Paul WS Anderson has committed the greatest act of cultural rape since Stephenie Meyer thought “Whitby and dogs are all very well, but none of it’s really sparkly enough…”. The Three Musketeers is plagiarised from so many disparate sources that I can scarcely keep up with them – unfortunately, however, Alexandre Dumas’ classic romance isn’t among them. This film is unforgivable.

Imagine what crimes Sherlock could solve with a fiery eye!

But what of Bandersnatch?

And not even Clash of the Titans can stop the Greco-onslaught.

Anyone but Shia LaBeouf…

Miranda Kerr could soon have two helpless, drooling little boys to look after.

A foreigner working through the last ten years of British cinema could be forgiven for thinking that this is a nation composed entirely of council estates, sports fields and leftover shreds of the Second World War. After such a torrent of grittiness, Tamara Drewe feels like it’s going to be a real treat – which makes it even more of a shame when it fails to deliver on almost every level.

Paul WS Anderson has finally cast his new 3D interpretation of The Three Musketeers, mere days after Doug Liman officially signed on to direct the Warner Bros take on the same story. Still, why have two different films, when you can have two films with exactly the same plot? Erm… yeah.