The doltish, messy and frequently incoherent result bears all the hallmarks of a botched and compromised endeavour.

It’s not funny or inspirational, just loud and trite.

The requisite training montage is half-decent, and the split-screen end credits replay Van Damme’s infamous dancing in the original, with Moussi mirroring his every bad move.

The rocky relationship between Lee and her father feels convincing enough, and it's great to see a queer storyline take shape as Lee develops feelings for her father's co-star (Chloe Bailey, one of several strong supporting actors). But the horror story leans too heavily into what has now become cliché, with Crowe's outbursts seeming increasingly ridiculous rather than terrifying.

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.

After a visceral opening battle, endless speeches dull good intentions, and the characters lack depth.

Sweeping landscape shots and the reliable presence of Sergi López, here playing a scarred private investigator, can’t distract from the clichés of a particularly dim-witted script.

Beneath the surface panache lies an overlong, emotionally shallow study of so-called 'twin flames', possible reincarnation and learning to let go of love.

There is less depth to this film than a petrol station greeting card, but it’s essentially harmless.

The cast commit, but The 355 is no lucky number for Kinberg, who only delivers diminished returns on spy-thriller genre conventions.

While it offers spectacular CGI devastation and a chiselled hero, Pompeii is so soulless and empty that you won’t shed any tears when the ‘cano blows its top.

The cast try hard and are rewarded with some zesty dialogue, but remain shackled to the girl-with-dead-dad-grows-up formula.

But for the most part it’s Neanderthal compared to the Pixar stable.

There's something patronising about the way Norman Jewison portrays all these poor but cheerful Yiddish types. The choreography is clumsy, the acting caricatured, and the songs themselves painfully overblown.

Writer/director duo Sam and Andy Zuchero take an admirably big swing with their feature debut Love Me, but it never engages emotionally in the way this kind of material needs to.

A generic cop thriller that rumbles along thanks to a quality cast but ultimately offers nothing fresh.

Cue 105 painful minutes of a fat guy getting punched in the face and falling down.

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.

Vardalos does her best with her scenes as Toula, bringing some much-needed charm and emotional depth, while laughs are mostly driven by Andrea Martin’s Aunt Voula, who aptly introduces herself early on as "your favourite". But neither can save My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3 from feeling like a pale imitation of what’s come before.

From overblown sci-fi concepts to incest and erections, Megalopolis is a comedy of errors in a more literal sense than may have been intended, despite its many Shakespeare references.

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

Much mellowing and life-learning ensues in a plodding dramedy, though the glint in MacLaine’s eyes makes it almost worth your while. Almost.

Come for the technical innovations, stay for… hmm. Two Will Smiths for the price of one just ain’t worth it.

The Yellow Sea is overkill in every sense.

Less abrasive than Part II, but lacking any of Part I's freshness, this is the most lacklustre return-to-Vegas, trilogy-closing caper since "Ocean's Thirteen."

You might care to see this as an allegory about power, sex and control, but it doesn’t feel like it’s saying anything particularly profound.

Pimped, primped and dressed to the nines, Joe Wright's Tols-toy story looks the business. Like a disappointing Christmas present, though, the pleasure quickly evaporates once you remove the shiny paper.

A ploddingly predictable, gore-lite yawner.

Even an axe-swinging Charlize Theron struggles to wallop much life – endless or otherwise - into Gina Prince-Bythewood’s comic-book riff, a derivative fantasy-actioner so laggy it puts you right off immortality.

There’s a chemical imbalance here… Netflix’s super-drug thriller is less than addictive.

You'd think Greta Gerwig's bones were hurting, so achingly hip is this irritating New York indie.

It’s to director Chris Menaul’s credit that his lack of big-screen experience isn’t evident, but the same can’t be said for his cast who are, by and large, too stiff to charm.

Too rackety and hackneyed to scare, The Nun groans next to the likes of Hereditary. Only the moody, menacing abbey inspires the right levels of belief.

