A brighter, louder and more dumbed down sequel to Guillermo del Toro’s original. At the very least, it’s better than the last couple of Transformers movies.

It’s too comfortable supplying the bare-minimum to an audience it knows wants nothing more than that. And perhaps that’s fine. But that being said, it could so easily have been so much worse. Video game movies still have a long way to go, unfortunately. Tomb Raider is hardly the Wonder Woman it should have been, but there’s hope yet.

This over-reliance on dialogue means two things happen: There is a lot of talking, and almost all of the words spoken in this movie have the subtlety of an assault rifle. What makes this experience all the more aggravating is that there was no reason for Eastwood to do this. Presumably, his intentions, whatever they might be, would still have remained intact had he used professional actors, like he has, on numerous occasions in the past.

The final movie in the young adult trilogy is neither as satisfying as Harry Potter nor as campy as Twilight, but for its fans, that shouldn’t matter.

It’s dull, too earnest for its own good, and like Gerard Butler’s 2016 gem Gods of Egypt, completely unaware of its own silliness. For God’s sake, it’s a movie in which a Scotsman, an Englishman and an Australian play Americans, an Irishman plays an Englishman, an Egyptian plays a Frenchman, and an American plays an Indian.

Come. On.

At 85 minutes long, it doesn’t really overstay its welcome, but it kinda invited itself anyway.

One of the worst adaptations of Stephen King’s works; even Matthew McConaughey and Idris Elba’s talents aren’t enough to save it from collapsing.

Dare I say it, even Imtiaz Ali’s Highway, which has one of the most colossally misguided tones – and third acts – in recent memory, managed to convey the slow psychological paradox of being in a relationship with your kidnapper more palatable.

Luc Besson’s new film is one of those legendary box office bombs – the sort of film that’s written about for years to come, and spoken about only in hushed tones.

Director Michael Bay returns for the fifth time, and Mark Wahlberg for the second, to pound your brain into a pulp with wall-to-wall cacophony.