DIRECTED BY George Clooney

STARRING Sam Rockwell, Drew Barrymore, George Clooney, Julia Roberts, Rutger Hauer

Opens March 14, Cert 15, 113 mins

“My name is Charles Hirsch Barris, I have written pop songs. I have been a television producer. I am responsible for polluting the airwaves with mind-numbing puerile entertainment. In addition, I have murdered 33 human beings.”

Chuck Barris was the inventor of The Dating Game and The Gong Show. He also claims to have been a CIA hitman. His bizarre autobiography, filmed here by George Clooney (for Clooney and Steven Soderbergh’s Section Eight production company) interweaves two aspects of the American post-war story?happy, crappy light entertainment and murderous black ops?to suggest not just a personal but a national schizophrenia. As a film, this is a hugely impressive showcase for Clooney’s skills and those of four actors at the top of their game. It’s also probably the first and last movie about a game show host-cum-assassin. Until The Les Dawson Story gets made, anyway.

Barris (Rockwell) starts the story of his “wasted life” with the day he cons his way into a job in TV and persuades someone to let him make The Dating Game. After making some changes?”We can’t have black men getting blow jobs on television”?it’s a hit. Soon afterwards he gets approached by CIA fixer Jim Byrd (Clooney) to join the Company. Initially Barris resists the idea?”I’m not killing people, my future’s in television!”?but before long he’s a fully trained-up hitman, chaperoning the show’s winning couples to specially-chosen romantic locations where he can slip off and do a spot of killing.

The story becomes fairly surreal and dreamlike at this point, raising the question?is this truth, lies or madness? When Russell Crowe imagined himself caught up in 1940s noir-style chase scenes in A Beautiful Mind, he was implicitly deluded. Here Barris’ exploits behind the Iron Curtain are part John le Carr

OPENS MARCH 14, CERT 15, 130 MINS

Director Alan Parker’s hand stays near-invisible as a crisply literate script gives Kevin Spacey a field day. The film wavers when its climax tries for one twist too many, and because a crucial plot point depends on an otherwise thoroughly efficient woman’s car breaking down (doh!), but until then enough brain and muscle keep it motoring. It focuses on Gale (Spacey), a Texas intellectual and opponent of the death penalty who’s incarcerated for the rape and murder of fellow activist Constance (Laura Linney). Was he stitched up by wrathful conservatives, or does his past prove he’s capable of evil? As reporter Bitsey (Kate Winslet) hears his confessions?his dalliance with a student, broken marriage, lapse into alcoholism?she struggles to clarify the grey areas. Parker coaxes the clues out, pinpointing intense moral ambiguities.

Spacey’s back to his best, spouting Socrates while drunk. You’ll forgive that shaky ending. Courageous, by mainstream standards.

DIRECTED BY Paul Schrader

STARRING Greg Kinnear, Willem Dafoe, Maria Bello

Opens March 7, Cert 18, 107 mins

While it could be darker, delve deeper, Schrader’s biopic of a celebrity sex maniac in the ’60s/’70s (ie:a man just two decades ahead of the mainstream) is an intriguing, decidedly odd diversion. It’s fun for reasons you don’t associate with the director of Affliction and Cat People (it’s stylish, chic, bubbly) and weak in ways you don’t anticipate from the writer of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull (it shies away from asking why the central figure’s such a fuck-up). Michael Gerbosi scripted, but Schrader brings subtle shudders to the show.

An obstacle to Brit enjoyment is that we have little idea who “TV star” Bob Crane was (see also: Chuck Barris, Andy Kaufman, Frank Abagnale). Stateside, he was the star of Hogan’s Heroes?a bizarre, popular sitcom set in a Nazi POW camp. Kinnear plays Crane/Hogan with cute wit. As his celebrity grows, his marriage collapses and he follows his urges. Which involve humping anything that moves. In the age of free love, part-time drummer Bob’s a champion of freedom.

