William Thomas

It’s hard to remember that this extremely unexceptional film was a major hit back in the 70s.

Suffused with the pessimism of Taxi Driver, Blue Collar is one of the most brutally honest films to have come out of 70s Hollywood.

At times puzzling due to the diverse panorama of subject matter, the film nevertheless corners touchy issues more than it flinches them.

Cronenberg's sleaziest, funniest film, jammed with juicy gore and infectious shocks.

The twist-filled storyline, which digs up nasty secrets all over the show and offers a satisfying range of suspicious suspects and a truly disgusting killer, remains gripping, and the excellent, understated lead performances don't harp on the racial angle in that embarassing fashion which makes so many Socialy Significant films instantly dated.

Despite a top-notch cast performing well, and bravely in the case of Knightley, this is an austere, somewhat repressed movie. It never really gets under the skin in the way Cronenberg does at his best.

Humerous, but doesn't gel as well as Levinson's previous efforts.

Pollack does right to put his faith in one man and a whole lot of mountains. The result is impressive.

This was the film which fixed Wayne's image forever as a tough-as-leather patriot with a well-hidden heart.

A light and lively showcase for a very under-rated double act, Road To Morocco was also unusual for its time in constantly drawing attention to itself as a movie.

The film falls into the gap between the manifestly unique qualities of the musician in performance and the near complete mystery of an intensely withdrawn private life.

A solid, enjoyable, beautifully animated Disney movie, but one not quite out of the top drawer.

Leslie Dixon’s script is effective, though sometimes seems stranded between the domestic humour and the big issues being played out. Still, engaging, undemanding stuff.

Likeable Robert Townsend — who also co-wrote and directed — is a delight in this patchy but consistently enjoyable chronicle of a young black actor’s efforts to crack Hollywood.

Well at least we get to see him in more leather in this one. Though one could quite possibly live without it.

The second half occasionally descends into melodrama, but for the most part this is bleak, non-judgemental, riveting stuff.

The quintessential '50s rom-com.

A small film, but fresh and immensely charming.

Like Driving Miss Daisy this deals with a white employer and a black servant in the times of revolution, not only that but in both films it's a jaded view with the servant being loyal and not a 'friend'. Besides that small problem, it's a moving film with a steady performance from Spacek, but by the end it has definitely become Goldberg's film.

Even while laughing at lines like, “Black people don’t do bungee-jumping, it’s too much like lynching,” you’re still left thinking that the funniest man in the building was not actually in front of the camera.

Road movies should be pleasurable and free-spirited, but Candy Mountain drags too much weight around.

The gaudily gory, virtuoso, hyper-kinetic horror sequel/remake uses every trick in the cinematic book, and confirms that Bruce Campbell and Raimi are gods.

Steinbeck himself praised it for reaching the parts his book couldn't. Need a better endorsement?

A divisive film - too overwrought for some, perfectly emotionally pitched for others - how much it will appeal will depend on how romantically inclined the viewer is feeling.

In flashback, we see the pair's friendship develop through their childhood, but despite the film's heavily symbolic tone, little is revealed about either of the characters or indeed the Vietnam War.

A whimsical but optimistic tale of mistaken identity, it starred the Material Girl as the cheekily irresistible Susan, and turned Rosanna Arquette (repressed housewife Roberta) into a star.

Mamet’s gem of a movie, with a great final twist, goads the Godfathers with just as much invention and wit as the much higher profile Married To The Mob.

Apart from a sprinkling of Wilde's legendary bons mots and a few fleeting visits to theatres where audiences cheer Lady Windemere's Fan, there is disappointingly little here to suggest the complexity of his mind, the range of his writing or, crucially, the importance of being Oscar.