Melissa McCarthy’s over-the-top performance as a low-rung grifter enlivens what is otherwise a groan-worthy odd-couple comedy.

Morbius may be a living vampire, but this supervillain origin story is dead on arrival. A rote, lifeless and cynical attempt to expand Sony’s Spidey-Verse.

It’s not as epic as "March Of The Penguins," or as stunning as the BBC’s usual slo-mo nature porn – but with nary an animated tap dance in sight, it’s still king of the 3D penguins.

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.

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.

The Expendables 3 marks a sizeable improvement on the first two outings.

Ashley Bell’s nuanced performance and a surprisingly pyrotechnic finale liven up a gloomy sequel. Title’s still nonsense, mind.

Though closer in quality to Morbius than Venom, Kraven is far from a catastrophe and serves up a decent helping of bloodthirsty, globe-trotting action. Taylor-Johnson makes a muscular if self-satisfied protagonist in a film that would have been better off standing on its own shoeless feet than cravenly (or should that be, 'kravenly') cleaving itself to its comic book brethren.

The seventh and supposedly final Scream is never as sharp or as smart as the series' best, but it still has a few neat tricks up its billowing sleeve. Enjoyably self-aware and satisfyingly bloody, this may be imitation Craven, but it proves Scream's slasher-whodunnit formula is still potent enough to thrill.

An expert blend of world building, humanity, and the magical strangeness of Final Fantasy. Best of all, you don't need to know anything about Final Fantasy to love it.

Snyder’s sci-fi epic stumbles towards the finish line with an underwhelming Part Two that feels more like a Part One-And-A-Half.

The predictable script lulls you into laughing at some very tired gags, but at least Hart refrains from screaming through the whole thing.

It’s not the sort of family film you’ll wax lyrical about, but there’s enough colorful, chaotic, kid-friendly fun to amply entertain.

Even though the ever-reliable Galifianakis has fun bromancing the stone-faced Hamm, the end result feels like a decaff version of Date Night.

At best, this is a cringey stab at black comedy redeemed by charismatic stars; at worst it’s a glib and manipulative punt on a subject that deserves more care.

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

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.

The fast and furious action is a bit plasticky, but the two starry leads bring some real sparks.

With a super-spoof that’s occasionally funny but always forgettable, the Melissa McCarthy-verse falls flat at Phase One.

Too long and with too many characters to get through, Mother's Day holds effective sequences, ramming home its (recycled) message: the animal lurks in us all.

It’s the same sappy drivel as before.

Bobin’s attempt to fill Tim Burton’s shoes generates a lively but ersatz sequel that only truly ticks when Baron Cohen and Bonham Carter are around.

There are some decent-enough scares weaved in, including a powerful cold open and a pull-string set piece. But for a film about the power of imagination, it’s frustrating how little it trusts the audience to use its own. As such, there’s no real sense of dread or suspense.

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.

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

More Blue Steel than Magnum, this is a perfectly serviceable sequel, but dogged by repetition, it lacks the original's speed and sizzle.

By the numbers even by Sparks’ standards.

Eckhart makes a decent Damon stand-in, but there’s nothing here than hasn’t been done (better) before.

While there’s little here to jangle the nerves, The Mummy does wrap up enough adventure, action and quips to make it, if not a scream, a worthwhile Friday night out.

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.

Sweet, self-aware and silly, the new Vacation doesn’t destroy memories or alienate newcomers – but neither does it break the mould.

After pretty much inventing the modern-day comedy drama, Judd Apatow here gets frivolous, to patchy effect.

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.

This over-extended teen dystopia is treading water, coming up short on its trademark punchy plotting, teen self-discovery and the wonderful Woodley.

The 'dual roles' conceit doesn’t quite work, despite Ferguson's best efforts. But, while it struggles to find rhythm, you can't fault Sarif's ambitions.

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.

A film that also aims for gangster grit, community awareness and emotional impact, but compromises on everything.

A ploddingly predictable, gore-lite yawner.

Protagonist Vivian (Shelby Young) may evoke memories of Natalie Portman in Black Swan or Suspiria’s Jessica harper. But she’s a comparatively underwritten character, failing to convince as a trauma victim.

Jaden Smith takes centre stage in a futuristic rites of passager that plays like an extended episode of The Twilight Zone. Although "Oblivion" narrowly remains this summer’s better ruined-Earth actioner.

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

When someone in Age Of Extinction carps about “crap sequels and remakes” in movies, you almost choke on the audacity.

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.

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.

Tasked with brokering a peace between event-sized thrills, gaming lore and high fantasy, Jones embraces Warcraft’s world with laudable commitment: but when it comes to charging it with life, sheer bulk gets the better of him.

A lot of talented people have done their utmost to make Hooper’s vision succeed. Sadly, it doesn’t.

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

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.

