In Time has nothing approaching the depth of the cerebral Gattaca, and seems perfectly happy in its own silly skin

If Oblivion and Fallout gave an illusion of freedom, Skyrim dares you to prove it’s not a reality.

At the forefront of it all is Pacino, filling every frame with a performance of barbed humour and affable wit, just beneath the surface of which is a switch that is always a hair’s width away from being flipped.

There are scenes of one-on-one dialogue filmed as if the cameraman had just polished off his twentieth coffee of the day

L.A. Noire feels like it doesn’t really know what it is. It’s like GTA IV twisted to fit a genre for which it is ill-suited, when what it would like to be is more of a cerebral point-and-click adventure.

In this saccharine world of semi-skimmed, PG-13 fluff, we need Verhoeven to get back to what he does best.

Perhaps we do not have to just sit idly by and let feckless, money-driven accountants wring whatever essence of good remains in the once mighty Terminator name