Powered by the magnetic Aaron Taylor-Johnson, it’s rough around the edges, but still intoxicating.

Maudlin, glum and distinctly cheap-looking, Angel brings the curtain down on a trilogy that should have never got this far.

Rampage was always going to be the cinematic equivalent of junk food – enjoyable enough while consumed, but devoid of nourishment. When the homo sapiens are on screen, you can feel the film start to flatline but, against the odds, a computer-generated gorilla might just win you over.

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

Carell and Carrey shine like sequinned suits in a comedy that allows them endless fun with the dressing-up box. More narrative verve and it could’ve been The Prestige in a big-cat wig.

Thankfully, the Russos imbue the often grim proceedings with the right amounts of light and levity to keep you gripped. Meanwhile, the subversive humor peppered throughout lends an anarchic energy that entertains as well as it moves.

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

A handful of sparky leads can’t help this superhero reboot find an appropriate tone. No no, Power Rangers.

A lavishly mounted re-telling that, for all its good intentions and visual wonders, can’t help seeming surplus to requirements.

Gamely directed and acted, but a little threadbare in terms of plot and design, it’s suitably savage but not quite fun enough to forgive the flaws.

Dave Bautista’s street-level action flick is galaxies away from Marvel gloss, but the Guardians scene-stealer lends physicality to this gutsy, Carpenter-esque B-movie.

The Love Punch makes a virtue of its leads’ considerable charm and gorgeous French locations but is tonally wonky, comedically creaky and confuses light-as-a-soufflé with just plain silly.

Fun, fleeting entertainment if you’re after more of the same, but fails to carve out any fresh ground.

Berry and Wahlberg’s engaging dynamic elevates this nonsensical action caper. Forgettable fun.

The Crooked Man is at its best in a flavoursome first half that serves up crepuscular, shallow-focus photography (take a bow, DoP Ivan Vatsov) and backwoods dialect as tangy and prickly as wild gooseberries.

Respectable. Boyega adds real bounce and DeKnight delivers spectacle, even if the plot doesn’t strain too far from the original’s crash-bang formula.

Working from a script by Greg Rucka (The Old Guard) and Allison Schroeder (Christopher Robin), director Tom Harper (The Aeronauts, Wild Rose) displays impressive action chops, injecting Heart of Stone with plenty of explosive fights and spectacular stunts. On those grounds, it’s rollicking genre fare. Story-wise, however, it plays all its best hands early on.

The strange thing about Grimsby is that it works much better as a Bond-spoofing actioner than it does as a politically incorrect rib-tickler.

Despite a typically strong performance from Blunt - and a fun, if one-note, Evans - neither the rise nor the inevitable fall ever feel all that compelling. It lacks the sheer audaciousness of the similarly structured The Wolf of Wall Street, and doesn’t come close to the energy of The Big Short, which whipped up furious indignation while being massively entertaining at the same time.

A thoroughbred origin story and rollicking good adventure in one, led by an excellent Ralph Fiennes. It’s a hoot.

Affection for the characters will bring fans in. But many will leave wishing the makers of one of the most enjoyable programmes of recent years had left well enough alone.

Admittedly, the film’s oddly paced, elliptical middle section may leave you scratching your head. But then the twisty third act pulls it all together, sending shivers down the spine.

As far as sports movies go, there’s no reinventing of the wheel. All the requisite beats are hit, albeit with self-deprecating humour and knowing genre references. But within that familiar framework, the underdog story is very effectively delivered, thanks in large part to a charming bunch of supporting characters, and a consistently funny script by Waititi and the Inbetweeners’ Iain Morris.

Like a Richard Curtis movie with an Instagram filter, director Christian Ditter makes everything look pretty.

As implausible as the stars' gleaming choppers.

It’s predictable, politically incorrect and too long – but a handful of really big chuckles excuse most of the cop-outs. There’s a much edgier film in here somewhere, but this one will definitely do.

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

While Batman v Superman has no trouble quickening the pulse, it’s less effective when it comes to making you care.