Fear falls short of fantastic yet it’s a decent effort that, like Pegg’s beard, proves to be something of a grower.

Brutally simple and brilliantly told, channeling everything from the Coens to Korean masters to create a blood-curdling black comedy.

The resulting pickle may seem alien to many, but Yaron’s navigation of Shira’s struggles make it tangible.

There are star names in the cast – Sylvester McCoy, John Hannah, Samantha Barks – but ultimately the film rests on Boyle, who sadly has all the acting nuance of a Speak N’ Spell.

The well-worn platitudes and pained moralising are a bit much, but the music is tremendous.

Alas, director Courtney Solomon burns out all the cool potential, leaving us with a witless and unforgivably tame car wreck.

An unfathomably airless B-movie that betrays its USP by spreading the thrills too thinly. You can see why Stallone had second thoughts.

To its credit, Spike Lee’s remake isn’t a slavish imitation. On the other hand, its grit is a grey substitute for the original’s vision and verve. Disappointing.

Not quite up there with "Tangled," but a solid addition to the canon. Catchy tunes will have you humming, but the hunt for the next "The Little Mermaid" continues...

Sex, drugs, murder, radical verse and Radcliffe make persuasive bedfellows in Krokidas’ live-wire lit-pic. It gets busy, but fizzy direction and Rad’s rigour help to keep its pulse alive.

A pitch-perfect performance from Dern graces Alexander Payne’s latest roadmovie – another bittersweet meditation on the sad, comic futility of life.

With the entire cast on their A-game, depths are found in characters that could’ve easily been caricatures.

Despite suffering from middle-act wobbles, The Desolation Of Smaug nevertheless delivers rousing action, incredible visuals and one stupendous dragon.

Twists pile as high as corpses before an overcooked ending sends things spiraling into silliness.

One of the more solid ’70s horror remakes, but it lacks the verve and potency, romance and heartache of the original. Still, the haircuts are a vast improvement...

Though awkwardly assembled, with an overemphatic voiceover, it’s chilling stuff.

Any comparisons with Chicken Run are rendered poultry by half-baked gags. Even tykes will tell it to get stuffed.

The results – achieved through small cameras clipped to nets, masts and the crew – will hook some and induce seasickness in others.

Hanks takes to Walt like a pair of cosy slippers, but it’s Thompson who adds layers to a classy but predictable slice of Disney schmaltz.

The result? Not so much "World War Z" as World War Zzzz.

A winning mix of deadpan comedy, retro stylings and escalating insanity. Too idiosyncratic for some perhaps, but this one-of-a-kind indie makes ’80s nostalgia feel new again.

Though it’s good to see Michelle Pfeiffer married to the mob again, she alone can’t redeem a lumbering farce that takes an unpleasantly sadistic glee in violence, murder and intimidation.

It’s not groundbreaking, but the impressionistic approach at least strives for more than your standard-issue bio.

A taut, chilling little horror-thriller making maximum use of minimal resources to tap into our primal fears of the unknown.

Viewed as a Brit answer to ’70s and ’80s exploitation flicks, endless Seagal movies and First Blood (Dyer is rogue SAS; his colonel issues Trautman-esque warnings), it’s surprisingly decent.

The athleticism of the final ‘battles’ impresses, but even then, the routines are marred by trick-edits and headache-inducing 3D.

Fearless, relatable and beautiful, this is one of the year’s best. Holding you so close for so long, you won’t want to break free.

A slice of raggedy realism with ultra-naturalistic performances.

Catching Fire delivers on all the promise of Part 1 with a gutsier, tougher, better round of Games.

The director paints a partisan picture, but offers an eloquent and effective challenge to orthodox eco-wisdom.

It may skip so quickly through historic events that it can feel rushed and flimsy, but excellent performances elevate it to serious Oscar contender.

Against the odds this is a sometimes droll and surprisingly tender affair, and a fitting end to Seidl’s magnum opus.

[A] memorable, conventional account of a true maverick.

Writer/director Christopher Payne paints a credible portrait of life as a professional hoofer. But the leads struggle with an undernourished script, and there’s a cheapo televisual vibe throughout.

Enchanting.

Sticking tightly to its heroine’s everyday routines and rituals, this deft blend of humour and pathos fully earns its defiantly upbeat dance-floor denouement.

