingly creepy and there are individual shots that will stay with you for weeks. . . Alas, these qualities are all but lost in a slush of nonsensical narrative, unintentional (or so it seems) laughs and characters who are introduced only to drift away like flotsam.

While perhaps not as glorious as Lanthimos’ best, Bugonia’s shock and awe prompts a discussion about internet culture that hits worryingly close to home.

Director Joachim Rønning (the surprisingly decent fifth Pirates Of The Caribbean) is a safe pair of hands. He doesn’t deliver any massive surprises but confidently marshals an entertaining instalment that sits comfortably alongside its predecessors.

A tender, thoughtful film that finally brings the legendary singer-songwriter’s story, or at least a snatch of it, to the big screen.

This is a horror that’s in love with scary movies; a post-modern remix of genre classics filmed through an arthouse gauze that never obscures its goofy sense of humour.

Writer-director Rian Johnson’s script isn’t quite the perfect box of tricks. It’s fairly tenuous that Blanc would turn up for this puzzler – apparently at the behest of Mila Kunis’ local cop. But it’s hard to punch down on a movie with such a riotously entertaining cast.

Despite stellar efforts from Farrell and Robbie, it all adds up to something not quite charming, not quite moving and not quite compelling. This film is less a big bold beautiful journey; more a mildly diverting pitstop.

While The End Continues obviously won’t be talked about in such hallowed terms in four decades’ time, it thankfully doesn’t sully its own reputation, and it sure is pleasant to be back in the company of the band again.

In short, this is a thoroughly entertaining sports biopic that packs one hell of a sentimental gutpunch. It’s smashing stuff.

The undisputed highlight of the film are Faithfull’s various musical performances from across her career.

Operatic in its intensity and lush in its visuals (Anderson shot with old-school film format VistaVision), it’s a sometimes ragged, unwieldy experience.

For at least half of its runtime, Last Rites is as handsome, solidly made and jumpy as the original. It’s never actually scary but Chaves . . . has been generous with the popcorn-flinging set pieces that make these movies perfect date-night fodder.

The end result is an achingly gorgeous film that allows his monster-loving sensibilities and signature style to come to the fore.

If Caught Stealing’s not quite a home run, it is a nail-biter that’ll have you hooked until the final play.

At times, Jay Kelly does smack of self-indulgence but a sharp script and beautiful acting keeps it consistently entertaining.

Somehow Johnson’s sophisticated turn – the best of her career – will keep you on side. As romantic as Materialists is, it’s also realistic which makes it so watchable.

Is there too much going on? Possibly, but Eddington is never dull – Aster commits fully to his grisly vision of a ruptured America where a sticky narrative is more important than the truth or any kind of moral high ground.

There are glimpses of what could have been a decent film here – something charming, witty and exciting, with a cast of greats given room to soar – but whatever might have been is still stuck inside the pages of the book.

It’s heaps of fun watching Curtis chuck herself around the set in the name of slapstick as Lohan delivers the sort of poised performance she built her career on 20 years ago. Freakier Friday isn’t a flawless sequel but it does supply a satisfying nostalgia rush.

It’s a tribute to the joy, hope and love that pop culture and a shared devotion to it can bring. It’s proof that stanning a boyband can be a life-changing force for good, rather than the frivolous waste of time some would make it out to be.

The Naked Gun isn’t big or clever and that’s just fine – silliness has been missing from comedy cinema for far too long now. It might not smell quite as ripe as the original trilogy but it’s never not wonderful to hear Frank Drebin let ‘er rip on the big screen.

This is a typically unsophisticated, heart-in-the-right-place comedy from Sandler, complete with Happy’s four sons mooning and making dick jokes.

It’s enjoyable enough. It’s also a real treat to watch a Marvel film that doesn’t depend on viewers having seen a dozen other films and TV shows.

This awkward by-the-numbers slasher wouldn’t have stood up to scrutiny three decades ago and falls desperately short in an era where elevated horror has become the norm.

To give Gunn his due, he crafts a world that’s as close to the DC Comics Superman that we’ve ever seen, with characters like the shapeshifting Metamorpho (Anthony Carrigan) adding real texture. It’s a promising start-point to his plans for the DC Universe.