Superhero films are big, big, BIG business, and the last decade’s worth of cinema has seen so many unitards and tooled leather boots I’m surprised it hasn’t run off to join the chorus line of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. The days of the latest capering crusader being consigned to the 80s bargain bin alongside Surf Nazis Must Die! and Over-sexed Rugsuckers from Mars (both real titles – check them out or die unfulfilled) are long over.

It’s 2018: Battle-weary members of the human resistance are rising up against killer machines, desperate to claw back the arid, devestated nuclear wasteland that used to be (fanfare!) the U.S. of goddamn A. Why on earth they’re actually that bothered about fighting for some half-yard of radioactive cinder is anyone’s guess. Everyone’ll be living on Jupiter in 2018.

Michael Mann’s expertly crafted tale of Depression-era gangster John Dillinger’s final exploits looks good on paper, with standout performances from Johnny Depp and Christian Bale. But it fails to get to the heart of one of America’s craftiest criminals.