A faultlessly fun genre picture.

Shines out as a rough diamond, a masterpiece of British cinema undeniably worthy of its classical title.

Demons and Demons 2 are classic (if that’s the right term) examples of what happens when any pretence at style or subtlety goes out the window, in favour of in-your-face carnage which is so over-the-top that it is no longer remotely scary, but just plain nauseating.

The editing, too, is rough around the edges, but it all adds to the sense of madness that pervades El Salvador – a sense that only grows the more intense the further that Boyle journeys into this Central American heart of darkness.

It’s the committed turn from Day-Lewis and Hanif Kureishi’s socially-astute, Oscar-nominated screenplay that manages to compensate for the film’s technical shortcomings, alongside the (then) landmark casual representation of a gay relationship on screen.

The true winning formula, however, is found in Voight and Roberts’ double-act. Their eccentric characters are funny, violent and heartwarming all at the same time, where we root for them despite the fact that they’re basically psychopaths.

That’s not to say that it’s a complete wash-out. The film comes to vivid life during Remo’s ridiculous yet hugely entertaining training sequences, and there are flashes of inventiveness and personality elsewhere. It’s just a shame that more often than not, the film feels like a stunt performance showreel – complete with distracting pre-CG concealing wire work – with not enough investment in character or pacing.

Paul Verhoeven’s first English language film Flesh + Blood is bloody, cynical and unrefined, but indicative of his later satirical tendencies.

The most commendable aspect of the The Return of the Living Dead is its ability to combine horror and comedy rather than allowing the different elements to become intermittent and the tone inconsistent.

As a piece of extraterrestrial-tinged whimsy, Lifeforce occasionally shows weak signs of life, but in the end it falls well short of achieving classic status.

A solid, stark, cheerless rendering of hard-boiled storytelling. It’s historical filmmaking at its most candid and its most pragmatic.

This third entry is undoubtedly the crowning glory in a series of films that could hardly be described as classics of the genre, yet are never anything less than gloriously entertaining.

Streets of Fire is fairly devoid of anything resembling a cohesive plot or lacking even a shred of subtext. It exists purely as pop action cinema, sweeping you up with a fevered enthusiasm and an overpowering desire to entertain which proves incredibly difficult to resist.

Pieces may not be in the same league as the slasher classics but fans of the genre will find much to enjoy in this knowingly silly exercise in day-glo splatter.

With a ludicrous plot that wouldn’t look out of place in a 80s American Saturday morning kids cartoon, this is the very epitome of B-movie zaniness.

Ultimately, the attempt to over-deliver on themes leads to a serious under-delivery of dramatic impact. This is a disjointed film, inexplicably a classic for some, that fails to engage with modern audiences.

Tarkovsky possessed a sensibility for, and mastery over, the cinematic form that few directors – before or after – have been able to match; a mastery evident in almost every sublime frame of Mirror.

Despite sharing the stylistic trappings of so many 1980s urban comedies – Three Men and a Baby, Big, Crocodile Dundee – Tootsie transcends its generic conventions with a wonderfully nuanced turn from Hoffman, a terrific supporting cast that includes Bill Murray and Jessica Lange, and a screenplay that is as sensitive as it is funny. Tootsie’s finely balanced writing is one of the film’s greatest strengths, being consistently funny without ever turning the central premise into a gag.

The grimy, crime-ridden cesspool of New York in the 1970s and early 1980s is a well-worn cinematic setting, but in her debut 1982 feature Smithereens, indie director Susan Seidelman used guerilla filmmaking techniques and a faux-documentary style to unearth the vitality and the verve of urban life at the bottom.

Arguably Andrei Tarkovsky’s finest masterpiece, the Russian director’s 1979 film Stalker is the culmination of a career-long preoccupation with memory, trauma and the relationship between subjective perception and physical reality.

A grandiose title which suggests some kind of a smutty coming-of-age epic, but in reality only manages to deliver the grubby goods sporadically.

When Danny and Stu are on-screen together – The Escape Artist is immensely enjoyable.

To modern audiences the nostalgia and issues seem dated and trite. Whilst it touches on several interesting themes, Colin Welland's script only succeeds in establishing the tension of the two conflicting characters. He fails to truly engage with the issues at hand, and most surprising of all is how this sporting saga of triumph over adversity fails to ever uplift.

