Ling (Samuel Hui) and his tomboy sister are charged with keeping a sacred scroll from the clutches of their self-serving Sifu and the scarier-than-they-sound Royal Eunuchs. With multiple directors and more characters than it can handle, the cracks show, but the swordplay and comedic touch proved popular enough to spawn two sequels.
Abel Ferrara made these almost simultaneously in '95, and they're especially intense even for him. The more successfully operatic first (Chris Walken, Chris Penn, Vincent Gallo) follows a family of '30s gangsters on a revenge mission; the second's a gory monochrome vampire flick starring Lili Taylor (and Walken again). Nietzschean, neurotic.
Two vintage Alastair Sim comedies released as a double-pack. In 1956's The Green Man he plays a political assassin whose plans are interrupted by the arrival of bumbling vacuum cleaner salesman George Cole; in 1960's School For Scoundrels—based on Stephen Potter's One-Upmanship books—he teaches downtrodden nice chap Ian Carmichael how to get the better of dastardly cad Terry-Thomas.
Maria Ripoll's handsome 2001 remake of Ang Lee's Eat Drink Man Woman is anchored by the highly watchable Hector Elizondo as the widowed kitchen maestro with three wayward daughters and a frisky neighbour (Raquel Welch) who clearly wants to turn him into a naked chef. The plot has been sweetened a little, but the performances are fine and the photography sumptuous.
Memento man Christopher Nolan's elegant cop drama with Al Pacino magnificently muted as the hollow-eyed LA cop, sent to Alaska to hunt a killer and forming a strange relationship with Robin Williams' skin-crawlingly ingratiating psycho.
Bertrand Tavernier's epic (almost three hours) looks back at France's period of Nazi occupation from a movie-lover's perspective. A young screenwriter tries to subvert the German-controlled studios while juggling three women, and a director doubles as a Resistance fighter. It's a beautifully detailed and honest piece.
More pint-size espionage from Robert Rodriguez as Carmen and Juni tackle an island full of monsters created by mad scientist Steve Buscemi. The cute kids factor is kept on a tight rein, there are great gizmos (and gags) galore, and the blend of Bond, Dr Seuss and Ray Harryhausen is irresistible.
Another self-regarding screenplay from Andrew (The Truman Show, Gattaca) Niccol, but Al Pacino is on hand to paper over the concept's cracks. A director whose prima donna (Winona Ryder) walks out, he simulates virtual actress S1mOne ("hmm, less Streep, more Bacall"), who becomes a global superstar. Could go further, but the comedy's smart and the acting, ironically, is great.
A Jerry Lee Lewis biopic from Jim (The Big Easy) McBride, starring an energetic Dennis Quaid as the piano-bashing, God-fearing rock'n'roller. He upsets the applecart (and middle America) by marrying the underage Myra (Winona Ryder), whose book provided the source material. Thus biased, it doesn't show the great balls it should, but Quaid amps it up.