The sticking point for some will be the bone-crunching violence, of which there’s A LOT. But if you can stomach that, then this ticks that dumb-fun summer-movie box nicely.

Diaries is dark and gruesome, but with little in the way of genuine shock or surprise, you should expect the expected.

Mostly, this is empty, ugly and pretentious.

Snyder’s passion project risks becoming subsumed by its own self-importance, but delivers bombastic mayhem and grandiose visuals by the bucket-load.

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.

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

Hell, yeah? Hellish, more like. Despite its lead’s best efforts, this disastrous deboot is a gore-soaked bore.

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

Sadly, this leap onto the stereoscopic bandwagon marks a new low for the franchise, as far away in quality from the '74 original as it is in years.

Sadly, any hopes Mark Tonderai's US follow-up to 2008's "Hush" could have some "Cabin In The Woods"-style surprises up its sleeve are swiftly dashed as its talented lead is reduced to being just another scantily clad babe getting stalked by a psycho.

Pegg works wonders, but you’ll wish the concept had been pushed further, that there was more to the Pythons’ ‘reunion’ – and that Robin Williams had found a funnier swansong.

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

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.

Without the darkness or depth of the Harry Potter movies, Artemis Fowl fails to find an audience over 10 years old

It's all enough to make you wonder if this is a flight that should have stayed grounded.

A swollen budget, a mini-Big Lewbowski reunion, and top-notch digital effects fail to enliven proceedings in yet another ho-hum dragon chaser based on a YA novel.

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.

A romcom that fumbles for heart in the gutter, and finds only glib gags.

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."

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.

The Russo brothers deliver a fun and very current take on tech vs humanity with a core message on how human connection conquers all in this visually stunning sci-fi family adventure. However, the rushed storyline and vast list of underdeveloped characters ultimately let the movie down.

Strained, shrieky and lacking likeable characters, it bizarrely forgoes any insight into parenting, gambling, or the cost of education for Grand Guignol limb-lopping.

Celia Imrie and Emily Watson are a breath of fresh air and lead Raffey Cassidy fares better than most of the kids, but it’s not enough to save this dreary caper.

Vexingly, Ferrell flaunts his daft genius just enough to avert an entirely shite Christmas.

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

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.

Neither a satisfying treaty on diversity and 'race' wars, nor a fulfilling fantasy, it derails at the end of the first act with a confusing moment of anti-heroism, and never recovers.

It might look as though Hallmark, Benetton and Richard Curtis have collaborated on a movie, but Chelsom’s lightly subversive, self-aware tone bolsters Pegg’s best shot yet at a mass-appeal crowd-pleaser.

You can at least say for the film that it’s clearly targeting a surreal, stoner vibe. But even cutting it that slack, there’s barely anything here to recommend.

“That was exciting!” says Willis after he and Courtney survive a 20-storey leap through a plate glass window. “Want to go again?” Frankly, Bruce, we’re fine to leave it here.

Nothing about the film works. And the festering boil on this arse-end of cinematic quality is the duck suit itself: it’s about as realistic as a builder’s quote, with less than a tenth of the aesthetic charm of the same builder’s bum cleavage.

“I will search for you through 1,000 worlds and 10,000 lifetimes!” Reeves promises his beloved. Anyone who sits all the way through this glossy folly will know exactly how that feels.

Bloodthirsty, derivative and xenophobic nonsense.

All hot wheels and dick jokes, it’s fun but forgettable.

For all their technical competence, the Spierig brothers don’t show great understanding of how ghost stories actually work.

The Big Wedding isn’t telling a story so much as selling a lifestyle – one that, rather like Heigl’s morning sickness, makes you want to vomit.

LaBeouf is committed, and it’s fun seeing him go toe-to-toe with Gary Oldman (as his boss). But amid Montiel’s jigsaw-like structure lurk some generic revelations. Disappointing.

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.

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.

By now you know exactly what to expect from a Transformers film: undeniably epic action spectacle at the cost of character, logic or genuine drama. Predictably formulaic.

Playing For Keeps is awful – and not in a hilarious Ed Wood way.

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.

Ponderous, pretentious and, most damning of all, just not much fun.

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

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

While the visuals are refreshingly clean and grounded for a modern superhero film, the story is bogged down by exposition and egregious product placement.

Despite Five Nights at Freddy's 2 slightly bettering its predecessor in terms of scares and impressive animatronics, the sequel fails to understand that less is more. By stuffing as many storylines and characters as possible into its relatively brief runtime, the sequel feels messy and inconclusive, leaving FNaF fans shortchanged.

Depending on taste, you’ll be left either barfing or laughing.

Liam Neeson cuts a rather sorry figure in what’s less a final flourish for the series than a prolonged death rattle.

There’s still a thrill seeing Stallone dig out a classic character for one last rumble, but this is formulaic action fare.