The film‘s sparse narrative exists to simply connect one action set-piece to the next, with sporadic breathing space in between. It’s the kind of undemanding entertainment which was enthusiastically lapped up by viewers during the early video rental era.

The latent wonder of Southern Comfort lies in Hill’s dangerously direction and a script that spits and curses like a troop of undomesticated delinquents.

Richard Marquand opts largely for more intimate surrounding and manages to squeeze out some memorable moments of Hitchcockian suspense and tension.

Raiders of the Lost Ark, the first in the series from Hollywood's own golden idols George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, is still the strongest by far and remains a thoroughly rousing and nostalgic delight to return to.

It's hokey as hell in parts, and the director sometimes shows an uncertainty in tone (resulting in some performances which are pitched a little too broadly) but those imperfections lend an endearing quality to the film.

Funny, exciting, and a little too long, Drunken Master is as charming as it is unbalanced, but its martial arts choreography remains unmatched.

Although many rightly claim it to be the greatest sports movie of all time, Raging Bull’s praise should not merely be confined to one genre, as it is unquestionably one of the finest pieces ever committed to film.

Beneath the video nasty hysteria lies a horror of substantial craft and skill. Its iconic synth theme is on a par with the work of Goblin, whilst its rich cinematography makes the very most of the film’s luscious locales.

The main hook of The Long Riders is clearly in the casting, but this never feels gimmicky in a film that attempts to balance the pastoral and the brutal. It’s a noble ambition and one which works for the most part; there are occasions upon which it means a jarring switch of tone but largely the timbre remains consistently elegiac.

A resolutely offbeat film which offers a richly rewarding and affecting viewing experience if you’re willing to embrace it’s esoteric flourishes.

Herzog may shepherd the creative output, but its Kinski’s impassioned misrule that makes Nosferatu, the Vampyre truly terrifying.

The In-Laws, while not quite a classic is a terrifically inventive and consistently funny comedy, with an oft-imitated but rarely matched star chemistry.

The Brood sees the undisputed king of body horror honing his visceral eye, whilst at the same time offering up several truly iconic images that have quite clearly endured.

Later remade as The Bird Cage, this first adaptation of Jean Poiret’s play is as moving as it is hilarious in its depiction of moral hypocrisy and familial love.

Cimino’s drama does far more than simply function; it’s an awkward, uneasy paean to a dying class that will soon be destroyed by the oncoming march of globalisation

A delight; a silly B-movie with a smart script and an amusing anti-authoritarian undercurrent.

The Driver is a film of types and trends; a cinematic expression of our basest narrative impulses. Directed with remarkable economy, the seasoned Hill keeps everything as tight as possible.

Some films, though very much of their time in style and approach, are timeless in their ability to unnerve. De Palma’s The Fury is one such fine genre exercise.

If you can forgive the cardboard villains and suspicious editing, there is plenty here to hold your interest.

Elevating silliness to the level of profundity, House doesn’t so much serve its swirling madness to you as it dunks your head into a cauldron full of it.

Eaten Alive is plagued by Hooper’s endlessly strange directorial choices, particularly when it comes to getting performances from his leads. His efforts confound rather than disturb.

Network is an outstanding satire that has become more rather than less relevant with each passing year. It is bitingly funny, whip smart and as mad as hell.

Featuring McClure, Cushing and Monroe, these films based on novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs highlight that author’s penchant for adventure stories.

It was Shivers that laid the groundwork creating the blend of sex, distorted psychologies and horror which became Cronenberg staples and his signature style in the years to come.

The choice of casting Bowie as Newton is inspired - the androgynous star perfectly suiting the role of the space visitor. Bowie - in his first silver-screen appearance - excels, creating a perfectly suited sense of tragedy and melancholic ambiguity.

A meandering, almost impenetrable tale of sweaty strip joints and sleazy gangsters.

Scorsese’s direction always keeps us uncomfortably close to Travis’ subjectivity, whether we’re prowling night time Manhattan or gazing into a glass of Alka-Seltzer until the whole world disappears into the healing hiss.

