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."
Adapted from a Robert Ludlum potboiler, Sam Peckinpah's demented final movie from 1983 ostensibly centres on TV reporter Rutger Hauer, who, coerced by sinister CIA men Burt Lancaster and John Hurt into selling out old pals, allows them to rig his home with cameras to monitor their weekend reunion. It's soon clear Peckinpah has far more interest in Hurt, brilliant as the betrayed rogue agent whose maniacal plotting drives the film over the edge. A bizarre pile-up of double-triple-crossing, it's almost impossible to follow; but then, confusion and panic are what the film is about.
Bafflingly shite title belies one of the great courtroom flicks of all time. A 1960 Stanley Kramer classic based on the true story of a Hillsboro professor arrested for teaching "God-bashing" Darwinism, it features effortless turns from Spencer Tracy and Fredric March as the duelling lawyers, some able support from a de-cheesed Gene Kelly, and a script bristling with one-liners.
Mike Hodges' career has ranged from the classic (Get Carter) to the crap (Morons From Outer Space). This 1989 thriller about a psychic (Rosanna Arquette) who foretells violent deaths would be dark and vaguely gripping if it wasn't marred by clunky plot shifts and a hopeless performance from Tom Hulce. When he and Arquette smooch, it's like they're both kissing Hitler.
Stephen Fry adapts Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies as a rom-com. Great cast of luvvies (notably Peter O'Toole), but the central romance between Emily Mortimer and Stephen Campbell Moore evokes no more sympathy than the endless parade of aristocratic jazz babies subsisting on champagne and "naughty salt". A lively mess.
Jean-Pierre Melville's penultimate film, from 1970, is the crime movie's Once Upon A Time In The West, a dark meditation on the iconography of hats, trenchcoats, guns, and the rituals of the heist. Alain Delon is the glacial master thief planning to take down a Parisian jewellery store, though he knows the cops are closing in. A steely, moody piece.
Sharon's cancer treatment underlies these episodes, producing scenes of poignancy and humour as the family come to terms with her illness. Obviously darker than its predecessor, this also sees a certain loss of naivety, with the Osbournes increasingly aware of good camera moments. The success of the first series has led the teenagers into extreme territory, with Jack, the "man-whore", heading off the rails while Kelly struggles with celebrity.