Director Claire Denis rediscovers her personal vision after the debacle that was Trouble Every Day. With echoes of Godard's Weekend, it's an erotic tone poem in which a woman stuck in a rainy Paris traffic jam picks up a man for a mutually satisfying one-night stand. That's the entire plot, but the auteur's intensity makes every moment telling and tactile.

Kang Woo-Seo's admittedly stylish regurgitation of every Hollywood serial-killer/renegade-cop thriller cliché follows recalcitrant and psychotically violent detective Kang on the hunt for a mac-wearing knife-wielding slasher. Kang is a surly Kitano-esque bully, the killer is a narcissistic investment banker, and the whole movie is completely charmless.

A silent classic from the halcyon days of German expressionism, Der Letze Mann is FW Murnau's dreamlike melodrama of hubris—a big-budget 1924 masterpiece of light, shadow and set design. Restored to a crispness that's worthy of '40s film noir, it stars Emil Jannings as a shambling, walruslike doorman who's demoted to the hotel lavatories. Slow and emotionally laboured but fluid and spectacular to watch.

Slow-burning, eventually gripping Canadian study of gambling addiction starring Philip Seymour Hoffman. His bank clerk commits massive fraud to fund high-roller trips to Vegas and Atlantic City, while girlfriend Minnie Driver's left in the dark. As comeuppance looms nearer, Hoffman's a junkie for one more roll of the dice. Well worth a flutter.

This storm-tossed 1937 gem was the first flowering of Michael Powell's nearmystical vision of the British landscape. It tells of the death of one tiny, remote Scottish island, as young folk abandon old ways for the mainland, but Powell's cinematic treatment of the scudding light and shade of nature—part raw, heroic documentary, part mythic poem—raises the stakes to infinity and beyond. Magic realism, indeed.

The closest that Jean-Luc Godard ever got to directing a star-studded blockbuster, Le Mépris, shot in Cinemascope and featuring Brigitte Bardot, Jack Palance and Fritz Lang, follows the making of a crass adaptation of Homer's Odyssey while ridiculing commercial cinema and giving Palance some cracking lines: "You cheated me Fritz! That's not what's in the script!"

Fighting free from the monumental shadows of Woody Allen and Whit Stillman, Gary Winick's Tadpole—hewn from that same Upper East Side social milieu and following the vaguely familiar unrequited infatuations of Aaron Stanford's 15-year-old Voltaire-quoting, stepmom-fancying preppy—is 77 unapologetic and mostly witty minutes of romantic ephemera.

Macca talks with his usual earnest charm in this documentary about 1989's Flowers In The Dirt. Casting Elvis Costello as the sarcastic Lennon figure during sessions for "My Brave Face", McCartney leads his band through selections from the album, The Beatles and classic rock'n' roll.

In recent years John Landis' frat-boy farce has had much to answer for, its legacy spawning a glut of imitations with twice the gross-out factor but half the humour. The original, now 25 years old but still rampantly immature, has real comic gusto, and allowed the late, great John Belushi to belch out a memorably madcap performance. Set in 1962, it asks us to root for the scruffy, skiving outsiders (the term "slackers" still hadn't been coined) on a campus ruled by the monied, suave elite.

Horrible in theory, actually pretty funny in fact. Carrey and Daniels wouldn't do a sequel, so two lookalikes were contracted for a slung-together, conceptually tasteless prequel to the Farrelly brothers' hit farce. So they're at school, being heroically stupid, totting up comic misunderstandings and unwittingly doing good deeds. Sweet and titter-worthy, despite itself.