When compared to Baz Luhrmann's hysterical synapse-splitting kitsch, there's something strangely reassuring about Franco Zeffirelli's stodgy '68 classicist version of Romeo And Juliet. Here, the many pleasures include Michael York's fantastic cheekbones as Tybalt, a cherubic Bruce Robinson as Benvolio, and a plethora of badly choreographed sword-fights. Even the infamous shots of Olivia Hussey's 17-year-old breasts seem quaint rather than smutty.

Arguably the two most powerful kitchen-sink dramas of the early '60s were both adapted from the works of author Alan Sillitoe. Saturday Night And Sunday Morning (1960), directed by Karel Reisz, provided British cinema with an equivalent to Brando thanks to Albert Finney's electrifying performance as marriage-wrecking factory-hand Arthur Seaton ("I'm a fighting pit-prop of a man who wants a pint of beer, that's me!"). But Finney perhaps lacked the surly sophistication of borstal boy Tom Courtenay in Tony Richardson's later The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Runner (1962).

John Sayles scripted this Jaws-onland rip-off, with Robert Forster as the cop chasing a giant man-eating monster down in the sewers. Forster's dogged, and some of the set pieces are pretty nifty, but the plot's farcical, and this isn't strong on intellectual content despite its obligatory eco-message. The sequel is a made-for-TV retread, of practically zero interest.

"The Beatles tours were like Fellini's Satyricon," John Lennon once remarked, and seeing the director's 1969 masterpiece of decadence again, you can only wonder how they made it through alive. A bleak but visually stunning crawl through the paranoia, bisexuality and corruption of ancient Rome, it's hardly easy viewing, but stunning all the same as a lurid portrait of a world tipped over into the realms of madness.

A monumental 150-minute attempt at tracking China's cultural transition from Mao-ish uniformity to the eccentricities of Deng Xiaoping's quasi-capitalism, Platform (1990) follows four wannabe performers from Fenyang over a long and turbulent decade (1979-1989). Unlike director Jia Zhang-ke's excellent 1997 drama Xiao Wu, Platform has a bizarre disregard for character and narrative coherence.

A former Uncut film of the month, shamefully under-promoted by the British film industry. Imaginatively based on the cult BS Johnson novel, it stars Nick Moran as a misanthropic bank clerk who elects to wreak vengeance on society for perceived injustices. A sort of Billy Liar with fire in its belly, it's intense, inventive and, finally, explosive.

Brilliant comedy about snobbery and class, set in 1947: with food rationing (and the black market) still in operation, chiropodist Michael Palin and his piano teacher wife Maggie Smith discover the only way to climb the social ladder is to steal a pig. Great cast, but Alan Bennett's screenplay's the real star.

Four of French innovator Besson's finest pre-Hollywood offerings

The crowning glory of the Anthology project, this DVD box set features the 10 hours of footage originally seen on TV and video, plus an extra 80 minutes on a fifth disc. A relaxed Paul, George and Ringo, talking to interviewer Jools Holland, relate The Beatles story from top to bottom with humour, a wealth of anecdote and personal revelation, and a surprising willingness to relive the arguments, the bitter financial battles and the split. Inter-cut with historic clips of the Fabs in action, this definitive documentary arrives with improved picture quality and stereo, and 5.1 surround sou

James Coburn's last film is a well-meaning but hardly unforgettable drama about a father's search across America for the owner of the gun that killed his daughter. The narrative structure is contrived, and although it's only 86 minutes long, you feel yourself growing old watching it.