The frolics fog over when Bob’s rapport with seedy friend John (Dafoe) becomes too intense. John’s a technology whiz, teaching Bob how to film his trysts and coax girls into “performing” to camera. Initially his gadgetry and zeal charm Bob, but soon he susses John’s a parasite, using the ‘star’ for access to groupies. Boogie nights become bogus nights. His second marriage, to the open-minded Patti (Bello), crumbles. As Bob’s fame declines, with a hypocritical showbiz set damning his sexploits, John’s pushed aside. By ’78, Bob’s found murdered in an Arizona motel:John’s the chief suspect.

“All I think about all day long is sex; a day without sex is a day wasted,” trumpets Crane, lent ingenuous charm by Kinnear. Paradoxically, Schrader doesn’t get under his skin, or into his psyche: he’s a meretricious gigolo, Dirk Diggler with a CV.

At root, the film’s as coy about swinging?and addiction?as the mainstream icons of its highlighted era. Intentional irony, maybe, but it makes for drab passages in an often vibrant, colourful movie. It could’ve zoomed in.

OPENS MARCH 28, CERT 15, 90 MINS

Rebecca Miller probably loathes being described as “Arthur Miller’s daughter and Daniel Day-Lewis’ wife”:her fine second film as writer/director, based on her own short stories, should ensure we stop being so patriarchal. A big winner at Sundance, it at first shapes up to be man-hating, but soon progresses to an intellectually superior plane of all-round people-hating.

Its three tales (inventively shot on DV) are melancholy and Carver-esque, coaxing some agile acting. Kyra Sedgwick plays a glum, battered wife who reclaims her identity through a trashy waitressing job and trashier affair. Parker Posey, sublimely funny and mean, is an ambitious publishing high-flyer who cheats on her too-nice husband, while in the trippier, fuzzier third segment, an alienated Fairuza Balk, after a near-death experience, learns to be trusting but not too trusting.

The Posey fable is far and away the best, as her lovable/loathsome shark with an underbelly experiences “a toxic blend of anxiety and elation”. Despite an intrusive, self-consciously ‘literary’ voiceover, and some na

OPENS MARCH 28, CERT PG, 94 MINS

A whimsical, mawkish piece of blarney, Evelyn boasts one or two lively performances (notably from Alan Bates as a rugby-loving dipsomaniac lawyer) and a suitably cornball ending, but suffers hugely by comparison with Peter Mullan’s similarly themed, tougher and more honest The Magdalene Sisters. Like Mullan’ s film, it’s inspired by a true story.

Pierce Brosnan plays Desmond Doyle, a feckless, hard-drinking but good-hearted joiner in ’50s Dublin whose wife has just left him. The moment she leaves, the social services come snooping around and put his kids in care. Evelyn (Sophie Vavasseur), his cherubic daughter, is left at the prey of stereotypically vicious nuns while his two sons are thrown into orphanages. Des takes on the Irish legal system to get them back home.

Rather than expose the snobbery and cruelty of the establishment in any meaningful way, Aussie director Bruce Beresford shamelessly sugars his tale, indulging in woeful flights of sentimentality. When Sean Connery took breaks from James Bond, he’d test himself by playing radical trade union leaders (The Molly Maguires) or mutinous soldiers (The Hill). It doesn’t say much for Brosnan’s taste or courage that, on his sabbaticals, he appears in fare as feeble and soft-centred as this.

DIRECTED BY Michael Winterbottom

STARRING Jamal Udin Torabi, Enayatullah

Opens March 28, Cert tbc, 88 mins

After his exuberant?if self-indulgent?24-hour trip to Madchester, Winterbottom follows his postmodern story of Factory Records with an altogether more ‘ worthy’ effort. But don’t let that put you off; if you ever saw his 1997 examination of the Bosnian conflict Welcome To Sarajevo, you will know that Winterbottom is not one for moralising, sentimentality or political protests. Moving further east than Europe, In This World is the unsparing story of two Afghan refugees who set out on an astounding odyssey to London from their adopted country of Pakistan. Like 24 Hour Party People, it’ s shot on DV and highly improvised?but here such freedoms don’t lead to the sprawling scenes that blighted the second half of its Manc predecessor. Winterbottom remains focused throughout?the result replicating to an even more acute degree the documentary feel he gave to his London-based drama, Wonderland (1999).

