To explode a myth: in 1966 Antonioni's first English film was pitched not on the Italian director's vision or its meditations on the interface between reality and fantasy, but on its 'unflinching' portrayal of Swinging London—ie, much nudity. The original trailer, included here, makes that perfectly clear: it was popular because of breasts, not because it asked what 'meaning' meant. And photographer David Hemmings' romps with models and Vanessa Redgrave remain icons of "yeeeah, baby" wish fulfilment for lensmen everywhere.

Irrespective of the now infamous intra-generational doggie-doggie, this steely little tale concerning a granny (Anne Reid) and a horny builder (Daniel Craig) is a visceral attack from writer Hanif Kureishi on the hateful London middle classes. The merciless depiction of harsh money-grabbing sons and neurotic, self-obsessed daughters gives the flick its genuinely dark heart.

Arguably the Farrellys' best film, though already ageing badly. A bunch of set-pieces (Ben Stiller's zipper problems Cameron Diaz's innovative hair gel) linked by a ridiculous, overlong plot, it gets its big belly-laugh moments right and you tolerate the padding. Stiller's lack of vanity allows him to carry off sketches others would muff.

François Ozon's psychological thriller finds repressed crime writer Sarah (Charlotte Rampling) retiring to her editor's house in France to work on her new novel. Then his wayward daughter Julie (Ludivine Sagnier) arrives, shattering the calm. Sagnier does her best teenage temptress, Rampling's initial disapproval turning to fascination as Julie racks up the notches on her bedpost. Until there's a murder. Quietly clever.

The greatest chase thriller about a melon farmer ever! Charles Bronson is the melon man, prevented from gathering his crop when he's handcuffed to mafia hitman Al Lettieri. Escaping, Bronson wants to turn the killer over to the cops so that he can harvest his melons, but soon the hoods are after him. Directed in pulpy style by Richard Fleischer from an Elmore Leonard script. Bronson's melons look lovely.

Yikes—if you haven't seen this in a while, prepare to be disappointed. By '83, the Pythons' pioneering madcap humour had descended into reliance on pointless shock tactics. It may be bold, but it's not funny. Their guide to life and death—intelligent, sure, but self-congratulatory—includes copious vomiting, bleeding, organ removal and bouncing Benny Hill Show breasts. Not their best.

Dazzlingly confident '96 debut from The Royal Tenenbaums' Wes Anderson which follows the misadventures of an eccentric gang of wannabe Texan mobsters. It immediately established the Anderson template: deadpan delivery, solid colours, Owen and Luke Wilson, strong musical soundtrack, immaculately cluttered production design, leisurely pace, iconic costumes, and an eerie sense of timelessness.

This 1977 thriller—"All The Astronaut's Men", if you will—never delivers on its intriguing premise, infuriatingly. NASA fakes a Mars landing in a TV studio, then sets out to kill the crew to keep the truth a secret. James Brolin, Sam Waterston and OJ Simpson are the astronauts, Elliott Gould the journalist who comes to their aid.

Fritz Lang's seminal 1922 thriller unleashed cinema's first modern criminal, Mabuse, a shadowy underworld figure with a thousand faces. Combining technological genius with an almost occult ability to terrify, Lang's Mabuse is a sinister, manipulative mastermind. The 1933 sequel, The Testament Of Dr Mabuse, is even better, with Mabuse as a demonic Hitler figure. Everything from Bond to Blue Velvet starts here.

Pretty funny farce from the Farrellys: not back to their best, but at least regrouping. Greg Kinnear and Matt Damon are conjoined twins who leave smalltown life to seek fame in Hollywood. Evil Cher's mad scheme backfires, and they make it. But what they really want is love...awww. Sweet and slick, with fine gags like, "He's drinking; I'm the designated walker."