Barry Lyndon is a rich cinematic experience which fully deserves to once more be seen on the big screen and enjoy its status as one of Stanley Kubrick’s greatest achievements.

Its honest and forthright depiction of mental illness, combined with Nicholson’s tour-de-force bull in a china shop performance, mean that it has lost none of its power to provoke and entertain in the four decades since its release.

Hard Times may not have grown in stature to the extent where it will be mentioned by fans in the same breath as the director’s more revered titles, but it’s certainly worth a punt and is an absolute must for Hill completists.

The film’s final shot of Little Edie dancing alone on the filthy floorboards of her rotten hallway is as poignant an image as can be imagined. Simultaneously humorous, pathetic, and triumphant, it is the unconscious statement of a person railing against the world, lost in the maze of her own past and the uncertainty of her future, at once hopelessly deluded and consciously defiant.

F for Fake is a sometimes maddening, always brilliant disruption of the conventional documentary.

Add to the mix gregarious powerhouse producer Dino De Laurentiis, plus regular Redford directorial collaborator Sydney Pollock and, unsurprisingly, the resulting film is a cracking thriller.

With a fantastic stunt team, a gamely macho star and some wonderful editing, Rollerball is so convincing, urban legend had it there were fatalities during the shoot.

Jaws is still terrific and has lost none of its bite.

It is the masterful ways in which Altman weaves doubt, hard truths, and holds up a mirror to the hypocrisies of contemporary America, that elevates his 1975 film to be one of the decade’s greatest cinematic achievements.

Combining the director’s key interests in dysfunctional family units, social stratification and the seething undercurrent of violence inherent in all positions of power, Coppola’s mafia sequel not only succeeded in dwarfing its still terrific predecessor in terms of drama and scope, but also brought together De Niro and Pacino on screen for the first (but thankfully not the last) time.

An exceptional film anchored by love and set alight with the unpredictability of mental health, this is a must for Cassavetes fans and newcomers alike.

Four decades after its release, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre still justifies its place in the pantheon of all-time horror greats.

It’s an offbeat masterpiece that reveals the dark heart of Britain through the perennial tension between social progress and the burden of the past.

Eastwood and Bridges handle the tricky character transitions well, playing the broad material for the back rows while hinting at the inner darkness. Cimino’s Thunderbolt and Lightfoot beckoned in the strange birth of a true auteur, and it’s one well worth digging into.

The Conversation, however, feels rather more like watching a an acting masterclass than a true movie masterpiece.

Unlike some of the other blaxploitation titles from that time, Foxy Brown is more than just a curio piece. That’s partly down to its iconic lead, but it’s also due to a strong feminist attitude which exists within that riotous, eager-to-entertain, exploitation framework.

Stylishly shot and full of blood spraying from slashed necks, shoulders and stomachs, Lady Snowblood is a thoroughly enjoyable and arty exploitation flick which has deservedly gone on to become a cult hit.

Revolving around the omnipresent theme of grief (and adapted from Daphne du Maurier’s short story), the film composes a ghostly melancholic reflection on this profound human emotion.

Budgetary restrictions offer a narrow visual scope which isn’t helped by the plodding, stagy pace (maddeningly slow at times).

Playtime attacks the good taste of understanding by making you understand the importance of both absence and presence that coexists in a modern shared public space and a gradually disappearing private space.

The Offence is almost the definition of murk, unrelenting and unforgiving.

Like many of the films from that era, Coffy hasn’t aged particularly well, but it’s still an entertaining snapshot of the shifting sociological changes of that time wrapped up in crowd- pleasing B-movie.

An effective thriller, Sisters is an intense tightly executed slasher, which fans of the directors later work will revel in.

The Harder They Come‘s two defining traits – violence and style – inform almost all of Ivan’s behaviour as he adopts the fashions and nihilism of the heroes of American and European cinema. Yet the world around him remains dully ambivalent and cruel in ways more complex and unpredictable than the characters he replicates.

Pink Flamingos remains a delightfully repugnant cinematic treasure. Watching Divine as she struts her stuff amongst the genuinely dumbfounded residents of downtown Baltimore, perfectly encapsulates with Waters was reaching for with the film.

