Adam Smith

Suspiria is the perfect antipasto.

While The Godfather delivers certainty and a comforting dramatic resolution, Once Upon A Time In America delivers a profound kind of mystery. While Coppola's film delivers answers, Leone's asks questions. It lingers and plays on the mind; its meanings shift and change like a faded memory or a half-remembered dream.

Gorgeously realised, gripping and doused in De Palma’s familiar technical wizardry, this is only let down by the director’s equally familiar uninterest in the humanity of his characters.

Sure there are niggles, the most obvious being the length, which could have been reduced by trimming the prison sequences, but in the end this may be his finest moment so far which, by default, puts it in as having a strong claim on the title "best action movie ever made". Really.

This story is emblematic of the passion, obsession and solitary poetry of surfing.

Thoughtful, moving tale which places its spectacular effects within a humane, elegiac story.

Disappointing.

Nobody does vapid bollocks as enjoyably as Tony Scott, and while this isn't as inventive as "Man On Fire" or as compelling as "Crimson Tide," it's still the right side of dumb.

The distinguishing feature of what many people consider to be the funniest movie ever made is the sheer number of gags.

An exhilarating riff on the cop-thriller drama by a director at the top of his game -- Herzog is also at his most accessible here -- powered by an incendiary performance from Nicolas Cage. A very bad lieutenant, then. And a bloody good film.

At its heart, Candyman terrifies because of its ideas. It sinks its horrific foundations very much in the real world of poverty and racial alienation.

A director who can't decide whether he's aiming for high comedy or gritty noirishness combine to shoot the whole caboodle squarely in the foot.

The comparisons are inevitable, so let's get them out of the way. Hero is a better film than "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon."

Certainly difficult to define, this period piece messes with genres, power relationships and your head.

Millions, like all kid-powered movies, stands or falls in the first place on the performances of its child actors, and Alex Etel and Lewis McGibbon both delight.

Scorses's skill as a scene-maker are fully evident and Lewis' quietly rageful performance offers to out-do De Niro in intensity, but neither funny enough to be an effective black comedy nor scary enough to capitalise on its thriller/horror elements, The King Of Comedy sits awkwardly between the two.

Competently made, and enjoyably played. But you do really end up wondering what the point was. Cinematic déjà vu is the most likely response.

The Keep wears its crap bits proudly on it's sleeve, its qualities are more hidden and emerge only once you've watched it, dismissed it and then found that it's atmosphere refuses to disperse.

Superb performances and a compelling script have made this film a strange mix of Oscar-winner and Cult Classic.

If you can see beyond the eye-scorching neon and don't mind the desecration of a superhero icon, there's a few crumbs of enjoyment to be had.

Smart, sassy and sweet. This showed John Cusack's promise as a romantic lead, and some.

Gilliam's dystopian epic remains among his best, blending his trademark visual inventiveness with a vicious brand of social satire. Unique and essential.

Painful, funny and beautifully acted, by Jeff Daniels particularly, who gives a career-best performance.

Huge ghostly fun, and a fine achievement from the early days of CGI.

As an exploration of cultural discord, Nagisa Oshima's film is pretty thin stuff, despite its reputation. Bowie is a potent irritant, but Tom Conti is solid in support and Sakamoto's mesmerising score sparkles anew.

A delightfully obscene alternative to the usual Christmas tosh.

A second-rate slasher, but it shows the odd bit of directorial promise and a great deal of ambition.

The film's amazing strengths easily outweigh the odd outbreak of hammery.