Reviews

When we rave about the force of nature that is James Woods, we tend to neglect this cautionary 1988 Harold Becker tale of how cocaine destroys the careers and marriage of a silver-tongued salesman and his wife (Sean Young, with whom, notoriously, Woods had a history). We shouldn't: it absolutely rocks, with Woods in his element as a cocky crack-up waiting to happen. And then, explosively, happening. Electric.

Superior then-and-now compilation ensures the circle remains unbroken

Premier league rap producer makes his dazzling solo debut

Mixed bag from McGuinn's immediate post-Byrds career

Moody Blues man's mid-'70s missives, produced mostly during the group's five-year break

Classic curveball detective thriller is re-released

For all his bravado, Vincent Gallo's reputation as a lunatic genius rests chiefly on this (not always intentionally) hilarious/absurd 1998 psalm of self-pity. The writer/director stars as a just-freed convict who forces Christina Ricci's dancer to pretend to be his wife to impress his folks. It's beautifully shot, and support from Mickey Rourke and other cult figures is staunch.

Macaulay Culkin (contractually refusing to kiss any men—fact) blows hard but fails to convince as camp '90s New York club cyclone Michael Alig. Seth Green's equally berserk, but when Alig brags of murdering his buddy/dealer, everyone assumes he's kidding. Much gay disco muzak, and cameos from Marilyn Manson and Chloe Sevigny, but this is no Last Days Of Disco or even 54.

Straightforward biopic of country chanteuse Patsy Cline, with a chain-smoking Jessica Lange in the lead and Ed Harris as her drunken husband. Excellent performances from both, with good period detail and great music (Lange miming along to original Cline recordings)... but otherwise very dull indeed (domestic bickering followed by a plane crash).

After 2002's storming Hollerin' At A Woodpecker, Minnesota-based Weaver's latest compounds his promise. The song, essentially, remains the same—chilly steel, sparse banjo, stroked acoustic—but these vignettes sound like gutter-pulpit sermons in a disturbed netherworld. Weaver's voice—which makes Lee Marvin sound like Aled Jones—lends biblical portent to the most mundane detail. Standout track "John Martin"—its protagonist duped by a sinister drifter—is claustrophobic as hell. A one-man Brothers Grimm with no happy endings. Enjoy.