An achingly perfect evocation of New York’s East Village in the 1980s and an amazing cast cannot make this tale of adolescent anxiety catch fire.

Subjuvenile and offensive, sentimental and ridiculous. Every attempt at a joke falls flat. Every talent here is wasted. Save yourself.

Wants to tell a story about how young women are people... which it does by removing the main female character from the narrative for half of the film.

Of course it’s fun in the “oh my god that’s Benedict Cumberbatch!” sense, but it’s a bit Hamlet for Dummies, or Hamlet’s Greatest Hits.

Guy Ritchie’s spy-themed GQ fashion shoot. Pure popcorn nonsense, sleek and chic and vaguely funny, but instantly forgettable.

A young woman is reduced to little more than a vessel for an unborn child, and an object for feelings by the male protagonist.

The male protagonist uses his newly acquired godlike powers to treat women badly, as if they were nothing more than playthings for men.

Two major female characters, both flawed and complicated people, on a journey of self-discovery that has nothing to do with romance or having babies.

Wants to debunking the myth and the mystery of the manic pixie dream girl... which it does by using a girl as an MPDG prop in the same old clichéd way.

A female villain who isn’t defined by her sexuality helps balance out the underused female sidekick to the good guys (who are, of course, guys).

A Scorsese-esque look, fascinating and horrifying, at the 1990s NYPD scandal that saw cops become the biggest, baddest gang on the city streets.