Lillian Crawford

Beyond representational qualms, Tuner is simply a bad film. The first safe-cracking sequence might be reasonably entertaining, but repeated over and over it becomes extremely dull.

Make no mistake – The Devil Wears Prada 2 scratches every itch a legacy sequel ought, with callbacks and cameos and jokes galore. But if the first film is Tom Ford and Calvin Klein then this time it’s Vivienne Westwood and Alexander McQueen – less slick, and with something darker underneath.

Vanderbilt seems to have his intentions in the right place, but the delivery has all the substance of Crowe’s prosthetic belly.

Maestro is a film to be swept along by, as heady and bombastic as a golden-age Hollywood musical.

The trio’s company is so embracing that it is hard to say goodbye. The benefit of the Yuletide setting is that Payne has gifted us a film intended to be watched every year. It feels like finding an unwatched classic under the tree on Christmas morning.

A starry trio and suspenseful filmmaking can’t save this apocalyptic thriller from collapsing on itself.

It looks like Hammer has returned from the dead.

It is profoundly moving to see someone be so open with her audience, the meaning of her lyrics taking on new resonance since first writing them. And we were there, we remember it all.

McCormack, Grant and Delpy waltz with flair in this stylish if unoriginal slow-burn thriller. Best consumed with a large glass of red wine and one’s tongue in one’s cheek.

It’s hard to imagine that any Take That fan would rather listen to badly autotuned covers of their favourite songs than the original recordings. Just hope that someday soon this will all be someone else’s (bad) dream.