Directed by Jimmy Page, it took a year of intensive research to assemble this five-and-a-half-hour digital re-tooling of the Zeppelin legend. Previously, the only officially-sanctioned live footage was the 1976 film The Song Remains The Same. Here, a trawl of the band’s own unreleased archives combines with reclaimed bootleg material to tell the Zep story in chronological fashion, via 30 performances from four memorable concerts?the Albert Hall (1970), Madison Square Garden (1973), Earls Court (1975) and Knebworth (1979). And the ‘Hammer of the Gods’ sounds louder than ever as dodgy old footage is miraculously upgraded to modern requirements, creating what is an impressive new benchmark in rock archaeology. Among the highlights are the sonic storm created by Page’s bowed guitar on “Dazed And Confused”, Bonham’s exploding drums on “Whole Lotta Love” (both from 1970), a sparkling acoustic segment including “Going To California” and “That’s The Way” which sounds far superior in 5:1 surround sound than it ever did in the echoing cavern of Earls Court, an electrifying “In My Time Of Dying” from the same venue and a mighty “Kashmir”, which ignites the Knebworth performance. Fascinating, too, to track Plant’s rapid transformation from West Bromwich ing

The Clash imploded just as promo videos became the norm, which is a shame, as their “Rock The Casbah” short, shot on an oil derrick, is more timely than ever in the wake of the current Iraq conflict. But the really great thing about this collection is the numerous incandescent live performances culled from throughout their meteoric career.

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”). The lack of narration and often shaky?occasionally irksome?camerawork only serve to make the off-guard moments all the more arresting: hunting (alone, of course), paying respects at the site of Wounded Knee, killing time on the bus. Twenty-two songs in all.

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. There are separate chapters on the history of Sun Records and Chess, some early footage of the Stones and interviews with the likes of BB King and Sam Phillips, whose memories of Howlin’ Wolf and others are fascinating.

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.

Pussywhipped by Madonna into remaking Lina Wertm

A powerful and timely snapshot of a superpower traumatised by war and social strife, Michael Moore’s Oscar-winning documentary about gun control and violence in American life could hardly have arrived at a more pertinent time. Made in the shadow of one national tragedy but clearly lent extra impetus by 9/11 and war in Iraq, Bowling For Columbine is a sprawling, bullish, occasionally harrowing work of polemical entertainment. But it’s certainly no worthy liberal manifesto as Moore blends iconoclastic humour, cartoon sequences and confrontational journalism in an attempt to understand the darkest fears and desires of his fellow Americans. After putting hard questions to camouflaged militia members, trigger happy suburbanites, trainee teenage terrorists and permanently injured victims of schoolyard shootings, he finally secures a stunning ambush interview with National Rifle Association spokesman Charlton Heston. Frequently hilarious and audacious in its scattershot targets, Moore’s most accomplished film to date demands to be seen and enjoyed.

The 1985 film that launched the careers of the Brat Packers. This finds Emilio Estevez drooling over Andie MacDowell, Demi Moore coked out of her box and Rob Lowe being annoying and fratboyish?like much of the script. A must for those who thrill to the antics of self-absorbed young Americans.

A return to classic Mike Leigh terrain, this examines desperation, loneliness and family tragedy on a grim south London housing estate. Leigh regulars Timothy Spall and Lesley Manville are long-suffering parents who manage to invest their bleak lives with tenderness, truth and humour. Leigh may sail dangerously close to self-parody here, but nobody does it better.