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

A so-so sequel enlivened by a few inspired moments. Ralph and Vanellope are still good company, but this concept might have worked better as a series of shorts.

With Hill on co-scripting duties with Scott Pilgrim scribe Michael Bacall, 21 Jump Street was always going to live or die by its gags. Fortunately, it boasts that sweet-yet-dirty comedy that Hill revels in.

Closer to Eli Roth than Sam Raimi, this brutal retread combines J-horror atmospherics with torture-porn kills. It’s more evisceration than invention but at least has the courage of its bloody-minded convictions.

In the end, Road House is a solid actioner, a frolic that Liman marshals competently. This is a fun Friday-night fight-fest, best enjoyed with a few bevvies – brash, loud, knockabout and liable to leave you with a cauliflower ear or two.

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

The end-stretch is overlong, but the Flash animation style pops with colour, the music is fun, and off-the-scale creature cuteness abounds.

Lawrence’s mechanised menagerie and the directors’ stereoscopic smarts entertain most.

Shame that the plotting favours narrative intrigue over character depth, creating a film whose message is witnessed rather than felt.

Though delightful in places, the third entry in Sony’s third Spider-Man cycle feels both overstocked and underwhelming.

Filled with cherry-blossom gorgeousness and sentimental homages to small-town Japanese life, it's a film of quiet, telling moments, even when big revelations surface.

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

Exploring how a one-time surrealist art muse fought to report atrocities, this handsome but rather conventional biopic showcases a tip-top Winslet performance, but at times meanders like a weighty Wikipedia entry.

Solid casting and scares mix with thin plotting and middling monster moves in Savage’s King riff.

The vagueness won't win Dumont new fans, but his enigmatic allegory of intertwined good and evil does linger in the mind.

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.

The scuzz-chic visuals, sleaze-synth score and deep-cutting gore are effective, and shooting from the killer’s POV proves a valid USP. But Wood, despite giving his all, cannot match Joe Spinell’s unhinged turn in the original: nightmares in a damaged brain indeed.

An engaging new direction for Eli Roth, who offsets the odd tonal hiccup with plenty of ghoulish delights.

The thematic weight drags down the tension, yet just when it seems Janiak has forgotten the scares she pulls off a creepy finale.

Ravishingly pretty but low-powered, this cute and earnest fairy tale has a whole lot of homage, but not enough heart.

It ebbs away at the climax, but there’s 45 minutes where it sings loud and strange.

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

With plenty of potential and a door swung wide open for a future sequel, Uncharted makes a decent play for filling an Indy-shaped hole in the movie market right now. But the series will need to beef up its reserves of charm and swagger to be in the same league as cinema’s favorite archaeologist.

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.

The script keeps its gloves on but Gyllenhaal gives his all, notching up one of his very best performances.

Reid’s a fine lead, but DuVernay’s usually firm footing wobbles in the CGI clouds of Disney fantasy.

It’s hard not to be moved by the story, but it’s only a handful of great performances that save it from underwhelming. Steal the book instead.

Classy but curiously empty, The Son may be a spiritual sequel to The Father, but it’s not its equal.