The simple approach teases fascinating parallels between art and marriage: essential to both, it seems, are a thick skin and an optimism verging on madness.

Best of all, though, is the uneasy ring of truth, which will definitely still be with you the morning after.

The lead character’s called Grace, but don’t be put off: Cretton’s tough-love snapshot of shattered youth is achingly moving rather than manipulative or mawkish.

Though set in a divided country, it’s an effervescent period piece, edited with verve: Persiel combines recreations with archive footage, animation and home videos.

Odd-couple chemistry from Dench and Coogan, a smart script and honed direction make this real-life story highly compelling. Blending comedy and tragedy, it secretes a potent sting.

A stunning space saga that takes off for new technical frontiers without leaving its humanity behind.

This blistering, Oscar-nominated documentary tells how its members refused to let patients become pariahs.

Maverick director James Toback (Fingers) and Alec Baldwin front this frequently hilarious insider doc.

Despite some affecting moments, the lumbering Parkland feels more like a well-researched magazine feature than an involving drama. As Billy Bob Thornton’s lawman says: “This was not supposed to happen.”

The restlessness of the camerawork may drive you to distraction, but director/co-writer Calin Peter Netzer’s film is held steady by Gheorghiu’s staunch performance.

Alexander Sokurov’s riff on Goethe’s tragedy is a bewildering but blazingly styled fever-dream epic.

An absorbing thriller that favours vivid characters, profound ideas and Old Testament morals over propulsive plotting and set-pieces. With lots of blood.

It’s a slow-burning, well-acted thriller that’s only really let down in its third act: an unsatisfyingly limp denouement that fails to convey what’s at stake with any sort of suspense.

Marvel’s man with the mallet does all that’s required of him in a breakneck sequel that’s never dark for long. Next time, though, we’ll have more Loki and fewer elves.

Like its hero, Ender’s Game relies on brains more than brute force. An absorbing portrait of Lord Of The Flies-style morality housed in imaginative sci-fi casing.

Carried aloft by the remarkable performances of her two young leads, Clio Barnard’s poignant, unflinching slice of hard-knock-life grips tight and lingers long. Britain’s definitely got talent.

Potts does the singing himself, but that doesn’t stop Justin Zackham’s (The Big Wedding) contrived script from sounding bum notes throughout.

With a large supporting cast and rapid gag-rate, ingredients are generous. But with no real plot to bind them, the pile-up of chaotic chases, repeat-on you leek puns and noisy dust-ups gradually kills the appetite.

Most of the gags fall flatter than a Knoxville belly-flop.

Splashes of overstatement aside, the ambition intoxicates.

Assured, adult filmmaking from a writer/director who knows her way around the ups and downs of relationships.

Green fashions a slow-burn charmer that’s a million miles from Pineapple Express in tone, pace and content. But just like that film, the odd couple interplay is beautifully judged.

Paul Giamatti shines as Theo’s pessimistic brother Chet, and the uplifting message never smashes you over the head.

Slicker than the original without the sudden lurches in quality, this second shaky-cam horror anthology still has a standout sequence by which all the others must be judged.

Squeezing every drop of tension from wet-ink recent history, Phillips only falters when making its protagonists mouthpieces in a broader geopolitical debate. Otherwise, it’s full steam ahead to the Oscars.

A highly enjoyable slice of in-one-eye, out-the-other nonsense. It may coast on the charisma of its leads at times, and it’s hardly deep, but there’s a Friday night to be had.

Showing subtlety the door almost the minute it starts, David E Talbert's romcom is the filmic equivalent of a frying pan to the skull.

Perfectly respectable, but it won’t linger in the memory like Luhrmann’s.

Fun when Jones is around, dull when he's not, it's all just a little bit of history repeating.

The result? An accomplished, bittersweet drama that's more bitter than sweet.

Like a meal made entirely of chillies, Machete Mk II is spicy to start with, then unpleasant, then numbing - before it all starts to repeat.

With a riveting portrayal by Cumberbatch at its heart, The Fifth Estate tells its story grippingly - but finally leaves us none the wiser.

An Arab Spring-y allegory with kissing cousins and a divine countryside setting, Kevin Macdonald’s fourth narrative film is an awkward oddity, as uncomfortable in its own skin as its protagonist.

