Justice League’s most significant shortcoming is how forgettable it all is. There’s barely a moment that sticks, not a single sequence to rival the standout superhero set-pieces of recent years.

Ole Bornedal's slick religious horror bears all the hallmarks of Sam Raimi's Ghost House Pictures (the Grudge remake, Drag Me To Hell) – except the gore.

Jared Hess's indie sensibilities help to elevate a video game adaptation that is boosted further by Jack Black's irrepressible star turn. The special effects could be better, as could the female roles. But this remains an entertaining fantasy adventure that makes light work of what might appear to be unpromising source material.

A grindhouse mix of "Wild Things," "Killer Joe" and "Streetcar Named Desire," The Paperboy won’t be for all. But it boasts a soupy atmosphere and Kidman’s best turn for years.

"What are you going to do?" wails Maggie. "What I do best!" growls Liam. Yet while it's fun to watch him take out the Eurotrash, we've seen him do it better.

It’s all still loose breakin’ cars and looser lovin’ women; for petrol-headed single teens only, eager for (surely) the last bit of mileage to be milked from the concept.

For the most part a surprisingly fun, bloody take on Jane Austen’s classic – but it does turn stale as the final reckoning approaches.

Lowden and Findlay excel in their roles, but Mark Gill’s Moz-movie needed more: both more music and more “people who are young and alive”.

Inventive camerawork and a creepy (crawly) monster can’t save this messy supernatural horror.

Warm, witty and full of wonder, Afterlife reanimates a franchise without spitting on its grave.

Powered by the magnetic Aaron Taylor-Johnson, it’s rough around the edges, but still intoxicating.

Maudlin, glum and distinctly cheap-looking, Angel brings the curtain down on a trilogy that should have never got this far.

Rampage was always going to be the cinematic equivalent of junk food – enjoyable enough while consumed, but devoid of nourishment. When the homo sapiens are on screen, you can feel the film start to flatline but, against the odds, a computer-generated gorilla might just win you over.

By the time it’s over, you’ll either be heading for the beach or vowing never to go in the water again.

Carell and Carrey shine like sequinned suits in a comedy that allows them endless fun with the dressing-up box. More narrative verve and it could’ve been The Prestige in a big-cat wig.

Thankfully, the Russos imbue the often grim proceedings with the right amounts of light and levity to keep you gripped. Meanwhile, the subversive humor peppered throughout lends an anarchic energy that entertains as well as it moves.

Without much in the way of nudge-wink Pixar-style humour and pathos, mums and dads are less likely to be quite so enthralled.

A handful of sparky leads can’t help this superhero reboot find an appropriate tone. No no, Power Rangers.

A lavishly mounted re-telling that, for all its good intentions and visual wonders, can’t help seeming surplus to requirements.

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.

Dave Bautista’s street-level action flick is galaxies away from Marvel gloss, but the Guardians scene-stealer lends physicality to this gutsy, Carpenter-esque B-movie.

The Love Punch makes a virtue of its leads’ considerable charm and gorgeous French locations but is tonally wonky, comedically creaky and confuses light-as-a-soufflé with just plain silly.

Fun, fleeting entertainment if you’re after more of the same, but fails to carve out any fresh ground.

Berry and Wahlberg’s engaging dynamic elevates this nonsensical action caper. Forgettable fun.

The Crooked Man is at its best in a flavoursome first half that serves up crepuscular, shallow-focus photography (take a bow, DoP Ivan Vatsov) and backwoods dialect as tangy and prickly as wild gooseberries.

Respectable. Boyega adds real bounce and DeKnight delivers spectacle, even if the plot doesn’t strain too far from the original’s crash-bang formula.

Working from a script by Greg Rucka (The Old Guard) and Allison Schroeder (Christopher Robin), director Tom Harper (The Aeronauts, Wild Rose) displays impressive action chops, injecting Heart of Stone with plenty of explosive fights and spectacular stunts. On those grounds, it’s rollicking genre fare. Story-wise, however, it plays all its best hands early on.

The strange thing about Grimsby is that it works much better as a Bond-spoofing actioner than it does as a politically incorrect rib-tickler.

Despite a typically strong performance from Blunt - and a fun, if one-note, Evans - neither the rise nor the inevitable fall ever feel all that compelling. It lacks the sheer audaciousness of the similarly structured The Wolf of Wall Street, and doesn’t come close to the energy of The Big Short, which whipped up furious indignation while being massively entertaining at the same time.

A thoroughbred origin story and rollicking good adventure in one, led by an excellent Ralph Fiennes. It’s a hoot.

