Fifteen years on, the only thing that's dated about John Cleese's romantic-comedy-cum-caper-movie is the fashions. Cleese honed the script for years, and it shows—plus the entire supporting cast are a treat, especially Michael Palin's stuttering animal rights assassin, Jamie Lee Curtis'sexy double-crosser and Kevin Kline's psychopathic fish-killer. Immensely likeable.
Producer Lawrence Bender wears his Tarantino badge with pride. Which is fine when producing QT movies but problematic in everything else (see Killing Zoe, From Dusk Till Dawn 3). Knockaround Guys, in classic Tarantino fashion, has edgy twenty somethings (Barry Pepper and Vin Diesel), a bag of loot, leather jackets, guns, the mob and, natch, a high-intensity Mexican stand-off finale. Derivative.
Made in 1990 but in a Serpico-style '70s tradition, Sidney Lumet's Q&A pits Nick Nolte's corrupt Irish-American cop against Timothy Hutton's idealistic assistant DA. Quality old-school fare, marred only by over-emphasis on a sub-plot involving Armand Assante's gang boss and Nolte's odd moustache and high-heeled shoes.
Danny Aiello dominates this ensemble drama as the weary owner of an Italian restaurant in New York's Tribeca, caught between mobsters and his son's desire to transform the place into a chiceatery. Director (and restaurateur) Bob Giraldi keeps things hustling between tables, but cranks up the pace in the kitchens. A grittier companion to Stanley Tucci's gastro-porn classic Big Night. Tasty.
You might think there's not enough surviving live footage of The Yardbirds to fill a full-length DVD. And you'd be right, of course. But clips from half-a-dozen black-and-white TV shows are interspersed with retrospective interviews to create a compelling band history in which the comments of Jeff Beck are particularly candid. But the revelation is singer/harmonica player Keith Relf, who exudes charisma despite being surrounded by such future stars as Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Yes Years chronicles the band's career from the late '60s through to their '90s reunion via two hours of archive footage and interviews. Greatest Video Hits is more focused and concentrates on the late '70s and '80s when Trevor Horn and Buggles bizarrely joined the line-up. It's easy to scorn Yes' pretension, but Yes Years reminds us that the early material at least boasted some great tunes.
