Terry Gilliam's epic 1991 fable has both admirers and detractors: it now seems ambitious, unique and charming. The superb Jeff Bridges is a burned-out DJ who's at first irritated then revitalised by oddball visionary tramp Robin Williams and his hallucinatory Arthurian quests. The latter's hyper-babbling (like the director's flourishes) holds because Bridges is so magnificently solid and believable.

Burr Steers' debut as writer-director is perhaps a little too self-consciously off-kilter, but the film's humour is satisfyingly sour and the performances of a large ensemble cast are impeccable. Pitched somewhere between the macabre and the merely eccentric, Igby stars a convincingly debauched Kieran Culkin as the film's eponymous rebellious teen.

This sequel to 2001's The Fast And The Furious delivers the same brand of out-and-out nonsense as the first instalment without ever pausing to miss Vin Diesel or Rob Cohen, the breakthrough star/director combo who went on to deliver the less entertaining XXX. Shaft director John Singleton is on hand to whip up some hip hop flavour. Enjoyably brain-dead tripe.

Bob Rafelson's epic that nobody remembers. Beautifully shot and cast with Patrick Bergin as Burton and Iain Glen as Speke in their historical expedition to find the source of the Nile. The former compares wounds with Bernard Hill's Livingstone; the latter's a Victorian publicity hound. The journey is a bit National Geographic, but the hardships register.

An immaculate digital restoration job, including muffle-free audio, silky silver monochrome and original 'pillarbox' framing, adds an unnerving contemporary kick to Fritz Lang's 1931 masterpiece. Detailing the slavering hunt for bug-eyed child murderer Hans Beckert (Peter Lorre) through a dark and hostile, shadow-filled Berlin, this is the original, if not the best, serial killer flick.

Directed by the hugely uncompromising Robert Aldrich, this ferocious post-Wild Bunch western stars Burt Lancaster as a world-weary army scout at odds with callow cavalry officer Bruce Davison on a mission to hunt down the errant Apache chief Ulzana, who with a small band of warriors has broken out of the reservation and are now looting, killing and raping their way across the bleak southwestern territories. Much tampered with by the studio on its original 1972 release and the subject of heated debate about its depiction of the Apaches, the film is in fact both complex and intelligent in its

From Shohei Imamura—one of several 'legendary Japanese masters' none of us have ever heard of—comes a genuinely surreal fable of a man searching for hidden treasure who finds a complex erotic gush-out with a lonely young woman who's turned on by water. It's often beautiful to look at, though the orgasmic writhing sections are unintentionally hilarious.

Potentially ridiculous premise about a cabal of gamblers who harness the power of, er, luck, is admirably sustained by gutsy turns from Leonardo Sbaraglia as a lucky plane crash survivor mentored by lucky earthquake survivor Eusebio Poncela in order to take revenge on casino owner and lucky holocaust survivor Max Von Sydow. Fractured narrative, arty mise-en-scène and punchy pacing from director Juan Carlos Fresnadillo also help.

Gung-ho navy flyboys Willem Dafoe and Brad Johnson, disillusioned with America's half-hearted prosecution of the war in Vietnam, attempt to hurry the conflict to a conclusion by taking it upon themselves to bomb Hanoi. Hilarious macho nonsense from John Milius at his most demented, in other words.

One of the most revered of Krzysztof Kieslowski's "10 commandments" series, the late director's determinedly bleak parable investigates a pointless murder and a lawyer's subsequent near-existential defence. Out the same year ('88) as A Short Film About Love, its intensity made the Polish maestro a global name.