DVD, Blu-ray and TV

Straining to balance bog-standard biopic with anarchic art expression, Julie Taymor's biopic of Frida Kahlo is crammed with exquisite cinematic diversions (dream sequences, hallucinations, animated Kahlo paintings) while simultaneously stultified by the need to plod through Kahlo's life with startling apathy. Wild teen, bus crash, crippled, Diego Rivera, lots of sex, arguments, affair with Trotsky, big show in Mexico, the end.

For years, it was believed that no footage survived of the pioneering American Folk Blues Festival tours of Europe in the early '60s. Now a vast cache of performances has miraculously turned up by the likes of John Lee Hooker, Sonny Boy Williamson, Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf. Magic moments, every one.

In this quasi-autobiographical account of the tortured filming of A Ma Soeur's sex scenes, formerly dour feminist director Catherine Breillat holds tongue firmly in cheek as she demolishes the petty vanities of 'movie people' (including, gamely, her own honed auteur persona) while simultaneously celebrating the alchemy of movies themselves.

James Foley back on form with a nimbly entertaining, fleetingly noir, conman romp. Ed Burns, Rachel Weisz and gang unwittingly rip off sleazy crimelord Dustin Hoffman, and are forced to pull a bank heist for him. Andy Garcia floats around, countertwist follows triple-bluff, but for all the cleverness it's pacy and energised, with a smattering of drop-dead one-liners. Makes you want to like it.

The Damned were always a proficient and exciting live band, and they still are. However, their air of danger disappeared with Rat Scabies, and it's disturbing to find a keyboard-playing goon with a perm and a drummer in a gorilla costume compounding Sensible's permissible buffoonery.

Derek Jarman's 1979 version of Shakespeare's final play is suitably 'camp' and 'punk', starring Toyah Willcox and Heathcote Williams, and culminating in Elisabeth Welch singing "Stormy Weather" to a bunch of jolly sailors. It's visually flamboyant and wants badly to be sexy, but it's aged dreadfully, and its shock tactics seem a bit silly now.

Michael Winner's 1972 Cold War thriller manages to be built entirely from clichés, yet is almost completely incomprehensible. Burt Lancaster is the seen-it-all CIA man on the run through Europe from superiors who want him dead, pursued by his protégé, cat-loving contract killer Alain Delon. Muddy, but the stars tough it out, and if you've ever wanted to see Lancaster in blackface, dressed as a priest, this is your film.

Zappa's late-'70s antics and muso wanking redeemed only by sexy claymation

Gory, sentimental parable about honour and redemption in 'war-torn' Africa, with Bruce Willis' hard-bitten Navy SEALS sacrificing themselves for gorgeous doctor Monica Bellucci and a column of predictably long-suffering refugees. Director Antoine Fuqua—who helmed the terrific Training Day—clearly had higher aspirations, but it's more Wild Geese than Wild Bunch.

You'll be—yes—giggly at how truly grim this really is. It's embarrassing watching the ego-addled Ben Affleck straining to show us what a stud he is for pulling J-Lo. The block Jenny's from is clearly made of wood, for her acting is equally dire in a would-be comic thriller from Martin Brest, who even calls in Pacino and Walken for cameos. To no avail.