The sense of angry desperation overwhelms.

Lowden and Findlay excel in their roles, but Mark Gill’s Moz-movie needed more: both more music and more “people who are young and alive”.

If the formula feels familiar, the girls’ personalities obliterate any chance of tedium, with Broadway producer-turned-director Amanda Lipitz providing sensitive insight into their home lives while capturing the toe-tapping with joyful aplomb.

The script is straightforward enough, but Lights Out director David F. Sandberg’s careful visuals emphasise shivery mood for something worthy of the Conjuring label.

The doc-flavoured approach lends both urgency and tedium, while the blend of miniatures, stop-motion and CGI references the various looks of his 63-year history.

Like an arthouse Ghost, this is bold, original filmmaking with a pervasive sense of amused detachment.

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

This portrait of an alienated culture funnelling its rage into gun violence is itself too cold and distant to connect.

As reality and fantasy blur, we’re taken on an occasionally confounding but enchanting quest with poignant reveals in store.

Director Amat Escalante channels Cronenbergian carnality and Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession, while Simone Bucio and Ruth Ramos deliver stunning performances. Beware: this is explicit stuff.

Never preachy, always engaging, Al’s follow-up to his 2006 Oscar-winner paints a startling picture of a world in crisis.

As baffling as it is dull, The Dark Tower is a disappointment for both hardcore fans and the King-curious. Stick with the books.

Two characters, who you won’t like, insulting each other for two hours. Give it a miss and rewatch Midnight Run instead.

In Soderbergh’s self-aware hands, it’s a character-centric, director-driven, genre-savvy invitation to take pleasure in a job well orchestrated, right up to a judicious closing shot that leaves you wanting to linger awhile with its motley crew.

Strained, shrieky and lacking likeable characters, it bizarrely forgoes any insight into parenting, gambling, or the cost of education for Grand Guignol limb-lopping.

Director Laura Poitras (Citizenfour) charts her own feelings towards her subject, yet unanswered questions abound surrounding WikiLeaks’ alleged connections to Donald Trump’s campaign.

Despite winning work from the lead, it’s a tame, feelgood effort from writer-director Hannes Holm. Academy bait.

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

While director Ceyda Torun lets the focus meander too much, it’ll leave you, ahem, feline good.

An only moderately entertaining threequel that assumes a double dose of Carell will make up for missing Minions. It doesn’t.

Shipp Jr. thrills, but a busy script blurs too many nuances.

OK, so enough time is spent on the fairways to put some viewers off, but Tommy’s Honour scores a hole in one with its unpacking of the class wars at play.

With recriminations turning to compassion, the film sings when these French titans share the screen, Deneuve’s loose cannon a mixture of hedonism and terror. If only the other scenes were as compelling.

Much mellowing and life-learning ensues in a plodding dramedy, though the glint in MacLaine’s eyes makes it almost worth your while. Almost.

The burgeoning bond between man and monster hits soaring emotional heights, even if the new world feels a little under-developed.

An uncompromisingly bleak slow burn, it leaves the pulse frantic and nerves frayed.

No Badlands, but the best of the recent minor Malicks. And it features Val Kilmer with a chainsaw.

While their situation feels futile, the film is almost poetic in posing important questions.