DVD, Blu-ray and TV

Gory, sentimental parable about honour and redemption in 'war-torn' Africa, with Bruce Willis' hard-bitten Navy SEALS sacrificing themselves for gorgeous doctor Monica Bellucci and a column of predictably long-suffering refugees. Director Antoine Fuqua—who helmed the terrific Training Day—clearly had higher aspirations, but it's more Wild Geese than Wild Bunch.

You'll be—yes—giggly at how truly grim this really is. It's embarrassing watching the ego-addled Ben Affleck straining to show us what a stud he is for pulling J-Lo. The block Jenny's from is clearly made of wood, for her acting is equally dire in a would-be comic thriller from Martin Brest, who even calls in Pacino and Walken for cameos. To no avail.

No, not the dodgy '80s pop starlet but an even dodgier Heath Ledger vehicle which lasted, ooh, minutes in the cinema. Heath's a priest investigating a possible murder within the murky corridors of the Catholic Church, in a role which has Antonio-Banderasturned-this-down written all over it. Gothic horror ensues, but your stomach will churn for all the wrong reasons.

Takeshi Kitano delicately intertwines three stories of endless love, inspired by traditional Japanese puppet theatre. In the main strand, a young man returns to his spurned lover following her suicide attempt, and the two roam the country, bound together by a red rope. Intersecting stories concern a yakuza pining for the girl he deserted, and a reclusive, disfigured pop star, stalked by an obsessive fan. A strange, visually ravishing film, with Takeshi's meditative, minimalist style as hypnotic as ever.

Director Claire Denis rediscovers her personal vision after the debacle that was Trouble Every Day. With echoes of Godard's Weekend, it's an erotic tone poem in which a woman stuck in a rainy Paris traffic jam picks up a man for a mutually satisfying one-night stand. That's the entire plot, but the auteur's intensity makes every moment telling and tactile.

Kang Woo-Seo's admittedly stylish regurgitation of every Hollywood serial-killer/renegade-cop thriller cliché follows recalcitrant and psychotically violent detective Kang on the hunt for a mac-wearing knife-wielding slasher. Kang is a surly Kitano-esque bully, the killer is a narcissistic investment banker, and the whole movie is completely charmless.

A silent classic from the halcyon days of German expressionism, Der Letze Mann is FW Murnau's dreamlike melodrama of hubris—a big-budget 1924 masterpiece of light, shadow and set design. Restored to a crispness that's worthy of '40s film noir, it stars Emil Jannings as a shambling, walruslike doorman who's demoted to the hotel lavatories. Slow and emotionally laboured but fluid and spectacular to watch.

Slow-burning, eventually gripping Canadian study of gambling addiction starring Philip Seymour Hoffman. His bank clerk commits massive fraud to fund high-roller trips to Vegas and Atlantic City, while girlfriend Minnie Driver's left in the dark. As comeuppance looms nearer, Hoffman's a junkie for one more roll of the dice. Well worth a flutter.

This storm-tossed 1937 gem was the first flowering of Michael Powell's nearmystical vision of the British landscape. It tells of the death of one tiny, remote Scottish island, as young folk abandon old ways for the mainland, but Powell's cinematic treatment of the scudding light and shade of nature—part raw, heroic documentary, part mythic poem—raises the stakes to infinity and beyond. Magic realism, indeed.

That rarest of things: a film about a racehorse that'll run and run. In the mid-'30s, Seabiscuit was an unlikely loser turned winner, trained by a too-tall jockey (Tobey Maguire), a distressed millionaire (Jeff Bridges) and a jaded cowboy (Chris Cooper). Gary (Pleasantville) Ross, who also wrote, directs the three actors (and the horses) without excessive mushiness.