By the end you will quite possibly hate cats, Spacey, and the ’80s.

With characters you care about – principally Teresa Palmer’s appealingly edgy, cliché-bucking Rebecca – and a poignant denouement, this is horror with guts as well as gore.

Bursts of poetry, characters suddenly freezing, bees flying out of a priest’s crotch: there’s rarely a dull moment, but when it comes to explanation, the sparrow’s not the only one left hanging.

If the final third’s sudden, Twilight Zone-lite genre relocation seems desperate, the hollow climax confirms suspicions: vital supplies of narrative oxygen are lacking here.

For all his noble intentions, though, Crocodile Gennadiy sure loves the limelight, forcing us to speculate whether he works for God’s glory or his own.

Submit to Corbet’s vision and you’ll find something original and unsettling.

Farrier doesn’t overlook the amusing oddness of such a strange corner of the internet, but treats the subjects of the videos respectfully.

As a comedy creation, David Brent is still a masterwork, and the film works best when the pathos hits as hard as the punchlines. But Life on the Road should probably be the leaving party we all thought had been thrown a few times already.

Valiant, but flawed. Some of the set-pieces are superb, but there isn’t enough meat on the bones to turn this into a classic.

Living up to the imposing enormity of its title, this doc stimulates both conscience and senses.

As sci-fi, it feels like a professionally produced hybrid that lacks its own identity. As a romance, it never fully earns your investment.

Rogue One might trade heavily in nostalgia but it's bold enough to take risks, and will leave you stirred, fired up and raring for more. Now, if only there was a follow-up we could go away and watch immediately…

Scorsese blends his twin religions of Catholicism and cinema to considerable effect.

It’s not the most probing doco, but the man himself, mobbed wherever he goes, emerges as a genuinely charismatic, likeable individual.

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.

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

Sully is a skilfully made reconstruction of a recent real-life feat of heroic professionalism. But narrative tension is sorely lacking.

True, Hendricks has fun with her role as a good girl with a bad streak, while Shauna Cross and Johnny Rosenthal’s script fires off a few zingers. But with Thornton surprisingly disengaged and the robbery plot formulaic, it’s a limp dick of a sequel.

It’s too brief to convey the intellect and almost mystical ability that underpin Carlsen’s success.

Much of The Tree Of Life’s beauty is in its yearning and wonder. It’s an extraordinary grasping stretch – across space and time – to touch what will always be just out of our reach. It’s a captivating, unmissable experience.

Writer/director Rachel Lang’s film lacks cumulative dramatic punch, its appeal rooted mainly in its easy humour.

Prepare to be spirited away. A brain-scrambler to make hearts swell, Shinkai’s giddy romance brims with emotion and invention.

What Fantastic Beasts lacks in wonderment it almost makes up for in scares and subtext.

Expertly shifting between present and past , writer-director Denis Villeneuve displays an impressive command of his material, patiently building up to an emotionally explosive climax.

Bob has spawned multiple books, but what works on the page seems slight on screen. That’s not to say it isn’t life-affirming, it’s just not quite the cat’s pyjamas.

Devoid of the ultra-violence so often associated with Korean cinema, Poetry is quiet and unhurried, making its portrait of social bleakness all the more impactful.

Zootropolis is a witty, creative and entertaining romp with literally endless sequel potential and the biggest collection of four-legged critters this side of Noah.

Interesting, but others have explored similar themes far more effectively.

The portentous narration, restless visuals and whimsical ghost characters (an unexpected Night at the Museum-style Napoleon) combine to make a thoughtful case about the inevitable interweaving of art and war.

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

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.

Based on a true story, it’s directed with beautiful, painterly restraint by Anne Fontaine (best known for pretty pieces such as Gemma Bovery), who lets powerful performances by Agata Buzek (as a nun of faltering faith), and fearsome abbess Agata Kulesza power the story.

Acutely acted, The Fencer strikes home.

Following preparations for the Met’s 2015 exhibition ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’, this modest doc asks: can fashion be art? The answer is ambivalent.

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

The flow of the date doesn’t roll as smoothly as Linklater’s best walk-and-talkers, but that doesn’t mar the effectiveness of this refreshingly smart date movie.

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.

Juvenile? Weird? Gross? Yes. But also the best flatulence-themed indie-comedy-musical-drama you’ll see this year.

Hugely charming if somewhat cluttered, Burton’s horror-spiked YA freaks-and-a-geek fantasy proves a Home run for Asa Butterfield.

Noirish touches flesh out the wispy plot, yet it’s the old-school animation that engages most: lending clarity to the emotions at stake, ensuring our sickly hero’s resilience tugs on the heart.

Lovely animation evokes a world made from Fuzzy-Felt and Play-Doh.

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

With few words and the odd squint, Cruise hard boils all of his charisma into a clenched fist, but is more than happy to let a dynamic Smulders take the lead in many scenes.

A couple of scenes are perhaps too on the nose, but the naturalistic performances are faultless, the righteous anger controlled, and the bleakness dotted with moments of humour and small acts of kindness. I, Daniel Blake is, first and foremost, a deeply humanistic film.

While there’s sweetness, the big, sweeping emotions you hope for never quite arrive.

Style is substance in Ford’s second film. Unlike many puzzle-piece movies, it thrills on every level.

An intelligent, eloquent and stirring sci-fi that grips from start to finish, Arrival is up there with the year’s best movies.

Cumberbatch fits Doctor Strange like a pair of snap-tight surgical gloves, in yet another MCU triumph. Beautifully designed, brilliantly executed.

