DVD, Blu-ray and TV

Filmed shortly before her death, this extended reminiscence from Traudl Junge about her time working for Hitler promises more than it delivers. Junge opens with a doubtless sincere condemnation of Hitler for his evil-doings and reproaches herself for failing to recognise the evil in him. You suspect she's still a little starstruck and her recollections of him depict a kind man, albeit with a lot on his mind. Banal, unilluminating.

François Ozon's psychological thriller finds repressed crime writer Sarah (Charlotte Rampling) retiring to her editor's house in France to work on her new novel. Then his wayward daughter Julie (Ludivine Sagnier) arrives, shattering the calm. Sagnier does her best teenage temptress, Rampling's initial disapproval turning to fascination as Julie racks up the notches on her bedpost. Until there's a murder. Quietly clever.

This six-part TV anthology, produced by Robert Altman in 1997, follows a pearl-handled handgun as it passes from owner to owner across America. The premise is strong, as is the cast (Martin Sheen, Randy Quaid and Kirsten Dunst), but the show never quite lives up to the first two episodes—"Columbus Day", in which James Gandolfini and Rosanna Arquette knock acting spots off each other, and "All The President's Women", directed by Altman in kooky mood.

For all their recorded lushness—and was there a more pristine '80s bauble than The Lexicon Of Love?—ABC never quite nailed the visuals. The Jerome K Jerome river-larks of "The Look Of Love" and cartoon capery of "How To Be A Millionaire" aside, it was disappointingly standard fare: Martin Fry doing lost and lovelorn while being cold-shouldered by aloof waifs. As the decade (and the hits) thinned out, the videos almost stopped trying altogether.

Nobody wants a painfully slow death: do you want to watch one, even if it's set against the crumbling beauty of Venice? Visconti's '71 adaptation of Thomas Mann's novel is a classic no one dares question, but its study of ageing composer Dirk Bogarde falling in unrequited love with a golden, fey young boy is stately and overwrought, and so enamoured of itself it forgets the audience. Perilously sluggish.

The greatest chase thriller about a melon farmer ever! Charles Bronson is the melon man, prevented from gathering his crop when he's handcuffed to mafia hitman Al Lettieri. Escaping, Bronson wants to turn the killer over to the cops so that he can harvest his melons, but soon the hoods are after him. Directed in pulpy style by Richard Fleischer from an Elmore Leonard script. Bronson's melons look lovely.

The hugely popular crime series continues to thrive, with William Petersen, Marg Helgenberger and team solving heinous murders by looking very intensely through microscopes at bloodied strands of fibre while beautifully back-lit. That one trick's wearing a little thin, but the crash-bang camerawork, designer violence and Vegas vistas keep it shinily seductive.

Capturing the ramshackle chaos and converse musical tautness of new millennium Fall, this professionally filmed gig in Blackburn from September 2002 is a connoisseur's delight of old faves ("Mr Pharmacist") and recent classics ("Two Librans"). A great fan souvenir, blighted only by Mark E Smith's foolish decision to allow some leery Mancoid guest singer to ruin "Big New Prinz".

The great French director Jean-Pierre Melville understood American movies better than the majority of Hollywood, and devoted himself to a remarkable series of terse tough-guy thrillers which claimed the term "noir" back for France. Shot on the streets of Paris dressed to look like Manhattan, this spare, razor-sharp 1962 affair has Jean-Paul Belmondo looking great as the doomed stool-pigeon at the centre of a web of deceit.

Yikes—if you haven't seen this in a while, prepare to be disappointed. By '83, the Pythons' pioneering madcap humour had descended into reliance on pointless shock tactics. It may be bold, but it's not funny. Their guide to life and death—intelligent, sure, but self-congratulatory—includes copious vomiting, bleeding, organ removal and bouncing Benny Hill Show breasts. Not their best.