Trash Fire is too quick to burn through its ideas.

Into the Inferno is an intriguing, unnerving documentary.

Sprinkled among the desultory morass are occasional firecrackers of brilliant schtick-based comedy.

The public and private Rachel are, at first, quite different, until her eventual decision to be an out-of-the-closet believer. Even with this rancid script and amateurish direction, McLain sells this inherently undramatic turn as an emotional triumph.

It is a striking work of storytelling. By assembling the scattered images and historical clips suggested by Baldwin’s writing, I Am Not Your Negro is a cinematic séance, and one of the best movies about the civil rights era ever made.

With stealth and elegance, Kennebeck brings these alarming truths into the light.

Moore doesn’t want to tear Trump down so much as he wants to build Clinton up, and however much of a dingus he may be (some of his jokes really don’t work), he is sincere in his optimism and empathy. That’s something that you just can’t fake.

There is no juicy high-concept baddie this time around, but there is a lot of enjoyable hokum and cheerful ridiculousness.

It’s still no scarier than any branded content, and perhaps only the most lukewarm slumber party would truly need it. Yet if you were to ask whether Origin of Evil offers a better quality of timewasting than its predecessor, my finger would hover inexorably over YES.

Much will be said about Gray’s cinematic craft (as is often the case when a director works with cinematographer Darius Khondji) but beneath the slow roll down the river pierced by arrows from unseen, defensive natives, there’s a fascinating, mercurial screenplay that offers just enough to keep you journeying for more insight.

It’s just a film that never really finds its footing, a problem that would have been noticeable with or without the increased frame rate. It’s just that at 120 frames a second, it’s so much more noticeable.

As a bit of anthropology offering a glimpse into Tibetan life today, it’s perfectly serviceable.

The Accountant uses a cliched and misleading presentation of disability to produce a cliched Hollywood action lead in a cliched action plot, and then babbles cliches about the importance of embracing difference. Despite its protestations to the contrary, the only thing that sets The Accountant apart from its peers is its irritating, clueless hypocrisy, and its lousy title.

Once upon a time, this wackiness had some novelty value. Now it’s tedious.

For all of Mills’s cinematic tricks, he’s emerging as a great realist film-maker.

Pure uncompromising yuckiness is what this comedy delivers. A grossout smack in the face. Deplorable. Unspeakable. Often funny.

Blinky’s cranked-to-11 embrace of Australianisms feels a little tacky, like looking inside one of those city shops that flog kangaroo keyrings and green and gold bucket hats. But it’s nevertheless refreshing to see an Australian movie so heart-on-sleeve about expressing national character.

There’s a soothing Altmanesque drift about this French drama.

The complicated web of narrator-switches, flashbacks and POV-shifts seems clotted and Emily Blunt – usually so witty and stylish – is landed with a whingy, relentlessly weepy role in which her nose hardly ever resumes its natural colour.

Clinton, Inc.’s director, Bill Baber, can’t even slander a dead woman without coming off like an idiot.

A few small hiccups aside, 13th is very much not a Michael Moore film. It is organised, detailed and powerful.

Masterminds is a bit of an interesting case study, as it is basically a Coen brothers film but put through a mechanism that removes all the wit, visual style or excitement. In its place are tortuously dull set-pieces, rambling dialogue and banal stagings.

Macdonald grants us insight into the process and, as expected, it’s hardly as haphazard as sceptics might think.

Split goes all-in on McAvoy slipping from persona to persona, and luckily he’s got the acting chops to sell it.

Fire at Sea is masterly film-making.

We get the playfulness of seeing quirky magic powers mixed with the familiarity of how a time loop plays out. Add in Burton’s authorial visual stamp and what we’ve got is an extremely pleasing formula. It gels as Tim Burton’s best (non-musical) live-action movie for 20 years.

A cinematic Jägerbomb: definitely not good for you, but gets the job done.

Pesce asks viewers to go along with the absurdity while offering nothing to justify any of it. It’s a murder ballad gone out of tune.