DVD, Blu-ray and TV

George Romero's ecological thriller from 1973 combines the social awareness of his zombie trilogy with horror that's much more effective because it's much more believable: when a biochemical weapon is accidentally released in a small Pennsylvania town, it sends the inhabitants insane, so the military are sent in to mop up. Genuinely unforgettable.

Robert Mitchum plays the world-weary captain of a US destroyer patrolling the South Atlantic, who becomes involved in a chess-like battle of wits with noble U-Boat commander Curt Jürgens. Dick Powell's tense 1957 WWII movie is notable as one of the first to accord the Germans some respect, unfolding as a game of cat and mouse that will be played to the death.

After a series of stunning cameo performances and a flamboyant turn opposite Robert De Niro in Flawless, Philip Seymour Hoffman makes full use of his first unopposed lead, running the gamut of grief as a successful techie crushed and drawn to petrol-sniffing by his wife's suicide. Fraught, funny, hysterical and truly touching.

Like something director/star Clint Eastwood and his trusty Malpaso production company knocked off in a weekend, Blood Work is a soulless chunk of Dirty Harryology. Yet again playing the geriatric-but-noble card, Clint is former FBI profiler Terry McCaleb, who's brought out of retirement to catch a nasty serial killer who once gave him a heart attack (don't ask!).

Ling (Samuel Hui) and his tomboy sister are charged with keeping a sacred scroll from the clutches of their self-serving Sifu and the scarier-than-they-sound Royal Eunuchs. With multiple directors and more characters than it can handle, the cracks show, but the swordplay and comedic touch proved popular enough to spawn two sequels.

Abel Ferrara made these almost simultaneously in '95, and they're especially intense even for him. The more successfully operatic first (Chris Walken, Chris Penn, Vincent Gallo) follows a family of '30s gangsters on a revenge mission; the second's a gory monochrome vampire flick starring Lili Taylor (and Walken again). Nietzschean, neurotic.

Two vintage Alastair Sim comedies released as a double-pack. In 1956's The Green Man he plays a political assassin whose plans are interrupted by the arrival of bumbling vacuum cleaner salesman George Cole; in 1960's School For Scoundrels—based on Stephen Potter's One-Upmanship books—he teaches downtrodden nice chap Ian Carmichael how to get the better of dastardly cad Terry-Thomas.

Maria Ripoll's handsome 2001 remake of Ang Lee's Eat Drink Man Woman is anchored by the highly watchable Hector Elizondo as the widowed kitchen maestro with three wayward daughters and a frisky neighbour (Raquel Welch) who clearly wants to turn him into a naked chef. The plot has been sweetened a little, but the performances are fine and the photography sumptuous.

Memento man Christopher Nolan's elegant cop drama with Al Pacino magnificently muted as the hollow-eyed LA cop, sent to Alaska to hunt a killer and forming a strange relationship with Robin Williams' skin-crawlingly ingratiating psycho.

Bertrand Tavernier's epic (almost three hours) looks back at France's period of Nazi occupation from a movie-lover's perspective. A young screenwriter tries to subvert the German-controlled studios while juggling three women, and a director doubles as a Resistance fighter. It's a beautifully detailed and honest piece.