Jamal is an orphan born into a refugee camp, earning a dollar a day working at a brick factory. His cousin Enayatullah is to be sent to England to give him the chance of a better life?and, as he speaks no English, Jamal offers to act as his guide. Their transport is a chain of trucks, lorries and container ships, and they take a route not recommended in Lonely Planet guides. Arduous isn’t the word for this trek as they battle with boredom and bullets in equal measure. Eliciting two fine naturalistic performances from his two non-actors, Winterbottom recreates guerrilla-style the cross-continental journey refugees face as they move from Pakistan to Iran, Turkey and western Europe. Moving but not mawkish.

DIRECTED BY Roger Donaldson

STARRING Al Pacino, Colin Farrell, Bridget Moynahan

Opens March 28, Cert 12A, 114 mins

When Colin Farrell signs up as a trainee CIA operative in Roger Donaldson’s slick spy caper, he has more to deal with than weapons instruction, role-play exercises and psychological evaluation. He also has to cope with shameless grandstanding from Al Pacino giving another of those shouty, screen-hogging, over-the-top performances that have now become his trademark. Hoo and indeed haa.

To his credit the young Irish actor just about holds his own against Pacino’s vintage ham, combining confidence and scruffy machismo with an undercurrent of vulnerability that makes a refreshing change from Hollywood’s usual rock-jawed leading men. It’s this clash of styles that makes The Recruit worth watching?as opposed to a hackneyed screenplay that recycles the staple ingredients of the genre.

Tapping into the wave of paranoia that’s swept the US since 9/11, Donaldson’s film is eerily reminiscent of Tony Scott’s Spy Game. Curiously, though, the main point of reference seems to be Harry Potter, with CIA facility “The Farm” curiously resembling a grown-up version of Hogwarts. It’s here that tech whiz James Clayton (Farrell) learns the ins and outs of espionage at the feet of veteran spook Walter Burke (Pacino). Extracurricular activities are supplied by fellow recruit Layla (Moynahan), who offers romantic relief from surveillance lessons and torture training. Soon, however, James is up to his neck in real spies after Burke enlists his aid to flush out a mole at the Agency.

What follows (car chases, double crosses, computer files smuggled with ridiculous ease out of Langley) won’t win any prizes for originality, and anyone who saw Donaldson’s far superior Pentagon thriller No Way Out will see the big twist coming a mile off. But while The Recruit feels undeniably familiar, there’s a solid professionalism at work here that ensures two hours of engrossing, if formulaic entertainment. And when all else fails there’s always Al, becoming more and more like his Stella Street caricature with every picture.

OPENS MARCH 14, CERT 15, 107 MINS

Some time in the not so distant future, a Third World War has decimated the human race. To ensure peace will reign ever more, the survivors have, um, banned classical music, burned all books and paintings and shot all the puppies. Who said there were no great ideas left in Hollywood?

The idea is that all human emotion is banned; all the inconvenient, messy stuff that gets us het up and ready to drop bombs on each other is forbidden. A drug called “Prozium” (geddit?) quells the emotions. The elite of the police force are the clerics, and the deadliest of them all is John Preston (Christian Bale), a man with no feelings. Bale conveys this emotional emptiness with a look of sullen distaste, as if someone just off camera is operating on his piles. When he starts missing his dose, this gives way to an expression of horrified panic. Perhaps that was when he realised he was starring in the most ludicrous, awesomely stupid sci-fi film ever made.

OPENS MARCH 14, CERT 12A, 103 MINS

Sibling directors Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s last film, Rosetta, won the Cannes Palme d’Or in 1999 and inspired a new labour law in their native Belgium. A hard act to follow, but the brothers once again transform simple material?in this case, an exploration of forgiveness?into an urgent, compassionate and compelling work.

