The problem isn't a lack of weight, but of lightness. It's stuck with lead feet for a historical caper and serves no other worthwhile purpose.

Cuban Fury belongs to an older, unfunnier time. Please let’s not go back.

It’s an elegantly pleasurable period thriller, a film of tidy precision and class.

Jack Thorne's screenplay has all the emotional nuance of a Sudoku puzzle; directed by French romcom veteran Pascal Chaumeil (Heartbreaker), it's bouncy and vacuous enough to feel like a light comedy from the planet Neptune.

It’s sweet-natured and amusing, with a story to captivate kids; yet the script has enough witty touches to keep adults laughing too.

It’s wonderful.

The film is not only unchallenging, it seems actively scared of challenging us. You emerge feeling pacified and only semi-entertained.

Tom Gormican, the writer and director, mostly uses overlapping dialogue in place of actual jokes, although occasionally he stretches to toilet humour.

For a shot of pure forward-leaping, backward-dreaming animated pleasure, pick brick.

There may well be a worse film released this year than this unwatchable British black comedy, although it sets a terrifyingly low benchmark.

Although the access is intimate, what emerges is not particularly surprising.

It feels as though it would have been better served as a six-part sitcom, where its sentimentality, broad comedy and fantasy elements wouldn't rub up against each other so badly.

Their improvisation has been honed to the point where the jokes land solidly without losing naturalism.

Johnson and co-writer Mark Heyman may be exploring familiar territory but they do so with a warmth, subtlety and honesty that marks it out.

The film hinges on the bond between dad and daughter and on the expressive face of Fanning, as we see her shift from a sort of nervous adoration of the unpredictable, if loving, Joe, to something more steely and independent.

This is an impressively clear-eyed and deeply moving portrait.

The plot strong-arms the characters into increasingly contrived and overly familiar positions that leave you longing for the more relaxed vibe of Shelton's earlier films.

Forbes has a delicate but unsentimental approach, which gives her film the same infectious energy that blesses and curses Cameron. The end result feels good without feeling superficial.

Despite his free and easy camerawork, which generates some lovely moments between Ian and Sofi, Cahill's narrative jolts along in fits and starts.

It is down to the strength of the acting that the film succeeds as far as it does.

It’s an astonishing achievement. Linklater and his cast, who helped refine the director’s script, perfectly execute how long it takes us to become the lead characters in our own lives, and how fumblingly the role is first assumed.

Off-beat and punk-spirited.

Hyper-violent it may be but there is beauty in its brutality.

However genius may flourish, you know it when you see it, and Whiplash is it.

Oscillates between the jolting and the absurd, bottoming out with a nonsensical coda.

The sheer half-heartedness of the whole exercise, though, may still catch you unawares.

It seethes with frustration on its subjects’ behalf – that for all the impact their stand has had, they still face a many-headed hydra on the road to real democracy.

The real revelation is Alice Eve, who gives a strikingly direct and affecting portrait of a woman in a desperate situation. Still, after too many pat plot twists and one nauseatingly slow death, I wished the film surrounding her were a little fresher.