Expertly conjured atmosphere only gets Muschietti so far, but there's enough genuine promise here that you're willing to cut this talented newcomer some slack.

When a movie is this predicated on aping the Coen brothers (effectively, it should be added, in fits and starts), surprise won't be its strong suit.

Unlike Romero’s film, what’s missing is a trenchant sense of connection to our historical moment.

The documentary feels preprogrammed when it could have been a real-life Black Swan.

The usually distinctive filmmaker – Black Swan, The Wrestler, Mother! – is in unflashy form for this solid, starry but not very memorable thriller about one man’s very bad night.

It hurts that most of the jokes fall short of their potential, especially because Headland refuses to milk easy laughs by winking at genre clichés, but her decision to play things straight helps clarify a truth at the heart of movies like this.

Very much in the manner of Meet Me in St Louis, though nowhere near as good. The charming golden oldie score, featuring an array of hummable standards to go with the title song, is a definite plus.

It’s lifted by some very convincing performances.

The script’s sporadic silliness makes every plot turn questionable; how the talent deftly negotiates such goofiness makes the film near-impossible to resist.

You can appreciate the effort, but this falls just short of doing justice to the emotional stakes and claustrophobic terror of the traumatic events themselves.

The snoozy summery vibe will suit anyone looking for undemanding viewing for their little ones. With Pixar, though, you always come expecting more.

The "Pretty Woman"–style final act is fairly creepy, leaving a sour aftertaste to this otherwise sweet, if insubstantial, confection.

Marvin Kren’s enjoyable if ephemeral horror movie gets by for a while on its dopey premise.

Amazingly, the remake—by Danish director Michael Noer—is nearly as long and equally as depressing. But he’s made a slightly more exciting movie.

Effectively banned in Britain until 1968, Brando's biker seems disarmingly tame by comparison with the wild angels he spawned. Yet the film isn't half bad as it sets up characters and situation with neat economy, tracing the seeds of explosion when the Black Rebels ride into town, are detained by a minor accident, and hang around trading insults with a rival gang.

Like a conversation with your grandparents, the film reaches points where it can be a little bit drawn out and repetitive. But when the curtain falls on A Bunch of Amateurs, you’ll really miss these character and their stories.

Staying true to Murphy’s sense of humor, Coming 2 America embraces its goofy ’80s comedy roots, delivering a film that’s a little more self-aware and often pretty damn funny.

The denouement isn't very surprising or enlightening, but at its best this works as both a critique of Japan's pop culture system and an effective woman-in-peril psycho-thriller.

This is extremely silly, good natured, superficial stuff; a lot depends on whether you take to Bill and Ted's unique lingo (which contorts surfers' expressions) and their gormless behaviour.

Following exiled Iraqi writer Sinan Antoon as he returns home to gauge feeling on Hussein and the devastating effects of sanctions, the endless conflicts and now the terrible carnage, the film grants brief access to the lives and opinions of those always on the harsh end of geopolitical manoeuvres.

If it fails, ultimately, it's because the relationship between the rational gangster Lau and the impetuous Jacky Cheung never really rings true. A cut above the usual HK action melodrama all the same.

When Aladdin gets it right, it propels you high on a magic-carpet ride. But the odd bum note thrusts you straight out of Arabia and back into your cinema seat.

Not as incisive as Minnelli's film, but still a heady Mankiewicz brew of Hollywood trash and wit.

A fresh twist on a familiar fog-of-war story.

This is a smart, meaningful first film, with nods all over the place to classics like The Shining and Rosemary’s Baby, as well as more recent obvious touch points like Get Out. It’s not all subtle, but then neither is prejudice.

The sound-track bops along nicely with jazz-tinged standards.

There’s pleasure to be had in seeing Brooklyn’s Carroll Gardens expertly used as a backdrop for bougie romantic frustrations. If you miss the JakeWalk, here’s your opportunity to see the bar revived as the perfect place for neurotic conversations; if you ever ambled down Smith Street in your own mess of emotions, you may be feeling this one.

Whether this talent symbolizes racist aggression or mournful shock is left unsettlingly unclear, however, and while Oskar is a sphinxlike contradiction, Schlöndorff has a tendency to sketch the rest of the cast as simple grotesques or symbols of decadence that are unconvincingly humanized in the final third.