A great big bear-hug of a Britcom, with rhinestones on its shirt, salsa in its heart and dick jokes up its sleeve. Something for everyone, then.

Banking on exec-producer Refn's name, this glossy dealer-in-debt remake gets plenty right but lacks the hard-hitting vibe of the cult original, or a fresh take on gangster-pic London.

Despite some striking imagery and sterling FX work, Welsh writer/director Caradog W James’ expert use of limited resources doesn’t stretch as far as the subtlety-averse script.

Granted, the Lady Raven sequences go on for a bit too long - M. Night is clearly enamored with his daughter’s talent as a pop singer - but other than that minor indulgence, this is a taught thriller that slowly ties a rope around Hartnett’s throat and squeezes as the gig rolls on.

A glossy, undemanding confection that doesn’t make waves, but shouldn’t be given a wide berth either.

Chloé Zhao gives the MCU just the kick in the pants it needs at this phase in its evolution.

Haggis struggles to make his presence felt over ludicrous thrills, but Crowe is superb and the entertainment factor high.

A sad, gloomy family drama dressed up as horror, Maggie proves that Schwarzenegger can act when he wants to – even if he still looks like he’d rather be blowing shit up.

Kenneth Branagh finds interesting ways to grease the wheels of this new take on the oft-filmed novel.

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

There's enough gore, ideas and self-aware absurdity here to make it something a bit more enticing than merely "Alien: The EastEnders Redux."

Sadly, a generic script doesn’t aid the film’s overall ambitions. A little less than the sum of its parts, Run Rabbit Run is ultimately more intriguing than outright terrifying.

Sometimes fun, sometimes flatly awkward.

It’s the most staggeringly detailed and impressively realised sci-fi location since James Cameron welcomed audiences to Pandora, and one of the few recent blockbusters to benefit from the 3D treatment.

A slick, dance-crammed London excursion that loses some magic when it focuses on romance.

Too solemn to keep us invested in its heroes’ mission or fate.

Scott operates on a suitably Biblical scale and grounds the spectacle with rock-solid turns from Bale and Edgerton.

Rowling’s universe just got bigger and more complex, but Yates never forgets to sprinkle stardust on top.

Between its farcical script, soulless relationships and waxwork performances, this is a final chapter that will please only the most devout fans. At least the bleeding wolves have stopped talking.

Barker’s approach starts simplistic but gathers in complexity, insight and moral force with each story.

An innovative genre blend that overcomes its bagginess thanks to sharp character comedy and a wildly appealing central dynamic.

A stylistic cross between Se7en and The X-Files, this overlong, rigidly boring affair suffers from a whole list of ailments.

Grindhouse with giggles, this potboiler parody offers just enough to avoid being a curio – not least Ferrell at his straight-faced best. Arriba!

The biggest X-Men movie yet doesn’t scrimp on carnage, but lacks the heft of Singer’s previous instalments.

Series veteran Chris Renaud (who co-directs with Despicable Me lead animator Patrick Delage) ensures that there’s nostalgic value for older generations, notably in the surprisingly heartfelt, Tears for Fears-soundtracked finale. The addition of the cunning Gru Jr proves a deft move, too; the father/son, bonding/tormenting scenes bring a fresh (and at times touching) dynamic to proceedings.

An amazing story and an amazing cast don’t always make an amazing film. Too light for drama, not funny enough for comedy; it’s unlikely anyone will ever risk their lives for this.

This is the anti-Heat: no sheen, no shimmer, no obsessing over highly grandiose themes and precise compositions; just grime and desperation.

Stenberg’s effervescent turn can’t save this from curdling early into manipulative, melodramatic mush.