Fake plastic trees, fake plastic entertainment? The Lorax is immensely colourful, catchy and cheery. Then again, it's also gaudy, bland and recycled. You can do better.

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.

Taking Don’t Look Now as a reference point, Gary Sinyor’s film is turgid, flabby and – despite some committed performances and great ideas – toothless, with neither tension nor bite.

A few lowbrow laughs… but far too many one-note characters, performances, and plot points to make them worth showing up for.

It’s nowhere near as subversive, stylish or witty as Guy Ritchie’s debut – hampered by thoroughly unlikeable characters that not even its talented young cast (Ed Speleers, Will Poulter, Alfie Allen) can make you root for.

CGI wasps and coloured contact lenses aren’t as terrifying as director Simon Verhoeven seems to think, and all the loud bangs in the world can’t hide the lack of tension.

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

IF is obviously aiming to be an E.T.-style family classic about kids and creatures on a healing journey. But its sticky sentimentality keeps it mawkish rather than magical.

Coherence croaks as Gout dishes enough jump-cuts, whip pans and slo-mo assassinations to make Michael Bay look restrained, but the multi-handed mood music offers meaty compensations.

Impressive VFX and bursts of action can’t mask the fact that this is a tonally confused start for a sci-fi franchise hopeful, made up of scrap parts you’ve seen put to better use elsewhere.

With the story lacking real jeopardy, the feeling this leaves isn’t quite fury, but it’s certainly apathy.

"Sometimes it's fun to run with the pack," counsels self-confessed lone wolf Chuck Norris. For the most part, you'd be well advised to choose the opposite direction.

Ultimately, it’s not as awful as "Wild Wild West." But we’ll hazard a guess that Pirates 5 can’t come quick enough for Bruckheimer or Depp.

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.

Returning screenwriters Jon and Erich Hoeber have penned a surplus of minor melees and major set-pieces.

"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.

A nifty lift-off and a tense first hour lead us, disappointingly, to a very bumpy landing. While Neeson and co. do their best, the script just doesn’t deliver where it really matters.

The Gearbox title gamers loved has spawned a frenetic and disorderly shambles they’re likelier to loathe. Claptrap? You said it.

Buckling under the influence of Downton Abbey, Rice apes its style but none of the substance to create an amiable study of posh hypocrisy without any real satire or social feeling.

An intriguing concept is executed frustratingly poorly. On the Shyamalan spectrum, it’s more The Happening than Unbreakable.

As ever, Cronenberg leaves you with much to chew on, but dramatically The Shrouds feels rather inert, as if it can’t get out of second gear

Some fun action and Glen Powell's star power aren't enough to energize a muddled, poorly paced ride with thinly drawn characters and an inconsistent world that wastes its abundant potential.

It’s a nifty idea – especially in terms of structure – but that’s about it, with Clarke’s direction proving as flat as his performance.

The Soska sisters’ feminist ‘T Is For Torture Porn’ has the most to say but everyone will have their own favourites (D, K, T, X and Z, since you asked).

It’s left to the leads to keep us engaged, a tall order given their film’s old-fashioned, fusty feel.

Laughs are few and far between in a comedy that proves the combo of talented performers and an intriguing concept are no guarantee of success. Dispiriting stuff.

Long before the film reaches its action-packed, train-based climax, however, adults will be questioning if its three writers have so much as seen an actual Garfield comic strip, given how removed their work feels from its activity-averse inspiration.

As baffling as it is dull, The Dark Tower is a disappointment for both hardcore fans and the King-curious. Stick with the books.

Miscast and underwritten, Alex Cross does not reinvent Tyler Perry, or James Patterson's character, or anything, really. The only appeal here is the sick kick of watching a franchise blow itself to bloody stumps.

The first Meg never pretended to be anything more than a shamelessly imitative, big-fish smackdown. Yet even that low bar proves too high for this listless, mechanical follow-up.

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

All the signs pointed to a hit chiller: great cast, a director with fantastic form and a celebrated Jo Nesbø novel to draw from. So it’s a huge shame, then, that The Snowman is a bit grey and slushy when it should have been cool and crisp.