Affection for the characters will bring fans in. But many will leave wishing the makers of one of the most enjoyable programmes of recent years had left well enough alone.

Admittedly, the film’s oddly paced, elliptical middle section may leave you scratching your head. But then the twisty third act pulls it all together, sending shivers down the spine.

As far as sports movies go, there’s no reinventing of the wheel. All the requisite beats are hit, albeit with self-deprecating humour and knowing genre references. But within that familiar framework, the underdog story is very effectively delivered, thanks in large part to a charming bunch of supporting characters, and a consistently funny script by Waititi and the Inbetweeners’ Iain Morris.

Like a Richard Curtis movie with an Instagram filter, director Christian Ditter makes everything look pretty.

As implausible as the stars' gleaming choppers.

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.

It’s not Altman, but its heart is in the right place and Drameh impresses.

While Batman v Superman has no trouble quickening the pulse, it’s less effective when it comes to making you care.

The Mortal Kombat movie excels when it lets the fighting do the talking. The rest of the time, it simply falls flat.

The odd spirited turn aside, this is a throwback to the bad old ’90s days of comic-book movies.

Reducing promising material to movie-of-the-week status, Aftermath is well meaning, but anonymously made.

It’s a crisp, cold little thriller with a real sense of the noose tightening around otherwise unremarkable lives.

Kirk, who wed Fischer in 2010, perfectly captures her all-thumbs charm, and ubiquitous character actor Messina steps into the lead with ease, showing off some impressive mime skills to boot.

A damp-squib horror with zero thrills. Russell and Condon deserve much better.

Scorch Trials ambitiously opens up its world with mixed results: gripping action, so-so script.

3D has been kind to teen dance flicks and Step Up 4's better set-pieces take full advantage. Shame the movie's other attempts to tango with the zeitgeist are rather more flat-footed.

The cast’s likeable work falls right through the script holes.

It never quite comes alive, but what disappoints most is the acting: McGregor coasts on his natural charm, but Jennifer Connelly (as Levov’s trophy wife) and Dakota Fanning (as his unruly daughter) are wildly OTT.

Capturing Marley’s essence on screen proves an impossible task in a biopic that veers towards hagiography.

This latest Millennium movie smooths out the series’ earlier quirks. But there’s action galore and Foy makes a poised, dangerous heroine.

An uninspired and unnecessary sequel that won’t leave you spellbound. There’s neither enough Maleficent or genuine magic to make it worth a revisit.

Entertaining in small doses, but gruelling at two hours, Wiseman's derivative, spec-hackular upgrade bins the twisted wit and meaty thrills of the Arnie original.

Banal, blundering and at times downright ludicrous, 360 is a full-circle misfire that Meirelles' lively images can't salvage.

Marking Harlin’s trumpeted return to a genre in which he established himself as something of a journeyman (A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master, Exorcist: The Beginning), The Strangers: Chapter 1 makes decent use of its contained setting – the house itself, to wheel out the cliché, is its own character – but can’t cut through the sense of fatigue.

A competent if occasionally clunky biopic, enlivened by a superb Marisa Abela, who truly inhabits Winehouse and brings those songs to life.

Greater female input might have alleviated the film’s tiresome chauvinism.

Despite mostly sparky cast-work, the Phoenix never quite rises as hoped in Kinberg’s affectionate but often perfunctory X-Men send-off.

A huge misfire that even the most hardcore X-Men fans will find hard to warm to. Avoid, avoid.

Shyamalan concludes his secret trilogy with a film easier to admire than love. McAvoy is terrific again, but Glass doesn’t quite live up to the lofty heights of Unbreakable and Split.

McKinnon, Aniston and Jillian Bell's smiley pimp run away with the show, and as the party wears on, it becomes increasingly, thrillingly surreal.

A deliciously silly, spoofy tale of the 60s battle for breakfast domination, filled with high-fructose fun.

A competent rather than classic follow-up. If the action feels generic at times, the addition of Watts, more Winslet and the strength of Woodley are worth watching.

The leads are fine, but the movie's about as fun as summer school.

Sixteen years on from the Shia LaBeouf original, though, the many brains behind this franchise have still to figure out how to satisfy an audience without leaving it bludgeoned.

Vaughn and Wilson. eight years on from "Wedding Crashers," the pair successfully rekindle their irascible shtick.

The best bits of Kingdom come when Jules Verne-esque technology like Manta’s Octobots collides with Atlantis’ psychedelic bioluminescence, a colourful contrast that gets to the heart of this watery franchise’s trippy appeal.

