Eat a bag of dicks, Bret. It’ll cheer you up.

MOAR SUPERHEROES.

There is, however, a catch.

We can’t wait to be 65 now we’ve seen this.

And wins.

In which the cast look vaguely like Soviet despots. This is reassuring.

Because we don’t like you to try new things without our express permission, we took it upon ourselves to give the Pyjama Party: Dance Edition at the cushy Prince Charles Cinema a whirl – six films, ten hours, millions of jazz hands. With booze. And a onesie. Under the dictionary definition of “a good time”, you will find a picture of us attempting the Dirty Dancing lift, at 6am, blind drunk.

Batman drops the cowl and the growl.

Crack is whack, and so is this film.

K-Stew’s next career move sounds even dumber than cheating on your boyfriend and then telling everyone you definitely did it.