DVD, Blu-ray and TV

Comprising this summer's Hyde Park concert (a rocking preview of the Illumination album that followed) and last year's BBC Later... special of Paul unplugged circa Days Of Speed, this double-header is a timely celebration of the Modfather's continuing success. Both blinding, though the latter set of acoustic Jam and TSC chestnuts (a Noel Gallagher assisted "That's Entertainment" included) is pretty much unbeatable.

Nanni Moretti's Cannes-winner is restrained and moving, with the Italian writer/director forsaking his comic urges to examine how a teenage son's death affects a family. Moretti plays the father, a psychoanalyst who, grieving, loses interest in his patients. Awkward emotions are deftly handled: Hollywood should watch this and learn.

Tight script and fantastic acting from Rob Brydon, but what is the actual point of this much lauded two-hour divorcee monologue? In theory it's a comedy, but with not a single laugh in the entire series there's a very real danger for non-pseuds that its supposed greatness will completely pass you by. They won't be running repeats of this at Christmas next year, that's for sure.

Three Hollywood favourites starring the silver-tongued man of style

In an ideal world, Blondie would have existed only on video. The golden Deborah, adored by the camera, would now live forever as a shimmering punk siren, blessed with a voice of both honey and crystalline clarity. Harry fronts Blondie at their 1983 farewell concert in Toronto uncomfortably, inelegantly, and sings without any of the vitality of the sassy little Kittens whose success has prompted this release.

Clint Eastwood's classic final word on the western genre

Josh Hartnett again displays his unerring knack for atrocious career choices in this low-brow, lacklustre sex comedy from the sadly-declined Heathers director. Falling for a cutie he meets at the laundromat, horny Josh swears off copulation. On hearing this, countless honeys throw themselves at him, naturally. Comedy and sex don't gel: here's proof.

Truffaut's genre-defining masterpiece of childhood alienation

Forget CDs, this is how Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett's bloodless multimedia project was always meant to be experienced: as a fancy interactive DVD stuffed with videos, storyboards, short animations, a documentary and plenty of hidden gimmicks that only resourceful 11-year-olds can locate. Extensive foraging suggests, however, that Albarn's soul is still nowhere to be found.

Tony Richardson's 1961 take on Shelagh Delaney's kitchen-sink drama of schoolgirl pregnancy is a travesty. Delaney wrote her play at 18, but its sweet sadness—heroine Jo's taste of honey is brief indeed—is obliterated by the director's clumping Brit-new-wave clichés. Fairground anyone? Rita Tushingham and Murray Melvin remain facially memorable, but acting honours go to Dora Bryan.