I genuinely respect the ambition here. A fake sequel to a fake franchise nobody asked for, presented completely straight. That is either genius or a disaster and for about twenty minutes it is genuinely genius. Then it runs out of ideas and starts repeating itself while still expecting credit for being weird.

Kevin Smith turns up. He looks like he lost a bet. Mike Mitchell saves a handful of scenes from total collapse and then the film ends and you sit there trying to figure out what you just watched. I still do not know. I watched it three weeks ago.

Dangerous women. Ballet school. Blood and tutus. That is a film I want to watch. This is not that film. Amazon took that premise and turned it into something so desperate to please everyone that it ends up pleasing nobody. You can feel it hedging every five minutes, pulling punches that should have landed, softening edges that needed to stay sharp.

I watched it on a Tuesday night thinking it would be a fun watch. It was fine. Fine is the worst thing a film can be when it had every reason to be great.

I want to be fair to Pizza Movie. It is not offensive. It is not lazy in an obvious way. It is just there. Two guys, a college campus, a pizza business, and ninety-seven minutes of events that happen in sequence without any of them being particularly funny or moving or anything.

I checked my phone twice. I made a sandwich. The film did not notice. That is the full review.

Two guys pitch a condom brand as the official World Cup sponsor. Read that again. That is a funny sentence. The film somehow makes it not funny. I watched Wahlberg and Hauser on screen together thinking surely at some point this is going to ignite and it never does. Hauser commits completely, as he always does. Wahlberg is intense, as he always is. The script gives them nothing.

I genuinely laughed at the poster before I pressed play. The poster remains the funniest thing about Balls Up.

This one hurt because I was rooting for it. Vince Vaughn doing time travel comedy on Hulu should be exactly my kind of thing. And for about fifteen minutes it is. Then you realise the time travel does not make any sense, the double-cross everyone was promised takes forever to arrive, and by the time it does you have already mentally moved on to thinking about what you want for dinner.

Vaughn looks tired. Not in character. Just tired. I felt bad for him.

Genuinely beautiful animation. Whoever made these visuals worked hard and it shows. The goat looks great. The stadium looks great. The whole thing looks great. And then the story is exactly what you think it is going to be from the first five minutes and it never once surprises you.

Underdog. Doubt. Training. Triumph. The end. I have seen this film approximately forty times and it has been better every other time.

The cast of this film made me sit up straight when I read it. Charli XCX. Kate Berlant. Jamie Demetriou. Rachel Sennott. In a restaurant kitchen. Shot on film. I was so ready. I was so ready and the film was so not ready for me.

Everything is technically fine. But there is no heat. No mess. No life. A restaurant kitchen should feel like controlled chaos and this one feels like a very expensive photo shoot where everyone is being careful not to spill anything. Jamie Demetriou has four scenes. Four. I am still not over it.

Naseem Hamed is one of the most electric sporting figures Britain has ever produced. The showmanship, the trash talk, the combinations, the absolute unhinged confidence of a man who was as good as he said he was. That is a great film waiting to happen.

Giant is not that film. It hits every expected beat exactly when you expect it. El-Masry does good work. Brosnan is solid in the corner. But the film is so afraid of getting anything wrong that it forgets to get anything right. Naseem was never afraid of anything. His biopic should not be afraid either.

I pressed play on Crime 101 with genuine excitement. Bart Layton directed American Animals. Barry Keoghan is in it. Chris Hemsworth is trying something different. This is going to be good. Two hours and twenty minutes later I could not tell you the name of a single character or what any of them wanted.

The heist happens. The twist happens. The film ends. Nothing stays. It is competently made in the way that a very expensive hotel room is competently furnished — everything is correct and nothing feels like anyone actually lives there.

I guessed the killer forty minutes in. Not because I am clever. Because the film is not careful. The original Scream made you feel stupid for not seeing it coming. This one makes you feel bad for the people who made it.

Neve Campbell came back and gave them everything and they gave her a script that wastes her. The meta-jokes about franchise fatigue land in a film that is itself a symptom of franchise fatigue. It is like someone writing a long speech about how tired everyone is of long speeches. I watched the original again afterwards to remind myself what this franchise is capable of. That is the most damning review I can give.