It never quite comes alive, but what disappoints most is the acting: McGregor coasts on his natural charm, but Jennifer Connelly (as Levov’s trophy wife) and Dakota Fanning (as his unruly daughter) are wildly OTT.

Based on a true story, it’s directed with beautiful, painterly restraint by Anne Fontaine (best known for pretty pieces such as Gemma Bovery), who lets powerful performances by Agata Buzek (as a nun of faltering faith), and fearsome abbess Agata Kulesza power the story.

Acutely acted, The Fencer strikes home.

Following preparations for the Met’s 2015 exhibition ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’, this modest doc asks: can fashion be art? The answer is ambivalent.

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

The flow of the date doesn’t roll as smoothly as Linklater’s best walk-and-talkers, but that doesn’t mar the effectiveness of this refreshingly smart date movie.

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.

Juvenile? Weird? Gross? Yes. But also the best flatulence-themed indie-comedy-musical-drama you’ll see this year.

Hugely charming if somewhat cluttered, Burton’s horror-spiked YA freaks-and-a-geek fantasy proves a Home run for Asa Butterfield.

Noirish touches flesh out the wispy plot, yet it’s the old-school animation that engages most: lending clarity to the emotions at stake, ensuring our sickly hero’s resilience tugs on the heart.

Lovely animation evokes a world made from Fuzzy-Felt and Play-Doh.

Even though the ever-reliable Galifianakis has fun bromancing the stone-faced Hamm, the end result feels like a decaff version of Date Night.

With few words and the odd squint, Cruise hard boils all of his charisma into a clenched fist, but is more than happy to let a dynamic Smulders take the lead in many scenes.

A couple of scenes are perhaps too on the nose, but the naturalistic performances are faultless, the righteous anger controlled, and the bleakness dotted with moments of humour and small acts of kindness. I, Daniel Blake is, first and foremost, a deeply humanistic film.

While there’s sweetness, the big, sweeping emotions you hope for never quite arrive.

Style is substance in Ford’s second film. Unlike many puzzle-piece movies, it thrills on every level.

An intelligent, eloquent and stirring sci-fi that grips from start to finish, Arrival is up there with the year’s best movies.

Cumberbatch fits Doctor Strange like a pair of snap-tight surgical gloves, in yet another MCU triumph. Beautifully designed, brilliantly executed.

Unlike the stock teenagers of Ouija, the Zander family are likeable and convincing. Scares are still rudimentary, but rooted in a sharper script.

In today’s world, silence is a highly prized virtue, as this vital documentary exploring the philosophy, spirituality and practice of silence points out.

Torn between mountains and karaoke bars, Tharlo looks as lost as his lamb: a parallel delicately developed in this warm, wise fable of uncertainty.

If some of the stormy relationship stories seem old, the wealth of archive material is gob-smacking: early rehearsals, gig footage and intimate phone calls.

Early promise proves misleading in a sequel that should be far better than The Da Vinci Code than it actually is.

Full of shivers and subtext, this is scarily good. One of the films – horror or otherwise – of the year.

Luchini’s excellent, but this is guilty of gross tonal uncertainty.

Guilty of being slavishly loyal, Taylor’s film never quite translates into the cinematic equivalent of Hawkins’ page-turner. Blunt, though, is excellent.

As crude as the oil it revolves around, Deepwater provides combustible entertainment without leaving the shallows.

Seydoux again offers a frank turn, while Rahim and Ménochet add real class.