Without the darkness or depth of the Harry Potter movies, Artemis Fowl fails to find an audience over 10 years old

This stiffly scripted film never quite stirs the emotions.

For all its garish aesthetics, sly feminism and wall-to-wall nudity, writer/director Anne Biller’s camp-com is almost too much of a good thing, outstaying its welcome at a paint-drying two hours.

Sadly, any hopes Mark Tonderai's US follow-up to 2008's "Hush" could have some "Cabin In The Woods"-style surprises up its sleeve are swiftly dashed as its talented lead is reduced to being just another scantily clad babe getting stalked by a psycho.

This is a tonal misfire, its characters cut down by a blitzkrieg of whip pans, CGI and thunderous percussion. And with Ritchie again rummaging in his increasingly threadbare bag of tricks, the result is a movie more jaundiced than jaunty.

Despite some appealing lensing and an edgier tone than a lot of Christian dramas (nudity, swearing, and in one memorable moment, self-cannibalism), this is a movie with zero subtext and even less subtlety.

Hell, yeah? Hellish, more like. Despite its lead’s best efforts, this disastrous deboot is a gore-soaked bore.

Coasting on charismatic performances and a quality crew, Gosling’s debut proves two things: screenwriting is hard, and stylish and stylised are very different things.

Believers will be more interested in what he uncovers than the layman, who will soon identify this ’80s-set adap of Lee Strobel’s book as a tedious sermon that’s preaching to the converted.

Melissa McCarthy’s over-the-top performance as a low-rung grifter enlivens what is otherwise a groan-worthy odd-couple comedy.

The fairytale-like teaser trailer for this latest interpretation of The Haunting was so seductively eerie that you couldn't be blamed for becoming excited. Alas, the movie itself doesn't deliver on this promise: it's neither eerie nor seductive - in fact, it's a sore disappointment.

The doltish, messy and frequently incoherent result bears all the hallmarks of a botched and compromised endeavour.

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

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.

The rocky relationship between Lee and her father feels convincing enough, and it's great to see a queer storyline take shape as Lee develops feelings for her father's co-star (Chloe Bailey, one of several strong supporting actors). But the horror story leans too heavily into what has now become cliché, with Crowe's outbursts seeming increasingly ridiculous rather than terrifying.

Somewhat impressively, it’s even stupider than this outlandish synopsis sounds, with action that makes the F&F movies look grounded, “hip” dialogue that induces spasms of embarrassment and a shockingly casual disregard for human life.

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

Sweeping landscape shots and the reliable presence of Sergi López, here playing a scarred private investigator, can’t distract from the clichés of a particularly dim-witted script.

Beneath the surface panache lies an overlong, emotionally shallow study of so-called 'twin flames', possible reincarnation and learning to let go of love.

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

The cast commit, but The 355 is no lucky number for Kinberg, who only delivers diminished returns on spy-thriller genre conventions.

While it offers spectacular CGI devastation and a chiselled hero, Pompeii is so soulless and empty that you won’t shed any tears when the ‘cano blows its top.

The cast try hard and are rewarded with some zesty dialogue, but remain shackled to the girl-with-dead-dad-grows-up formula.

But for the most part it’s Neanderthal compared to the Pixar stable.

There's something patronising about the way Norman Jewison portrays all these poor but cheerful Yiddish types. The choreography is clumsy, the acting caricatured, and the songs themselves painfully overblown.

Writer/director duo Sam and Andy Zuchero take an admirably big swing with their feature debut Love Me, but it never engages emotionally in the way this kind of material needs to.

A generic cop thriller that rumbles along thanks to a quality cast but ultimately offers nothing fresh.

Cue 105 painful minutes of a fat guy getting punched in the face and falling down.