Any attempt at Chariots of Fire-style emotional intensity is tanked, however, by Callum Turner’s unhelpfully laconic, low-key performance.

It’s not groundbreaking, but the impressionistic approach at least strives for more than your standard-issue bio.

Handsomely shot but rather inert adap of mid-19th-century play A Month in the Country.

Despite its 95-minute running time, Banks’ wild adventure feels drawn out. Never sure if it wants to conjure real suspense and scares (it fails) or embrace riotous comedy in a full-on bear hug, Cocaine Bear also suffers from moments of cartoonish CGI.

As a simple adventure story, The Mandalorian and Grogu is a lot of fun with Baby Yoda's sheer adorableness doing a lot of heavy lifting. Epic action and a pulsating score help bring this story to a cinematic level that feels a real step up from season 3. Yet, with surprisingly low stakes for a Star Wars movie, it all ends up feeling rather inconsequential.

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

Im Sang-Soo’s exposé of a Seoul family corporation is stymied by a humourless regurgitation of observations about power, corruption and lies.

Davis, Dinklage, Zegler, and the Games thrill, but Snow doesn’t quite summon the substance needed to fulfil this long-haul prequel’s ambitions.

Led by a trio of Oscar winners knocking it out of the park, The Little Things is a murky must-see.

A vaguely promising premise is squandered in a convoluted neo-noir set-up.

The best sci-fi trilogy you’ve never seen amalgamated into one organic whole. Surprising, exciting and, at times, strangely beautiful.

Dark Fate gets more right than it gets wrong (just about, anyway), and there’s an undeniable thrill in seeing Hamilton and Schwarzenegger reunited onscreen for the first time in almost three decades. But this fourth attempt at crafting a worthy sequel to James Cameron’s peerless sci-fi double bill only just gets passing marks.

Nods to "Hostel" and "Glengarry Glen Ross" make for a cine-literate affair further buffered by a smart cameo from erstwhile Brat Packer Andrew McCarthy.

As terrific as Colman is, however, the film around her has a schematic and engineered quality not too dissimilar from Jones’ prized projectors.

It’s impossible to escape the sense that Banville’s work is best experienced on paper.

An enjoyable, if boilerplate, boo-flick that maintains an enviable rate of scares per minute by throwing everything – demons, ghosts, snakes, loud noises – at the screen.

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

A serious subject is sensitively handled in a drama that’s otherwise just tear-jerking soap opera.

Prisoners of the Ghostland exists entirely outside the norms and conventions of moviemaking. Really there’s only one word to describe it: nuts.

This fearless reconstruction drives home the dark lie that Lance Armstrong lived – it’s just a pity it doesn’t dig a little deeper.

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.

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.

You might think that spousal bereavement and whimsical romantic comedy would make uneasy bedfellows, and you'd be somewhat right, as the debut from French duo Stéphane and David Foenkinos doesn't quite reconcile the divide between premise and tone.

Much more fun than Coming 2 America. Don’t be surprised to see a fifth film greenlit.

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).

This is Malick turning graceful, ever-decreasing circles, though there’s a thrill to seeing him traverse hotel rooms and studio lots, nightclubs and strip clubs, after a career wrapped up in the period and pastoral.

Tries to fit in so much it threatens to tear apart at the seams, but ultimately rises to the impossible occasion.

A serious subject receives a simplistic treatment in an ill-conceived thriller in which the emotive (and timely) issue of honour killings becomes just another plot device.