If you’re going to go toe-to-toe with Daredevil and Jessica Jones, the first two series in Netflix’s supremely realised and blood-spattered depiction of Marvel Comic’s Hell’s Kitchen, it’s as well to do it with conviction. By hosting Preacher, based on the comic book series by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon, Amazon went in swinging – low and hard, fighting dirty from the off.

WARNING: HERE BE SPOILERS!

Two cultural giants from different spheres align to occasionally sublime results in The BFG. Steven Spielberg's film locates the beatific in its (literally) outsized star, Mark Rylance, but lapses into the banal when its eponymous Big Friendly Giant – Roald Dahl's 1982 literary creation made motion-capture fresh – isn't careering across the screen.

As a sort of companion piece to E.T., which shares this film's screenwriter, Melissa Mathison, who died last year, the film brings an otherworldly presence into our world of the everyday. And yet there remains something pro forma about the abiding feel of a movie that doesn't break much thematic or emotional ground. It allows its Oscar-winning leading man to continue his conquest of celluloid following a life spent mostly on stage. But Rylance aside, the rest of a game English cast can politely be said to be along for the ride, though I doubt Dame Penelope Wilton – as she now is – ever thought she'd get to play the Queen and fart at the same time: how jolly!

The Elizabeth II sequences arrive relatively late in the day and are the least engaging aspects of a venture that is so beautifully anchored by Rylance with his kindly yet baleful eyes that one slightly cringes as and when The BFG turns into an ad hoc advertorial for the royals: Visit Britain will have something new on which to hang its hat. Meanwhile Rebecca Hall and Rafe Spall the rest of a name English – both playing personnel of the Palace – add a Spielberg title to their CVs. If only either actor were in any way challenged by what they are asked to do; Wilton (pictured above), for her part, sticks to a general air of bemusement throughout. 

Far better is anything involving the dream-friendly creature of the title, a being as large-eared as he is thin-necked to whom Rylance imparts a wounded beneficence. Applauded all the way to an Academy Award for his debut assignment for Spielberg on Bridge of Spies, the determined maverick that is Rylance clearly meets this uber-mainstream director more than halfway, and one is heartened to hear that the pair have two further collaborations on tap. (Move over, Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio.)

Noted for language that might give even Edward Lear or James Joyce pause, the BFG intersperses his cod-philosophising about dreams with words like Frobscottle (the fizzy beverage shown above), "glummy", and (my favourite phrase) "a dibble of despair" – utilised by the BFG as a way of envisaging a mostly but not entirely rosy future for Sophie (Ruby Barnhill), the bespectacled 10-year-old who finds in the giant at once an ally, chum, and escape route from her Dickensian routine. Not for nothing is the charming, commendably unaffected Barnhill glimpsed reading Nicholas Nickleby. 

The BFG is brought down to size by the bullying like of the Fleshlumpeater (Jemaine Clement), one of a forbiddingly beefy brigade of nasties who are less generously inclined to Sophie than her new-found protector-friend. Kids will doubtless surrender to the occasional grossout value of the Giant Country goings-on, but Spielberg seems far more naturally suited to the earlier meanderings of his camera around and above a storybook London of ghostly, largely Georgian charm. Let's just say that the scene-setting is more alluring than what happens once we actually settle in.

And Rylance is a softly spoken, gently accented wonder throughout, his character's innocence a comfort to the parentless Sophie and a rebuke to almost everyone else. So what if in his socially maladroit state the BFG sends one of the Queen's Louis XIV chandeliers crashing to the ground? Possessions, the film at its best reminds us, can be replaced (well, maybe not in that case). In his state of grace, Rylance's BFG allows a comparatively prosaic Spielberg offering access to the ineffable realm of the poetic.

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MARK RYLANCE’S BIGGEST HITS ON STAGE AND SCREEN

Bridge of Spies. Spielberg's warm-hearted Cold War thriller is lit up by Tom Hanks and Mark Rylance

Endgame. In Complicite's homage to Beckett, Rylance's Hamm is an animated, self-lacerating lout

Farinelli and the King. A witty and moving new play is a timely reminder of just why art matters

Jerusalem. Rylance is unforgettable as Johnny Rooster Byron in Jez Butterworth’s smash Royal Court hit

La Bête. Rylance dazzles in astonishing opening monologue, but this callow play coasts on the performances

Nice Fish. Rylance is waiting for cod-ot in this absurdist West End trifle

Twelfth Night/Richard III. Rylance doubles up as Olivia and the hunchbacked king (pictured above) for Shakespeare's Globe

Wolf Hall. Mark Rylance works rare marvels as Hilary Mantel's scheming Tudor fixer

PLUS ONE TURKEY

Much Ado About Nothing. Rylance Old Vic staging of Shakespeare's romantic comedy with elderly leads gets lost in translation

Overleaf: watch the trailer for The BFG

The earliest known versions of Rapunzel and Cinderella appeared in an Italian compendium of fairytales known as the Pentamerone. They were collated by Neapolitan courtier Giambattista Basile and published in the 1630s after his death. The 50-strong anthology also includes versions of Puss in Boots, Sleeping Beauty and Hansel and Gretel. None of these familiar stories has made it into Tale of Tales, Matteo Garrone’s cinematic sampler of Basile’s collection.

The Warcraft series of "massively multiplayer online role-playing games" (or MMORPG if you must) has apparently amassed over 100 million users since it all began with Warcraft: Orcs & Humans in 1994. Ergo, turning it into a 3D multiplex-buster is a no-brainer. Surely?

Theseus was a tablet-carrying dictator, Lysander a sweet-faced asthmatic, and Peter Quince rechristened Mistress Quince in the agreeably unexpected presence of Elaine Paige: those were among the innovations of Russell T Davies's larky reworking of what must these days be Shakespeare's most frequently performed play. (A third London production in as many weeks starts performances May 31 at Southwark Playhouse.)

Penda’s Fen has so many constituent parts it could burst its seams. Almost-18 schoolboy Stephen Franklin is struggling with determining the nature of his sexuality. His school is about regimentation and promotes the army with drill, uniforms and expectations that commands are to be followed. With his father, the Reverend Franklin, Stephen has prolonged discussions about the nature of faith. The local landscape is mystical, and seems able to manifest historic and mythical figures from its own past. Reawakened Paganism is upsetting the Christian present.

It's getting mighty crowded in the superhero lounge. After the underwhelming Batman v Superman and the overwhelming Captain America: Civil War, here's the X-Men posse back on the warpath, once again under the bombastic helmsmanship of Bryan Singer.

“By their beginnings, you shall know them” is a useful motto for cinematic rediscovery. Rather than predicting how a director’s creative path may develop in the future, you go in the opposite direction to see which way, starting from his or her earliest works, the web has been spun.

Shakespeare’s plays have proved remarkably resilient to everything that’s been thrown at them down the years, including – in the case of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, with its flowery bowers and fairies – cloying Victorian whimsy. Peter Brook’s white box production in 1970 effectively Tippexed out that option for the late 20th century. In turn, this version by the touring company Filter has put down a marker for the 21st.

What fun it must have been to attend any of the St Petersburg Free Music School concerts during the second half of the 19th century. Balakirev, idiosyncratic mentor of the group briefly together as the "Mighty Handful", and his acolytes – Borodin, Musorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov and the one we usually don't mention, César Cui – would have had orchestral works and sometimes the odd aria from an opera-in-progress on the programme, often alongside music by their western idols Berlioz, Liszt and Schumann.