The Book of Life is a Mexican jaunt into a magical world where heroes are born from being true to their hearts and where friendship is the most powerful protection against evil that exists in all of creation.

Ayer hasn’t made a great WWII film, but aspects of it certainly are, and even with a handful of misgivings Fury is one ride onto the battlefield I can’t wait to sit shotgun on for a second time relatively soon.

Lilting is worthwhile, and I can only assume most are going to respond to it with far more passion and positivity than I did. But for me Khaou’s movie feels undernourished and half-baked, ultimately having an unfinished quality to its central dramatics that made me uncomfortable.

St. Vincent might not be without problems, it might not have all its ducks in a row, but even the ugly ones blossom into swans, proving once again that looks aren’t everything and that messy, judgmental and rude are sometimes character traits worthy of celebration.

Dracula Untold is as pointless as it is somewhat surprisingly bloodless, the heart beating at the center of this effort as cold and as lifeless as the central ‘hero’ around which everything revolves.

Not so much a disaster as it is a waste of time, one doesn’t need a jury’s declaration to know The Judge should have been sent to the gallows long before it ever went into production in the first place.

Yet it is that climax which truly sinks this prequel, Annabelle in the end only conjuring up my anger and vitriol that it would do something so horrifically stupid and think that would be okay.

Gone Girl is a movie aching to be seen, savored, discussed and debated, Fincher assembling a motion picture so of-the-moment the effect is so startling it’s practically a mirror reflecting truths we don’t want to think about back at us whether we want it to or not.

The Boxtrolls is a divine, intoxicating fantasy, and in the end is a first-rate marvel of originality and inspiration.