Occasionally potent but mostly risible, this tale of the occult sees Rob Zombie cast a weak spell. Disappointing.

This portrait of an alienated culture funnelling its rage into gun violence is itself too cold and distant to connect.

Adam Sandler stumbles into his own movie about 10 minutes into That's My Boy, and that's where the fun ends.

The pleasure of seeing a supergroup of Brit-veterans soon withers in an OAP comedy that plumps for light laughs over deeper insights.

Largely gung-ho nonsense, but it’s always a pleasure to see J.K. Simmons in ball-busting mode, barking words like “simpletons!” at his men.

The cars are hot, the action is decent, but the characters and plot need a serious tune-up.

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.

As Peter Pan should be one of the ultimate wish-fulfilment heroes for kids, it’s baffling to see how he’s been appropriated for such an awfully middling adventure.

Taste and laughs are in equally slim supply in Jennifer Lawrence’s latest, from which only her fresh-faced co-star emerges untarnished.

Banderas hams and Pinto flutters. If it weren’t for Strong and some colourful art direction, you could chalk this up as a busted well.

This might have been titled ‘Independence Day: Submergence’. It’s certainly hard not to drown in the sea of CGI, with the exponential increase of pixels being to Independence Day what the Star Wars prequels were to the original trilogy.

It’s more of a table wine – inoffensive, middlebrow and, like the scenes of grape harvesting here, hard work.

It takes more than two Avengers and the director of Fast & Furious 8 to make the MIB hip again.

A fair amount of decent laughs can't disguise a micro-thin plot which won't keep the kids from fidgeting. But it packs in just enough sci-fi/film references to keep fans amused. Possibly worth a look if you're a groupie.

Can’t decide if it’s a broad farce or a poignant portrait. Small wonder then, that it falls short on both counts, failing to earn either Bridesmaids-sized laughs or nods of recognition.

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

A facepalm of a film that places no value on life or limb yet still expects the audience to, this sub-par shoot-’em-up plays out like Four Rooms’ fifth part.

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.

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.

“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.

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.

An oblique, overlong film from French fashion designer Agnès B, whose arty flourishes and wooden dialogue are as intrusive as the blaring Vivaldi score.

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.

Those under 10 may love Joe, but adults will find him less appealing. Theron almost saves the day, until she flounders under the weight of poor dialogue, dull direction and a role that seems to value her make-up over her acting.

Loosely based on the 2001 game Silent Hill 2, Return to Silent Hill can be an atmospheric horror film with original creature designs worthy of Konami's legendary franchise. But a confusing plot, mediocre visual effects, and over-the-top acting might make director Christophe Gans' newest Silent Hill adaptation just as divisive as his first attempt 20 years ago.

That every jibe lands woefully wide is no surprise, though we’ll give leading lady Ashley Tisdale credit for giving her all to a film that mercifully won’t be around long enough to do any lasting damage to her post-High School Musical career.

Jones and Oldman are on autopilot, while Costner grizzles like a sore-headed bear. Only Gal Gadot, as Reynolds’ widow, has any cred in this utter pap.

To be fair, Blood and Honey 2 is actually a notch above its predecessor, if only because the production values are (relatively) higher. But despite a watchable turn from Chambers, this is largely Neanderthal filmmaking, even with hospital janitor Simon Callow offering up a Scottish accent and a lot of pointless exposition.

Limp, transparently plotted flight fodder. Jilt it.

Sly and Statham are always watchable – not least when the latter takes a job as security for an odious social media influencer. But they can’t save this mission from going painfully pear-shaped.

Charmless, mirthless and witless, this waste of time is another black mark on Depp’s card, while his co-stars fare little better. Even low expectations won’t help you here.

The Devil may have all the best tunes, but this really is the worst sort of cinematic karaoke.

An uneasy combo of adventure film and gag-heavy kiddie-com, Dolittle fails to satisfy on either front.