There are moments of sweetness and spontaneity with her BFFs (Alia Shawkat, Sarah Steele) but not enough to fill the hole where the film’s soul should be.

It’s a histrionic distraction from the band doing their thing. Watch "Some Kind Of Monster" instead.

Pitched perfectly between microbudget miracle "Once" and all-star Aegean romp "Mamma Mia!" What these songs lack in recognition they make up for in feelgood factor.

Despite Gwynnie and her lingerie-clad lap-dancing, this sober, issue-based dramedy is preachy and a tad soapy, rather than provocative. Fine acting, though.

The one-liners are in evidence but this is more abrasive than you might expect. Blends rigour and vigour to join "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" and "Midnight In Paris" as the best of late-period Woody.

Too witless to be a decent comedy, too charmless to call itself a parody, this messy adap of Shannon Hale’s novel groans under the weight of a predictable plot and explosive overacting, although Bret McKenzie wrestling awful dialogue at least brings a touch of adorability as the resort’s elfin stable lad.

With McAvoy acting as if his life depends on it, Filth is the Irvine Welsh film we’ve been waiting years for. Tastier than a deep-fried Mars Bar.

Justin Timberlake and Ben Affleck give their best poker faces but ultimately fail to convince you to gamble your cash away on this limp, unoriginal story of a man out of his depth.

A simmering pressure cooker of a thriller, Prisoners is an unforgiving but emotionally rewarding experience sustained by powerhouse performances, taut scripting and Villeneuve’s tonally assured direction.

Big vistas and big names can’t compensate for the film’s necessity to cram Dickens’ rich, sprawling set of characters and twisty subplots into a two-hour film.

"Poltergeist" goes "Back To The Future" with only passable results in a film whose activity is more par for the course than paranormal.

Mme C. is Carine Roitfeld, ex-editor of Vogue Paris and former stylist. She’s a maternal presence – her own son calls her a MILF. Which makes for fantastic access, if minimal drama.

By turns dynamic, dangerous and bursting with passion, Out In The Dark is a stark, swoonsome romantic drama.

It’s let down by some erratic, repetitive plotting.

Too stodgy for B-movie suspense, too silly to shock, too sexist to stomach, Diesel’s return misfires.

Lowery’s understated authority lifts his tragic romance above mere Malick mimicry, while Affleck and Mara bring heart to the scrupulous artistry. All you need is a little patience...

Blurring documentary/fiction boundaries, writer/director Jem Cohen’s film is deceptively simple.

Longer than OHF and just as daft, WHD makes for a more entertaining watch before succumbing to the same bombastic overkill.

Utterly gripping. Aided by two punchy lead turns, an Oscar-worthy script and stunning in-car footage, Howard’s race film delivers top-gear drama. A piston- and heart-pumping triumph.

No prizes for guessing who ends up with whom, but the colourful retro designs and the leads’ sparkling chemistry help to Tipp-Ex over some of the predictability.

Gray’s technique is effective, catching the moment one Indian scientist, Yusuf Hamied, stood up and got the moral ball rolling.

Full of ear-pleasing lines and obscure R&B tunes, it’s colourful, casual and full of flavour. An unexpected treat.

Gamely directed and acted, but a little threadbare in terms of plot and design, it’s suitably savage but not quite fun enough to forgive the flaws.

It’s predictable, politically incorrect and too long – but a handful of really big chuckles excuse most of the cop-outs. There’s a much edgier film in here somewhere, but this one will definitely do.

As for some of the big reveals, viewers will see them coming from a galaxy far, far away.

Curveballs are rare in this pop-umentary on Earth’s biggest boyband; but with lengthy gig clips, lots of cute mucking-about (segways, disguises, hiding in wheelie bins) and Harry’s shirt off within the first 10 minutes, Directioners won’t be disappointed.

The leads gurn gamely, Ben Batt’s villain oozes menace and Golden directs energetically, but the climactic twists are as convincing as pills made of washing powder.

Capturing the essence of the source novel, this is a superior adult drama. Harrowing, heartbreaking but utterly compelling.

If the Collette/Carell reunion suggests Little Miss Sunshine, it’s not quite that crowd-pleasing. But, crafted with much TLC and sympathy, it’s perfectly tailored to the tongue-tied teen in us all.