In an ideal world, Blondie would have existed only on video. The golden Deborah, adored by the camera, would now live forever as a shimmering punk siren, blessed with a voice of both honey and crystalline clarity. Harry fronts Blondie at their 1983 farewell concert in Toronto uncomfortably, inelegantly, and sings without any of the vitality of the sassy little Kittens whose success has prompted this release.

Clint Eastwood's classic final word on the western genre

The rap trio who defined cool in the '90s for want-not-to-be-middle-class white boys have probably released this two-disc video compilation just in time, before they become horribly passé. Fair play to them, though, these are 18 of the best pop promos ever filmed, from Spike Jonze's cop show pastiche for "Sabotage" through to the robot-battling epic "Intergalactic" and the '60s action spoof for "Body Movin'" (featuring a great chicken-in-the-face scene). Camp as hell. Are we sure they're not gay?

A stand-out hit among the current new wave of globally fê ted Latin American features, Fabián Bielinsky's fine caper thriller fucks with audience perception like a pumped-up David Mamet puzzler. A motley team of conmen and crooked cops progress from petty shop swindles to plan a rare stamp heist, but as the stakes escalate and the cast of characters broadens, nagging questions about who's hoodwinking who throw up dazzling wheels within wheels.

Tony Richardson's 1961 take on Shelagh Delaney's kitchen-sink drama of schoolgirl pregnancy is a travesty. Delaney wrote her play at 18, but its sweet sadness—heroine Jo's taste of honey is brief indeed—is obliterated by the director's clumping Brit-new-wave clichés. Fairground anyone? Rita Tushingham and Murray Melvin remain facially memorable, but acting honours go to Dora Bryan.

Remembered now as Michael Caine's debut, playing a posh officer opposite Stanley Baker, Cy Endfield's epic recreates the massacre of the Welsh redcoats by the Zulus at Rorke's Drift. Jack Hawkins runs the gamut from demented missionary to drunk, and the battle scenes are terrific.

Four magnificent hours of documentary narrated by Kris Kristofferson which trace the history of indigenous American music throughout the 20th century. Thrilling ancient footage of Muddy Waters, Hank Williams, BB King, Woody Guthrie and dozens of others drawn from the ranks of the true pioneers of blues, gospel, cajun, folk and country makes this an essential purchase for anyone with a passion for America's musical heritage.

Highly absorbing film about respectable family man Vincent (Aurelien Recoing) who, after losing his job as a consultant, invents a prestigious new career and betrays close friends with fictitious investment deals. Juggling fact with fiction creates ever-spiralling tensions until Vincent's double life closes in around him. A deceptively profound drama.

One of the great Sidney Lumet's thoroughly hypnotic New York movies, where you can smell the sweat of the tension and the barely-repressed panic in the streets. An Oscar-nominated Al Pacino is in hell-for-leather form. Made in '73 and based on Peter Maas' book of the trials faced by real-life cop Frank Serpico, who ended an 11-year career by blowing the whistle on his colleagues, it follows Pacino as the committed crusader exposing corruption in the force. He's abused, ostracised, and ultimately has to flee the country.

The quintessential '90s indie band take a creditable tilt at posterity on this two-disc set. Thirteen delightfully silly videos and two live sets provide the bulk, but the real gem is a detailed and affectionate documentary (reminiscent of Fugazi's Instrument) tracing Pavement from shambolic beginnings to nominally slicker stardom, of a kind. For connoisseurs: plenty of lunatic first drummer Gary Young and Stephen Malkmus interviewed in a sauna.