First issued on video in 1985, this is a fully absorbing, occasionally revealing insight into the country legend's late '60s heyday. A fly-on-the-wall documentary charting a typically grinding US tour, Cash is never less than engrossing, be it gleefully jamming with a nonchalant Dylan (a searing version of Billy Edd Wheeler's "Blistered"), duetting with 'er indoors June Carter ("Jackson") or cutting rug with lead guitarist Carl Perkins ("Blue Suede Shoes").
Two years ago, Bill Wyman published a superbly researched history of the blues. Now bearing the same name comes an unmissable visual companion to the book. The commentary is instructive, and Wyman's knowledge and passion for his subject is palpable. But the real thrill lies in the archive footage. There's Leadbelly and Bessie Smith, John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters, Sonny Boy Williamson and Jimmy Reed and lots of evocative footage of the Delta.
The TV version of Chris Morris' Radio 1 series Blue Jam (plus the late-night counterpart, Jaaaaam, also included here) pushed beyond the edges of comedy with an almost sadistic determination into a blurry miasma of appalling, nightmare scenarios, Kafkaesque horror and bitter, acidic satire, to the bleak accompaniment of a dark ambient soundtrack. The heaviest 'light entertainment' ever attempted, Jam didn't so much make you laugh as fill you with a rapt, faintly nauseous feeling of unease.
Another belter from the late Kinji Fukasaku's back catalogue. Loosely based on a true story, Fukasaku presents a chaotic swirl of gangland melodrama torn from the prison diary of a Yakuza footsoldier (Bunta Sugawara), seasoning his wild rumination on the loss of the old warrior's code with frequent bursts of histrionic Day-Glo brutality.
The year's most controversial release, Gaspar Noe's French frenzy (which unfolds backwards, like Memento) has been hammered for its scenes of rape and violence. His argument's that if you don't show them as ugly, you don't show the truth. However you react, there's no denying his visceral energy.
A subversive pleasure from the pen of Nicholas Kazan (son of Elia Kazan), Enough is an ostensibly ridiculous yarn about battered wife Jennifer Lopez who learns Jujitsu and exacts revenge on millionaire husband Billy Campbell. Yet it's also an extremely un-Hollywood evisceration of white America, the family unit, and capitalism itself. Clever, stupid film-making at its best.
Written by Joel Schumacher, Car Wash traces a day in the life of the Dee-Luxe car wash in smoggy downtown LA circa 1976. Part blaxploitation comedy and part Altman-esque ensemble drama, the huge cast includes Antonio "Huggy Bear" Fargas and, in a brief cameo, Richard Pryor. Norman Whitfield's score is a trash classic, but the story's muddled and full of dated caricatures.
Pussywhipped by Madonna into remaking Lina Wertmüller's 1974 film, Guy Ritchie betrays the fact that he can't direct outside the bad-lads genre, while Madge proves, for the umpteenth time, her inability to act. She's a rich socialite falling for a poor Italian on a desert island: watch Nicolas Roeg's Castaway instead.
Mike Figgis' one-take, four-camera, split-screen Hollywood satire is avant-garde without being pretentious, innovative without being wearisome. Here, like a Dogme remix of The Player, Figgis and his nimble cast ridicule the aching venality of the movie industry over one long and ultimately homicidal November afternoon.
