Tense and grim war manoeuvres from director Lewis Milestone. Richard Widmark brings hints of mania to his portrayal of a Marine lieutenant leading his troops into enemy territory, scouring a battered Pacific island for prisoners who can reveal the whereabouts of a Japanese rocket base. Plagued by migraines, Widmark is a tough guy, but constantly in touch with fear he tries to mask from his men, among them the more fully neurotic Jack Palance.

It's not an exhilarating concert. Even "The Boys Are Back In Town", "Jailbreak", "Waiting For An Alibi" and "Don't Believe A Word" lack lustre, as do Phil Lynott's eyes and the dynamics of the band. The audience is polite, excepting the odd permed headbanger. Uninspiring.

The small transit town of Nouadhibou lies between the desert and the sea in the African state of Mauritania. Here, Mauritanian director Abderrahmane Sissako explores the tug between modernity and tradition, adopting an image-heavy poetic style to examine themes of migration and exile, centred around the character of Khatra, a young man caught between two cultures.

Sad, funny and cynical, Billy Wilder's 1970 movie presents a classically Holmesian mystery—a missing person case which ends with the Loch Ness Monster—as cover for an exploration of the great detective's myth, seeking to identify the crippled man behind the machine-like facade. Beautifully shot, the movie was cut by the studio and ignored by critics, but it's gorgeous. Robert Stephens is a complex Holmes, Colin Blakely a most human Watson.

Impeccable 1948 Hollywood swan song from Preston Sturges detailing the destructive effect of marital infidelity on suave millionaire Rex Harrison (brilliantly unhinged). Naturally, there's polished badinage, snappy one-liners and physical comedy aplenty. But it's also curiously dark and modern—see Harrison mutilating his wife with a cut-throat razor, and forcing her to play Russian roulette.

Ten-year-old Paul (Harry Eden) is at home in a world of pimps and pushers, bargain basement hookers and fly-blown market cafés. He has to be—since his widowed mother traded mourning for a regular numbing dose of heroin, it's been Paul who has kept the family running, even if that means fetching Mummy her 'medicine'. Gillies Mackinnon's drama is admittedly bleak, but excellent performances and restrained direction make this a rewarding, if heart-wrenching, experience.

A triple bill of iconic horror: Boris Karloff's Frankenstein's monster, Bela Lugosi's Dracula and Lon Chaney Jr's Wolfman. Admittedly creaky, these black-and-white chillers from the '30s and '40s still boast amazing gothic sets, mesmerising atmosphere and some riveting performances. More enchanting than scary, the best of them—James Whale's 1931 Frankenstein—appears here in its uncut form.

Timely reminder, in the midst of all the Kill Bill hyperbole, of true balls-to-the-wall Tarantino talent—that sickly mint-green warehouse, those black suits, that red blood, the infectious music, the terrifying Hawksian machismo and, mostly, that dialogue: witty and crude, poignant and allusive, naturalistic and downright poetic. Nothing less than genius.

John Waters' first 'mainstream' film from 1988 was to be the last bow for underground star Divine, on epic form as the mother of the rebellious Tracy Turnblad (Ricki Lake, making her debut), who becomes a dance star on a teen TV show circa 1962 before transforming into a beatnik civil rights activist. Also featuring extraordinary cameos from Pia Zadora, Debbie Harry and Sonny Bono, this is an utter delight.

Exhaustive two-disc release of this superlative restored cut of producer/star Kirk Douglas and wunderkind director Stanley Kubrick's epic tale of the legendary slave-turned-rebel-leader. All together now: "I'M SPARTACUS!"