After all the talk of paying tribute to original 1970s cops David Soul and Paul Michael Glaser, Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson throw out any genuine resemblance to those freewheeling dudes and simply take the piss for 90 minutes. There are some canny gags and clever pastiches of buddy-movie clichés, but they give up on it halfway through and just cruise camply.

Amiable comedy westerns starring James Garner, from 1969 and 1971. In the first he brings order to a lawless gold-rush town; in the second he's a conman passing off his sidekick (Jack Elam) as a deadly gunslinger. Both are droll delights, with amazing supporting casts that include Bruce Dern and Walter Brennan

Johnny Cash is the criminal holding a banker's wife to ransom in this extraordinarily low-budget 1961 B-flick. Originally christened Door-To-Door Maniac, Cash is only too convincing as its eponymous gun-waving psycho, a-leerin' and a-sneerin' and even a-singin' the title tune. Look out, too, for an absurdly young Ron Happy Days Howard as the irksome brat who saves the day.

A labour of love for Jonathan Demme who spent seven years following Haitian human rights activist and broadcaster Jean Dominique. An agronomist by background on an island run by bandits, Dominique's struggle to bring justice to his homeland ended in a hail of bullets outside Radio Haiti in 2000. For all Demme's efforts, you never feel the film quite cracks its subject, but it does throw a grim spotlight on Haiti's interminable agonies.

Enjoyably hammy sub-Hitchcock suspense thriller from 1982 in which Klaus Kinski's plan to kidnap the grandson of a wealthy American explorer is thrown into chaos, placing him and co-conspirators Oliver Reed and Susan George under siege by a black mamba. Kinski is suitably unpleasant, as is the wince-inducing moment when Ollie receives a fatal snake bite where no bloke wants to be bitten.

It was inevitable that Oliver Stone's trip to Havana to shoot 30 hours of interview with Fidel Castro would unleash a storm of controversy. Hawkish US commentators couldn't miss a chance to condemn Stone, and HBO, having bought the film, then decided not to show it. There's no doubt the director, who shares centre stage with Fidel himself, looks a little too pleased with himself for landing this coup, and as he develops a chummy camaraderie with his host, issues like Castro's human rights record and his laughable claim that Cuba is in some way democratic go without scrutiny.

Two-disc set celebrating Manchesters baggy-trousered dance-rock primates

Made in 1993 and directed by Ray Müller, this three-hour documentary features extensive interviews with Hitler's favourite director (then a sprightly 90), responsible for such brilliant but pernicious propaganda as 1934's Triumph Of The Will. Wonderful, horrible stuff, especially watching her squirm at Müller's inquisitions regarding her enthusiasm for Nazism.

When her daughter's kidnapped by murderous types in this odd, grisly gothic western, frontierswoman Cate Blanchett saddles up and gives chase, accompanied by estranged father Tommy Lee Jones. A tiresomely grim offering from Ron Howard, whose fussy, pointlessly tricksy direction is a consistently irritating distraction. Very poor.

Using dodgy reconstructions, minimal footage and recently released FBI files, conspiracy theorist Alex Constantine suggests that Hendrix may have been taken down to Brian Jones' swimming pool and force-fed red wine by Elvis till he croaked. No, not really, but the theories aired in this sensationalist barrel-scraping pile of docu-dross are no less preposterous.