Unlike the stock teenagers of Ouija, the Zander family are likeable and convincing. Scares are still rudimentary, but rooted in a sharper script.

In today’s world, silence is a highly prized virtue, as this vital documentary exploring the philosophy, spirituality and practice of silence points out.

Torn between mountains and karaoke bars, Tharlo looks as lost as his lamb: a parallel delicately developed in this warm, wise fable of uncertainty.

If some of the stormy relationship stories seem old, the wealth of archive material is gob-smacking: early rehearsals, gig footage and intimate phone calls.

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

Full of shivers and subtext, this is scarily good. One of the films – horror or otherwise – of the year.

Luchini’s excellent, but this is guilty of gross tonal uncertainty.

Guilty of being slavishly loyal, Taylor’s film never quite translates into the cinematic equivalent of Hawkins’ page-turner. Blunt, though, is excellent.

As crude as the oil it revolves around, Deepwater provides combustible entertainment without leaving the shallows.

Seydoux again offers a frank turn, while Rahim and Ménochet add real class.

Wingard and Barrett’s surprise – and surprisingly strong – sequel earns its scares. An effective follow-up to a film that can’t be matched.

Warm, witty, and occasionally wild, Waititi’s bush-bonding romp is a kind, generous-spirited winner.

Not quite magnificent but certainly Fuqua’s best since "Training Day" and a rare remake that actually delivers. Yee-haw!

A warm, witty and welcome return – intelligently evolved and an absolute hoot. As Bridget would say: ‘v.good’.

A road movie with heart, humour and a lead prepared to give his youthful co-stars their share of the limelight.

As in director Alexandre Aja’s Horns, the action alternates reality/fantasy to middling effect.

Magical and melancholy, tender and robust: rippling reserves of theme and style compensate for wobbly pacing in Keiichi Hara’s adaptation of Hinako Sugiura’s manga Sarusuberi.

Direction and cast pack a wallop.

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.

All politics and posturing, the first two-thirds of the film are stiff and uninvolving, and although the climatic 45-minute free-for-all is genuinely spectacular, it’s clear where the director’s heart lies.

Informed, balanced and deeply humane.

The film flirts with near-offensive gags and attitudes, but there’s inventive use of forced perspective, even if the focus should be more on Diane changing hers.

There’s an undeniable charm here that, allied with the picturesque locations, results in a nostalgic throwback to a gentler age.

Starts off flavourful, turns rather bland. This Injustice League jaunt proves that DC is still a long way behind Marvel for on-screen action.

Those with fond memories of a gentler era of boy-and-his-insert-critter-here heartwarmers are bound to welcome Dragon’s old-fashioned vibe. But it still feels almost perverse to place all of Weta’s hi-tech wizardry at the disposal of a film so stubbornly, studiously lo-fi.

Leagues ahead of Legacy but the weakest of the Matt Damon movies, Bourne still has the power to thrill. But it seems his story has run out of steam.

The resulting drama offers a great showcase for Dyrholm, whose slide towards instability is the film’s core.

The result is so far-fetchedly entertaining it feels like a fantasist’s fevered imaginings. Which, in a way, it is.

Boasting a fantastic turn from Ethan Hawke, this is bold indie filmmaking. Budreau and his stars deserve a fanfare.

If the storytelling and English-language voice work are a bit functional, the visuals dazzle.

The Violators suffers from inevitable comparisons to Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank, but is anchored by McQueen’s terrific performance in her feature debut.

Justin Lin proves a safe pair of hands at the helm of the Enterprise. Powered by a spirited sense of adventure and a nice teamwork dynamic, it’s fun, but not essential, summer viewing.

It never quite gets inside the head of its subject, writer/theologian John Hull. Thankfully, Hull’s observations – an audio diary – provide plenty of insight and engagement.

Uplifting it isn’t, but there’s poetry to be found in these desperate lives, and Riccobono never judges or sensationalises his subjects. Sensitive, if slightly unfocused.

For all its warm-hearted fun, well-crafted thrills, careful nostalgia and girl-powered gadgetry, this fast-paced family film doesn’t always feel like a natural fit for Hollywood’s favourite genre-bender.

It’s not without its moments, but more comic dexterity and less brute force would have made a less choppy watch.

It’s Carry On Up The Catwalk with TV’s favourite fashionistas. The perfect girl’s night out for the Mamma Mia crowd.

A shallow, slow-burn horror that takes an age to get to the strong meat but looks good doing it.

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.

For all its attempts to expand the original’s ensemble and embellish its themes, Dory is cod in batter beside Nemo’s smoked salmon. But still tasty.

Lie Laas' furrowed lead and Nørgaard's taut orchestration of flashback-pumped plotting help flesh out old clichés – at least until the climax takes a glum turn for the overwrought.

While the plot toys with credibility, director Mikkel Nørgaard ( Borgen ) conjures a squalid atmosphere – the stuff of real nightmares. This is so grimly compelling that even if you want to look away, you won’t be able to.

[A] mesmerising film.

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

Kingsley essays both authenticity and humour, but it’s often hard to know what’s steering the story.

Moore admits he’s out to “pick the flowers, not the weeds” and the end result is witty, moving and brimming with passion and purpose.

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

Rosi offers a simple, stark contrast between quiet moments of everyday life and tragedy as mass fleeing results in sunken boats, horrific injuries and death.

This furiously bizarre follow-up deserves full marks for throw-everything-at-the-screen entertainment value, but none for execution.

A gentle tale, tinged with melancholy told with all the loving attention to detail you expect from Studio Ghibli.