Neil Labute adapts an AS Byatt novel and rather blots his edgy image. It follows Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Eckhart through Yorkshire and Paris as they uncover the personal secrets of a late-Victorian poet. Labute's emasculated in the company of academics, and the overall tone's uncertain and vague.
Steve Martin darkens his usual screwball comic persona for Novocaine, playing a suburban dentist implicated in drugs and murder charges in a noir-tinged comedy thriller which turns increasingly Hitchcockian as it unfolds. Helena Bonham Carter's femme fatale, Laura Dern's dental assistant and Kevin Bacon's hilarious cameo appearance lend extra clout to a patchy but commendably accomplished feature debut from writer-director David Atkins.
Two years ago, Bill Wyman published a superbly researched history of the blues. Now bearing the same name comes an unmissable visual companion to the book. The commentary is instructive, and Wyman's knowledge and passion for his subject is palpable. But the real thrill lies in the archive footage. There's Leadbelly and Bessie Smith, John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters, Sonny Boy Williamson and Jimmy Reed and lots of evocative footage of the Delta.
Jonathan Miller's 1966 adaptation of Carroll's fantasy masterpiece has a sitar soundtrack from Ravi Shankar, a dreamlike Victorian atmosphere and a cast to die for (Peter Cook, John Gielgud, Peter Sellers). Totally far out.
The TV version of Chris Morris' Radio 1 series Blue Jam (plus the late-night counterpart, Jaaaaam, also included here) pushed beyond the edges of comedy with an almost sadistic determination into a blurry miasma of appalling, nightmare scenarios, Kafkaesque horror and bitter, acidic satire, to the bleak accompaniment of a dark ambient soundtrack. The heaviest 'light entertainment' ever attempted, Jam didn't so much make you laugh as fill you with a rapt, faintly nauseous feeling of unease.
Brian Cox and Leonard Rossiter are the TV executives broadcasting Sportsex and Artsex to keep the masses lulled into passivity in Nigel Kneale's 1968 dystopian TV play. It's creaky and dated, with the production values of Dr Who, and not in the least bit erotic—but it's also prophetic (of reality TV) and strangely compelling.
Terry Gilliam's solo directorial debut. Inspired by Lewis Carroll's poem, like Python's Holy Grail it deals with medieval muck and monsters—in this case a fearsome dragon to be slain by hapless hero Dennis (Michael Palin). Lots of good ideas and a very odd cast of British comedy talent, but mired in darkness, only the occasional laugh.
Set during the Ulster 'Troubles', Hidden Agenda begins admirably enough with director Ken Loach's usual muscular dissection of political realities. Then Maurice Roeves suddenly appears as a mysterious Captain (think Donald Sutherland's X in JFK) who implicates the RUC, the Tories, MI5 and the CIA in a grand, preposterous plan to ruin the Labour Party.
Stylish Norwegian thriller, remade last year by Christopher Nolan, whose version is almost eerily faithful to the original. Nolan had the powerhouse cast—Pacino, Robin Williams, Hilary Swank—but this probably has the sharper atmospheric edge, and director Erik Skjoldbjærg builds the tension expertly.
