The Stepfather

It's astonishing to think that the thrillers of the 1980s are now deemed insufficiently bland and glossy for mainstream audiences, but it's true. In May we had Obsessed, a (12A)-rated copy of Fatal Attraction, and now we have a plastic, production-line remake of 1987's The Stepfather – with no blood, no swearing, no sex, and no violence – that wouldn't be at home in an episode of Poirot. I'm not even sure why it deserves a 15 certificate, except for all the gratuitous shots of Amber Heard in an itsy-bitsy bikini.

Anyway, Dylan Walsh stars as a serial killer – this Stepfather remake excises any ambiguity on that matter at the start – who moves in with a gullible divorcée and her three children. Every time someone opens a door, looks through a window, or even turns around, Walsh is standing there, and a stab of music informs you that you're supposed to be scared. You won't be.

The Stepfather, Nelson McCormick, 101 mins, 15