In 2054 murder is obsolete thanks to Precrime, whose precognitive psychics enable police to arrest killers before they can kill. Then Precrime detective John Anderton (Tom Cruise) is himself accused of planning a murder, and only the psychic Agatha (Samantha Morton) can clear him. Spielberg's masterful sci-fi suspense turns Philip K Dick's short story into something Hitchcockian and technologically dazzling.
Multiple Oscar-winner (beating out Scorsese's Raging Bull) from 1980, directed calmly (and, for some, soporifically) by Robert Redford. It's a sombre, actorly affair in which wealthy Donald Sutherland and Mary Tyler Moore grieve for their son's death; his brother Timothy Hutton blames and shames. An early, earnest look at the dysfunctional family: American Beauty without the laughs.
Highly absorbing film about respectable family man Vincent (Aurelien Recoing) who, after losing his job as a consultant, invents a prestigious new career and betrays close friends with fictitious investment deals. Juggling fact with fiction creates ever-spiralling tensions until Vincent's double life closes in around him. A deceptively profound drama.
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.
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.
Part of Columbia's new and improved Superbit series, this immaculate version of Robert Rodriguez's chopsocky western arrives with no extras, no bonus features and a hefty price tag. Instead, with all available disc space used to provide the clearest pixel-free transfer to date, you get an average hyper-violent pop-Leone revenge movie with great depth of field and a sharp crystalline surface.
Tim Burton's splendid tribute to hapless director Wood, whose incompetence has become part of movie legend. Johnny Depp as Wood looks entirely fetching in a variety of angora sweaters, and there's terrific support from Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi, Bill Murray and Sarah Jessica Parker.
Time-travellers Michael J Fox and Christopher Lloyd shunt between the 1950s, the future and the old Wild West in a customised DeLorean sports car, trailing paradoxes in their wake as they attempt not to interfere with history. Zemeckis and Gale's lovingly crafted trilogy remains enormously enjoyable, and curiously now makes one feel nostalgic for the '80s.
Ang Lee's soulful swordfest is out on visually refined Superbit release with wispy hair shots and flashing blades all shimmer-free. Yet Lee's masterfully melancholic movie—with Chow Yun-Fat and Michelle Yeoh as the unrequited martial arts lovers, Matrix choreographer Yuen Wo-Ping providing the aerial ballet, and high-kicking upstart Zhang Ziyi providing the feminist subtext—could work wonders in any format.
Clive Donner's 1963 version of Harold Pinter's debut is a faithful, relatively unaltered record of a trio of stunning stage performances from Alan Bates, Robert Shaw and particularly Donald Pleasence (as the splenetic tramp who takes advantage of the mentally crippled Shaw). Four decades on, you can see Mamet's starting point in the furious inarticulateness of Pinter's characters, each trapped in an unobtainable dream.
