Run-of-the-mill contemporary Bollywood fare—a riot of colour, violence, heavy-duty tearjerking and song. But its tale of a beautiful young girl, Nandini (Karishma Kapoor), whose marriage sees her uprooted from a comfortable life in Canada back to the poverty of India, is a cut above. There she confronts her tyrannical father-in-law, striking as feminist a blow as Bollywood allows.
Satyajit Ray's superb 1955 debut Pather Panchali is released here as a three-disc package, including its sequels, Aparajito and The World Of Apu. Influenced by "new realist" European cinema, it tells the ongoing story of a poor, luckless Brahmin family in Bengal, following the fortunes of their youngest son, Apu. No Bollywood-style histrionics or musical interventions—this is beautifully shot, understated, quietly authentic, emotionally devastating cinema.
"If God could do the tricks that we can do, he'd be a happy man," declares megalomaniacal film director Eli Cross (Peter O'Toole, on epic form), who's just hired a wanted fugitive (Steve Railsback) to be a stunt man in his anti-war movie. Richard Rush's decidedly offbeat comedy thriller from 1980 lies somewhere between genuinely unsettling and extremely likeable.
Oblique, arcane and infuriatingly sluggish, even by Tarkovsky's standards (makes Andrei Rublyov look like Moulin Rouge), Nostalgia is the litmus test for arthouse cinephiles. The 'story' of a Russian poet locked in existential agony while researching an obscure 18th-century composer is brimful of breathtaking tableaux, portentous dialogue and primal symbolism (flickering flame as human soul). But is it enough?
When compared to Baz Luhrmann's hysterical synapse-splitting kitsch, there's something strangely reassuring about Franco Zeffirelli's stodgy '68 classicist version of Romeo And Juliet. Here, the many pleasures include Michael York's fantastic cheekbones as Tybalt, a cherubic Bruce Robinson as Benvolio, and a plethora of badly choreographed sword-fights. Even the infamous shots of Olivia Hussey's 17-year-old breasts seem quaint rather than smutty.
Arguably the two most powerful kitchen-sink dramas of the early '60s were both adapted from the works of author Alan Sillitoe. Saturday Night And Sunday Morning (1960), directed by Karel Reisz, provided British cinema with an equivalent to Brando thanks to Albert Finney's electrifying performance as marriage-wrecking factory-hand Arthur Seaton ("I'm a fighting pit-prop of a man who wants a pint of beer, that's me!"). But Finney perhaps lacked the surly sophistication of borstal boy Tom Courtenay in Tony Richardson's later The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Runner (1962).
John Sayles scripted this Jaws-onland rip-off, with Robert Forster as the cop chasing a giant man-eating monster down in the sewers. Forster's dogged, and some of the set pieces are pretty nifty, but the plot's farcical, and this isn't strong on intellectual content despite its obligatory eco-message. The sequel is a made-for-TV retread, of practically zero interest.
"The Beatles tours were like Fellini's Satyricon," John Lennon once remarked, and seeing the director's 1969 masterpiece of decadence again, you can only wonder how they made it through alive. A bleak but visually stunning crawl through the paranoia, bisexuality and corruption of ancient Rome, it's hardly easy viewing, but stunning all the same as a lurid portrait of a world tipped over into the realms of madness.
A monumental 150-minute attempt at tracking China's cultural transition from Mao-ish uniformity to the eccentricities of Deng Xiaoping's quasi-capitalism, Platform (1990) follows four wannabe performers from Fenyang over a long and turbulent decade (1979-1989). Unlike director Jia Zhang-ke's excellent 1997 drama Xiao Wu, Platform has a bizarre disregard for character and narrative coherence.
A former Uncut film of the month, shamefully under-promoted by the British film industry. Imaginatively based on the cult BS Johnson novel, it stars Nick Moran as a misanthropic bank clerk who elects to wreak vengeance on society for perceived injustices. A sort of Billy Liar with fire in its belly, it's intense, inventive and, finally, explosive.
