Claude Lelouch arguably never surpassed this 1966 Oscar-winning romance, which sweetened French new wave experimentation for the global mainstream. For all the heart-tugging lyricism, it's still immensely affecting. Bright Anouk Aimée and brave Jean-Louis Trintignant, both widowed, fall in love as that durable theme tune twinkles away.
John Milius' deeply personal take on the surf generation of the '60s is everything you'd expect from Hollywood's last great iconoclast. It's a sumptuous visual feast, an epic journey charting the testosterone-packed lives of three surfing buddies (Jan-Michael Vincent, William Katt and Gary Busey) and an unbelievably heavy-handed extended metaphor, as the ebb and flow of the tide is mirrored in our heroes' lives.
Detective Kyle Bodine (Ed Harris) meets the unhappily married-to-money Rachel Monro (Madeleine Stowe) and before you can say Body Heat he's dumping the hubby (Charles Dance) in a lake, and his own career along with it. Harris is dependable as ever but Stowe curiously inanimate, leaving China Moon with a central relationship that's about as steamy as a bowl of cold soup.
Stylish but disturbing French art thriller starring Vincent Gallo and Béatrice Dalle as victims of a drug experiment that's turned them into...uh, sex-crazed cannibals. Dalle turns up the volume on her usual sexy-but-bonkers routine, Gallo is just bonkers and the whole thing is like an extra-gory werewolf movie without the fur. Not one for the squeamish.
The definitive example of High Godard (that brief period after his spectacular debut, À Bout De Souffle, and before the left-wing quasi-revolutionary abstractions of British Sounds and Passion), Bande À Part is a veritable checklist of stylish and insouciant Nouvelle Vague chic. There's the casually one-dimensional protagonists, in this case pseudo-gangsters Franz (Sami Frey) and Arthur (Claude Brasseur) and their new playmate Odile (Anna Karina).
Abel Ferrara made these almost simultaneously in '95, and they're especially intense even for him. The more successfully operatic first (Chris Walken, Chris Penn, Vincent Gallo) follows a family of '30s gangsters on a revenge mission; the second's a gory monochrome vampire flick starring Lili Taylor (and Walken again). Nietzschean, neurotic.
Memento man Christopher Nolan's elegant cop drama with Al Pacino magnificently muted as the hollow-eyed LA cop, sent to Alaska to hunt a killer and forming a strange relationship with Robin Williams' skin-crawlingly ingratiating psycho.
More pint-size espionage from Robert Rodriguez as Carmen and Juni tackle an island full of monsters created by mad scientist Steve Buscemi. The cute kids factor is kept on a tight rein, there are great gizmos (and gags) galore, and the blend of Bond, Dr Seuss and Ray Harryhausen is irresistible.
A Jerry Lee Lewis biopic from Jim (The Big Easy) McBride, starring an energetic Dennis Quaid as the piano-bashing, God-fearing rock'n'roller. He upsets the applecart (and middle America) by marrying the underage Myra (Winona Ryder), whose book provided the source material. Thus biased, it doesn't show the great balls it should, but Quaid amps it up.
Danish director Annette K Olesen's acutely observed tragicomedy about a morose widower (Jørgen Kill) struggling to cope with the sudden death of his wife and the messy sex lives of his grown-up children. Semi-improvised and shot docu-drama style, Minor Mishaps is another slight but engaging addition to Denmark's healthy school of bleakly comic post-Dogme realism.