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.

Massively unlikely, but compelling to the last, it makes a decent fist of conveying the strength of internet attachments, even if filtering the unfolding drama through endless computer screens becomes a well-worn device.

Ambitiously staged and impressively shot, Monsters: Dark Continent makes a bold stab at mounting a franchise but lacks the vision and surprise of its predecessor.

Early promise proves misleading in a sequel that should be far better than The Da Vinci Code than it actually is.

Anthony Mackie's Captain America earns his Stars and Stripes in this uneven, un-MCU thriller. Sam Wilson and an always-excellent Harrison Ford drag Brave New World into unfamiliar narrative territory before it eventually succumbs to familiar Marvel failings.

He might have lost his edge, but Parker hasn’t mellowed in his old age. A sunny, silly, violent revenger that puts Statham in good company.

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.

Somewhat impressively, it’s even stupider than this outlandish synopsis sounds, with action that makes the F&F movies look grounded, “hip” dialogue that induces spasms of embarrassment and a shockingly casual disregard for human life.

A murky mishmash of a movie, with the lightest smattering of glorious moments.

It’s a premise that sounds like the silliest of celebrity vanity but is, in fact, presented as an endearing portrayal of Rastafari culture, spiritual exploration and Snoop’s own past, present and future.

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.

Coasting on charismatic performances and a quality crew, Gosling’s debut proves two things: screenwriting is hard, and stylish and stylised are very different things.

The fairytale-like teaser trailer for this latest interpretation of The Haunting was so seductively eerie that you couldn't be blamed for becoming excited. Alas, the movie itself doesn't deliver on this promise: it's neither eerie nor seductive - in fact, it's a sore disappointment.

Packed with fine performances, this attack on suburban conformity is surprising, darkly hilarious and cleverly leaves the insanity judgement to its audience.

What [Bekmambetov] doesn't do is offer us any respite from his 3D CGI barrage, an assault on the senses that makes the bullet John Wilkes Booth fired into the real Abe's noggin seem calming by comparison.

A solid performance by Quasem and an impressively gruesome early leg-munch aren’t enough to earn Something in the Water anything close to a recommendation. Avoid like a fin in a bay.

A good-looking yet curiously tame adaptation of a saucy classic that showcases Pattinson's ambition if not his full abilities.

While the film lacks Christina Applegate’s razor-sharp delivery (though she gets a LOL-worthy cameo) and most of the plot doesn’t make sense, the older ladies warrant a Bad Grans spin-off.

Green delivers a smart, sturdy second chapter. Low consequence, perhaps, but still highly entertaining.

The cast do decent work, but Clooney’s ersatz Fargo misses the mark. A Coen pastiche rather than the real deal.

Harper’s well-appointed sequel has strong performances even if the Woman becomes a supporting character in her own tale.

This is a tonal misfire, its characters cut down by a blitzkrieg of whip pans, CGI and thunderous percussion. And with Ritchie again rummaging in his increasingly threadbare bag of tricks, the result is a movie more jaundiced than jaunty.

John Cena’s a joy to watch, but Paul Feig’s latest isn’t quite on the money.

Its overview of the baby experience is obscured by a family-values lens – no single/same-sex parents - resulting in an awful ensemble comedy to complete that "Valentine's Day" / "New Year's Eve" box-set, complete with sexist clichés.

Fast, fierce, fuzzy: nicely unruly, naggingly undisciplined, Johnson’s live-action DC bow strains to entertain but struggles to breathe amid the noise.

“Rock solid,” is Bruce Willis’ nod-wink appraisal of an attack strategy in G.I. Joe: Retaliation. The film’s nowhere near as sturdy, trundling out middling action and nonsensical plotting.

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.

Misguided in the extreme. A scene in which Kitsch and co aim blindly for the broadest of targets – and miss by miles – proves painfully apt.

Frustratingly, [Marcel's] movie maintains the issues of the first two films – ropey effects, muddy night-time action scenes, a determination to be family friendly at all times – and then undoes any goodwill its more successful components have inspired by including a mid-credits sting that renders the previous 109 minutes obsolete.

James DeMonaco’s blood-splattered thriller begins well before expiring slowly from multiple improbabilities.

Most ‘one crazy night’ movies (from After Hours to Superbad) thrive on a sense of escalation, but Stand Up Guys only seems to lower the stakes as it stumbles tediously on.

It's not quite "Before Sunrise" with mud and portaloos then, but warm vibes, buzzy crowd scenes and the two leads' enthusiasm will pull you through to the morning after.