The joy in this 124-minute drama comes from watching the fabulously chosen cast play off each other. Joy shares with Russell’s previous feature, American Hustle, a loose and improvisational quality and a light-headed and slightly manic approach to storytelling.

‘Jugni’ has a lot of sparkle but not enough firepower…

Airlift soars on its own merits, but it is ultimately a flight of fantasy.

Tarantino is an ace at using a repetitive question-and-answer format to build up menace and tension, but both qualities are in short supply in The Hateful Eight. Mistrust is spelled out loud and clear rather than felt, and when the bullets start to fly, the movie becomes a familiar bloodbath that is played for both shocks and laughs.

Hooper’s movie is far too ironed-out to adequately explore the creases and rips of the relationship. The Danish Girl proves that mainstream filmmakers are more receptive than before to tackling tricky subjects such as trans identity and the fluid boundaries between genders, but the movie also sets out the limits of this depiction.

Folded into the mess is a heartfelt message reminding viewers that teachers should not be taken for granted and should be accorded the respect and dignity they deserve. But the movie is too overwritten, shoddily produced and amateurishly performed to make its point convincingly. Of the cast, all of whom have been directed to act as broadly as possible, only Azmi makes a mark. The film’s report card: an A for effort, but with marks cut for general incompetence.

If Chauranga’s world feels doubly familiar, it’s because this combination of elements has already been presented by Nagraj Manjule’s Marathi movie Fandry in 2013. Even though Chauranga has been in the making for longer than Manjule’s debut, Fandry beat Mishra to it, and for those who have watched both films, Chauranga feels like a milder and less adventurous cousin.

Sharp viewers will guess the conclusion much before it comes. Yet, Wazir remains watchable even at its eyeball-rolling best.

…is overstretched even at just 107 minutes, but it packs in enough of a cutting critique of electioneering chicanery. However, the salutary message that spin, rather than politics, is the villain, is unearned. The Hollywood-mandated happy ending is drenched in an idealism that isn’t evident in the rest of the narrative.

The original Point Break featured a cornball romance between Keanu Reeves’s Utah and the spiky-haired Lori Petty, and there is a token female in the new movie too, but the real sparks fly between Bodhi and Utah as they test the limits of endurance and their trust for each other. The movie flounders when it’s not in mid-flight, and the absence of memorable dialogue or sexiness, both of which were plentiful in Bigelow’s film, means that we can’t wait for Bodhi and his band of hirsute seekers to gather at the edge of something – a cliff, a rockface, the ocean – and defy the laws of nature. Every time they get back to earth, the pointlessness of this remake reaches breaking point.