A pitch-perfect performance from Dern graces Alexander Payne’s latest roadmovie – another bittersweet meditation on the sad, comic futility of life.

With the entire cast on their A-game, depths are found in characters that could’ve easily been caricatures.

Despite suffering from middle-act wobbles, The Desolation Of Smaug nevertheless delivers rousing action, incredible visuals and one stupendous dragon.

Twists pile as high as corpses before an overcooked ending sends things spiraling into silliness.

One of the more solid ’70s horror remakes, but it lacks the verve and potency, romance and heartache of the original. Still, the haircuts are a vast improvement...

Though awkwardly assembled, with an overemphatic voiceover, it’s chilling stuff.

Any comparisons with Chicken Run are rendered poultry by half-baked gags. Even tykes will tell it to get stuffed.

The results – achieved through small cameras clipped to nets, masts and the crew – will hook some and induce seasickness in others.

Hanks takes to Walt like a pair of cosy slippers, but it’s Thompson who adds layers to a classy but predictable slice of Disney schmaltz.

The result? Not so much "World War Z" as World War Zzzz.

A winning mix of deadpan comedy, retro stylings and escalating insanity. Too idiosyncratic for some perhaps, but this one-of-a-kind indie makes ’80s nostalgia feel new again.

Though it’s good to see Michelle Pfeiffer married to the mob again, she alone can’t redeem a lumbering farce that takes an unpleasantly sadistic glee in violence, murder and intimidation.

It’s not groundbreaking, but the impressionistic approach at least strives for more than your standard-issue bio.

A taut, chilling little horror-thriller making maximum use of minimal resources to tap into our primal fears of the unknown.

Viewed as a Brit answer to ’70s and ’80s exploitation flicks, endless Seagal movies and First Blood (Dyer is rogue SAS; his colonel issues Trautman-esque warnings), it’s surprisingly decent.

The athleticism of the final ‘battles’ impresses, but even then, the routines are marred by trick-edits and headache-inducing 3D.

Fearless, relatable and beautiful, this is one of the year’s best. Holding you so close for so long, you won’t want to break free.

A slice of raggedy realism with ultra-naturalistic performances.

Catching Fire delivers on all the promise of Part 1 with a gutsier, tougher, better round of Games.

The director paints a partisan picture, but offers an eloquent and effective challenge to orthodox eco-wisdom.

It may skip so quickly through historic events that it can feel rushed and flimsy, but excellent performances elevate it to serious Oscar contender.

Against the odds this is a sometimes droll and surprisingly tender affair, and a fitting end to Seidl’s magnum opus.

[A] memorable, conventional account of a true maverick.

Writer/director Christopher Payne paints a credible portrait of life as a professional hoofer. But the leads struggle with an undernourished script, and there’s a cheapo televisual vibe throughout.

Enchanting.

Sticking tightly to its heroine’s everyday routines and rituals, this deft blend of humour and pathos fully earns its defiantly upbeat dance-floor denouement.

The simple approach teases fascinating parallels between art and marriage: essential to both, it seems, are a thick skin and an optimism verging on madness.

Best of all, though, is the uneasy ring of truth, which will definitely still be with you the morning after.