Olivier Gourmet plays a carpentry instructor at a rehab centre, and Francis (Morgan Marinne), a teenager who killed his son, is about to be placed in Olivier’s care. Restricted psychological access allows us ample opportunity to speculate as to what’s going on in Olivier’s head, while the handheld camera forces us to feel?and think?ourselves into his moral dilemma. With an artfully artless style, the Dardennes’ brand of spiritual suspense will either suck you in or leave you cold. Either way, the abrupt climactic grace note is hard-earned and resonates far beyond the film’s minimalist confines.

OPENS MARCH 21, CERT 15, 97 MINS

Backed by veteran director and Uncut hero Monte Hellman, Fogbound is Dutch director Ate De Jong’s clammy, claustrophobic, ultimately flawed psychosexual three-hander.

Travelling through a spectacular mountain range by van, married couple Ann (Orla Brady) and Leo (Ben Daniels) and friend Bob (Luke Perry) hit a wall of dense fog. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, they’re forced to confront their feelings about one another. Ann wants a child, but Leo doesn’t. Ann talks divorce. Bob’s been in love with Ann for a long time but he’s never told her. De Jong builds the tension well (despite obvious references to Polanski’s Knife In The Water) but when Leo is compelled to reveal his former life as a sadistic French Duke, the film starts to owe more to Black Adder than Bergman.

Luke Perry is surprisingly plausible; relative unknowns Daniels and Brady battle it out in a manner more suited to fringe theatre?the added dimension of Ann and Leo’s mutually dependent S&M marriage adds thicker fog to this already dense film.

DIRECTED BY Roger Avary

STARRING James Van Der Beek, Shannyn Sossamon, Ian Somerhalder, Kip Pardue

Opens March 28, Cert 18, 110 mins

Adapting Ellis is a mug’s game: you can’t win, right? Less Than Zero was too bland; Mary Harron’s American Psycho, a decent stab, was slammed for being macabre when in fact it played safe. Avary’s attempt at Ellis’ most underrated book is a blazing, belligerent, cynical, twisted, howlingly funny and grotesque movie which blows the roof off the sucker. It breaks all rules of narrative and taste, and boasts a raft of heroic performances from teen heart-throbs and Dawson’s Creek types whose careers may never recover. Van Der Beek, for one, deserves the keys to the universe for such self-damning fearlessness that he’s either the new Dennis Hopper or will flip burgers for the next decade.

What remains of the story beneath Avary’s deconstruction involves a bunch of jaded New England students doing drugs and each other. Sean Bateman (Van Der Beek) is bored, bisexual, exploitative. Paul (Somerhalder) secretly loves him, but once dated Lauren (Sossamon), who’s caught Sean’s eye. She’s carrying on with a sleazeball teacher (Eric Stoltz), while pining for Victor (Pardue), who’s on a debauched tour of Europe. Crawling through a sea of pharmaceuticals, they casually screw each other, and themselves, up. Big time.

Ellis buffs will know Victor’s later the star of Glamorama, while Sean’s brother Patrick is the “American Psycho”. Avary’s screenplay winks at such links while racing headlong into its own pit of darkness. “Emotional vampire” Sean hoovers through his nights, oblivious to his failings. “Since when did fucking someone else mean I wasn’t faithful to you?” he asks Lauren, aghast.

Cackling at such narcissism, the film’s not blind to the horrors of reckless youth. (Or age?Faye Dunaway’s a stoned mom). Pre-credits, there’s vomit and date-rape: Lauren’s trapped in a self-deluding cycle which a deadpan portrayal renders more poignant. It’s unflinchingly true to Ellis’ comic nihilism.

With tricks like backward loops and multiple POV storytelling, Avary’s an electric director. This is an astonishing film about the end of civilisation, or about just another party. It’s rock’n’roll. Deal with it.