Jean Cocteau's 1949 reworking of the myth of Orpheus (Jean Marais) portrays him as a beat poet torn between his art, his wife (Marie Déa) and the love of Death (Maria Casares) herself. The effects are a miracle of low-budget ingenuity, the dream-like imagery unforgettable: mysterious motorcycling assassins, poetry from beyond the grave on the radio, and all mirrors lead to the Underworld. A masterpiece.

Director Emir Kusturica assembled Johnny Depp, Jerry Lewis, Faye Dunaway, Lili Taylor and Vincent Gallo in the desert and waited for inspiration. Quite what he was on can only be imagined. The movie has its ups and downs, but does boast two prime pieces of Gallo-ana: a reenactment of Cary Grant's escape from a cropduster, and a classic set-to between De Niro and Pesci with Vinnie playing both parts. Mad.

Elmore Leonard's first modern fiction novel was originally filmed in 1969 with Ryan O'Neal in the starring role. It flopped. This remake (directed by Miami Blues' George Armitage) fares no better; it drifts aimlessly, while Owen Wilson's small-time crook, drawn into a relationship with the thrill-seeking girl of a local property developer, never engages your feelings. Morgan Freeman, Charlie Sheen and Vinnie Jones co-star.

Sam Fuller once claimed that the point of any opening sequence was to give the viewer an erection. Here we have Barbara Stanwyck in black, on a white stallion at the head of her 40 hired men. As lawman Barry Sullivan exclaims succinctly: "Whoa!" Shot in 11 days, in Cinemascope, this is Fuller firing on all cylinders, taking the '50s pulp western and squeezing more juice out of it than any of his contemporaries.

Roger Vadim brazenly raised the bar for unashamed hot nymphette action with his landmark 1956 debut, starring his then wife Brigitte Bardot as a horny St Tropez orphan who drives sophisticated men to violent destruction by rubbing her own breasts, lifting up her skirt and dancing with black men. The Betty Blue of its day.

From the mid-'30s, the film-makers' film-maker at his peak. Le Crime De Monsieur Lange is a hymn to the rebellious working class. La Bête Humaine (based on Zola's novel) is a prototype noir, with train driver Jean Gabin seduced by murderous Simone Simon. WWI classic La Grande Illusion casts Gabin as a POW bent on escaping a German camp run by Erich von Stroheim. It was banned by Goebbels, who labelled it "cinematographic enemy No 1".

Great, gritty, noir-ish French thriller from '82, a controversial sensation in its homeland. Writer/director Bob Swain (an American who'd lived in Paris for 20 years) casts Richard Berry as the undercover cop who uses informers to bust pimps. He presses prostitute Nathalie Baye to betray the alpha gangster. The climactic action recalls The French Connection.

Comedy punk heartthrob Ashton Kutcher's attempt to go 'serious' isn't as bad as it's been made out, though it owes plenty to every other go-back-in-time thriller. Vague chaos theory allows our boy to change his past and try to realign relationships with his father and his beloved Amy Smart. But things fall apart, and the mysticism's mystifying.

The epitome of love-it-or-hate-it cinema, Mark and Michael Polish's surreal account of a mid-'50s Montana town about to be submerged by dam waters has absolutely no hook for the viewer other than sheer admiration for the beauty of the landscape, a gutsy disregard for narrative pacing and the detached Lynchian performances. Proudly unique, nonetheless.

The adventurous Warp offer prize videos from the likes of Chris Cunningham ("Windowlicker", "Come To Daddy") alongside promos by, among others, fellow Sheffield alumni Jarvis Cocker. Lesser known but equally arresting, Jimi Tenor's "Total Devastation" and John Callaghan's "I'm Not Comfortable Inside My Mind" help make this an intriguing alternative history of one of the UK's most far-sighted labels.