There’s a dark streak of comic absurdity running throughout Harold and Maude that serves a dual purpose; it gives the film its unique, heightened tone, but it also conversely grounds the more whimsical element by hinting at a greater darkness beyond the events portrayed within.

Granted, the gratuitous nature of the hyper-violence is not for everyone’s stomach, including mine in moments. What is undeniable is the rigour to which Kubrick conducted his creative team, actors and himself to offer a new approach to filmmaking. As Burgess wrote in the novel “The colours of the real world only seem really real when you watch them on a screen” wholeheartedly matches Kubrick’s graphically engaging ninth feature.

As far as dramas of this kind are concerned The Panic in Needle Park is, in my view, without doubt one of the most thought-provoking ever committed to film.

It’s often very amusing, sometime surreal, and the script is chock-full of some wonderful zingers, delivered with razor-sharp timing by the magnificent Stephens.

With little action taking place for the majority of the film, this slow boiling story is more of an insightful character study than a heart pounding thriller.

Not only emblematic of independent American cinema, but, released in 1969, is the definitive statement on the death of the 60s.

True Grit’s brilliantly crafted moments of wild and frenzied action, hilarious dialogue (courtesy of Portis himself) and beautiful cinematography (from cinematographer Lucien Ballard) helped it to compete with the hugely popular film’s of Leone.

Pit Stop certainly couldn’t be accused of being high art, but it’s a helluva lot of fun, offering an entertaining snapshot of that schlocky, drive-in era, complete with an unexpectedly dark ending which flies in the face of the usual heroic cinematic conventions.

The Producers is so effusively inappropriate and so damned funny it is one of the highest examples of low comedy.

Pre-dating the release of Dennis Hopper’s 1969 American counter-culture classic Easy Rider by two years, Boorman’s Point Blank is also a very trippy, psychedelic affair. Marvin fending off two assailants behind the colourful, swirling backdrop of an avant-garde jazz gig is an evocative snapshot of that period, and just one of the many fetchingly abstract moments this strange and beguiling picture has to offer.

The total effect of these sequences is the feeling of hanging out with Dylan and his entourage. This is perhaps Don’t Look Back‘s greatest trick – convincing its audience that the Dylan we see here is anything other than a column of air: elusive, shifting and perpetually enigmatic.

The work bears the burden of Classical Hollywood, making it not only a film about two people decoupling, but a striking example of forms in combat, struggling for a dominant voice.

Just over fifty years after A Man for All Seasons won six Oscars including Best Picture and Best Actor for Paul Scofield, Fred Zinnemann’s adaptation of Robert Bolt’s stage play has found unique points of modern relevance.

A flawed film to be sure, but one with flashes of inspiration, occasionally stunning visuals and a Shakespearean sense of claustrophobia.

Like the best films from its genre, Seconds acts as a potent parable and posits an intriguing idea.

Truly one of the most emotionally devastating films to have ever graced the big screen, Au Hasard Balthazar is an exemplary example of Bresson’s art that transcends its symbolic reverie to Christianity to become an eloquent prayer for the potential power of cinema to truly move us.

It never pierces beneath the frivolous surface of the insular society it creates and it is this peculiar lack of drama, doubt or mystery that marks it out as a curio, certainly in reflection of contemporaneous masterpieces by Godard or Antonioni. Where Darling does feel vital and pertinent is in its treatment of celebrity as a goal unto itself, something to be coveted at all costs.

What stands out most in Siegel’s The Killers is its unfaltering commitment to pulp fiction.

Throughout, Ozu strikes a touchingly profound note whilst imbuing proceedings with his usual playfulness.

Fox and Bogarde bounce sharp dialogue back and forth and are captivating as the psychosexual tension increases between them. Through subtle visual clues Losey artfully blurs sexual boundaries to create one of cinema’s most memorable relationships.

Kubrick’s film is the most accurate and timeless portrayal of a world facing mutually assured nuclear destruction, and paradoxically accomplishes this feat not through a realistic study but through the blackest surrealism.

Ahead of the pack must be the winning duo of Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn, whose performances in director Stanley Donen’s masterpiece Charade is as intoxicating as a dry martini.

Though It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World struggles to justify its ludicrous length, there are just enough laughs, cameos and memorable set pieces to garner a recommendation.