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The culmination of a sell-out 2002 tour sees a middle-aged Williams return to his maniacal roots, musing on Michael Jackson, the Puritans and Viagra, among other topics. However, his breakneck delivery, camp mannerisms and array of accents (including a dismal Winston Churchill) only emphasise, rather than conceal, the weakness of his material. And the "Joe I'm Pregnant" routine is shamelessly lifted from Sam Kinison.

It's not hard to see why the second version of Hollywood's infamous morality tale of the tortured love between a rising starlet (Judy Garland in her best role outside of Oz) and her older, alcoholic has-been suitor (the impeccable James Mason) is generally regarded as the best. George Cukor's Technicolor palette and Ira Gershwin's music are the ideal accoutrements for what is basically camp melodrama at its most sumptuous.

Along with Insomnia and the inexplicably-unreleased Death To Smoochy, this eerie thriller serves to rehabilitate Robin Williams. His cloying wacky zaniness jettisoned, he's a broody bugger as the middle-aged loser who becomes obsessed with a cute family whose holiday snaps he's developed for years. Like a chubbier Travis Bickle, he feels his fantasy figures owe him emotional payback. He freaks, rivetingly.

A terrific primer on Scott-Heron's lyrical, funky jazz bluesology, Robert Mugge's semi-concert documentary was first broadcast on Channel Four in 1983. Two decades on, the charismatic proto-rapper still comes over as a warm and eloquent performer, wry social commentator and effortless stand-up comedian.

Since The Last Seduction, John Dahl hasn't quite delivered the skilful thrills we hoped for. This pacy revamp of Duel and Breakdown is a lunge in the right direction, though. Paul Walker, Steve Zahn and Leelee Sobieski star as brash young things who turn yellow when a trucker they've taunted chases them cross-country, vengeance in mind. Fast and furious.

Lumet's underrated media satire now viewed as a visionary work

An opening tour of the interior of Snoop Doggy Dogg's mink-lined Cadillac gives an indication of the spiritual journey that awaits the viewer here. Essentially an extended promo for the roster of Snoop's label Doggystyle, this is a mixture of interviews, dull footage of Snoop cruising the 'hood and music videos, the whole exercise redeemed by the divine, Aretha-esque vocal interventions of La Toiya Williams.

Hal Ashby's deceptively sunny direction of Robert Towne and Warren Beatty's sex-comedy screenplay is brimful of Barbie hair, open shirts and Triumph motorcycles, as libidinous pompadour George (Beatty) juggles four Beverly Hills sirens with his own nascent career plans. Yet the oppressive setting (Nixon's '68 election night), Beatty's stunningly lugubrious performance and his eventual comeuppance all feed a brash vein of cynicism that shapes the entire movie.

Watching the ripples set in motion through the suburbs of Sidney by the murder of therapist Barbara Hershey, Ray Lawrence's movie is the most unfashionably mature murder mystery of the past decade. There may be something too neat about how everything fits together, but it's a film that understands life at its messiest. As the cop brooding at the centre, Anthony LaPaglia gives the performance of his career.

This includes much of the surviving live footage of Clapton, Bruce and Baker, including extracts from Cream's farewell Royal Albert Hall performance. All three band members are interviewed, and the inclusion of Hendrix's cover of "Sunshine Of Your Love" on Lulu's TV show is a bonus. But while Cream's own songs have stood the test of time well, the extended blues jams sound tedious today.