DVD, Blu-ray and TV

The ever-eccentric Richman continues his idiosyncratic musical odyssey. Recorded live in San Francisco in 2002, Take Me To The Plaza mostly comprises material from his last album, Her Mystery Not Of High Heels. Performing just with guitar and drums (something he was doing way before The White Stripes) his timing and wit are immaculate. But there's only "Pablo Picasso" (recently covered by Bowie) and "Girlfriend" from the old days.

You'll never eat frogs' legs again. This darkly witty 2D animation feature is full of cute moments and haunting images, if perhaps not the life-altering classic it's been hailed as in some quarters. The rotund Madame Souza buys her shy grandson Champion a bicycle, and years later, after much strictly regimented training, he's competing with the best. Then, in a fit of surrealism, he's kidnapped by shadowy men in black. Granny and faithful canine Bruno defy all logic to cross oceans and metropolises to rescue him.

Spike Lee's blazing take on 'last hours of freedom' tale

The latest of several Bob Marley documentaries on the market contains little footage of the man himself. But Spiritual Journey makes up for it with revealing interviews from the likes of son Ziggy and former Jamaican premier Michael Manley, and such fascinating archive material as BBC2's Newsnight report on Marley's funeral in 1981. The result is a thoughtful film that intelligently explains just how and why he became the Third World's first genuine superstar.

In this quasi-autobiographical account of the tortured filming of A Ma Soeur's sex scenes, formerly dour feminist director Catherine Breillat holds tongue firmly in cheek as she demolishes the petty vanities of 'movie people' (including, gamely, her own honed auteur persona) while simultaneously celebrating the alchemy of movies themselves.

James Foley back on form with a nimbly entertaining, fleetingly noir, conman romp. Ed Burns, Rachel Weisz and gang unwittingly rip off sleazy crimelord Dustin Hoffman, and are forced to pull a bank heist for him. Andy Garcia floats around, countertwist follows triple-bluff, but for all the cleverness it's pacy and energised, with a smattering of drop-dead one-liners. Makes you want to like it.

The Damned were always a proficient and exciting live band, and they still are. However, their air of danger disappeared with Rat Scabies, and it's disturbing to find a keyboard-playing goon with a perm and a drummer in a gorilla costume compounding Sensible's permissible buffoonery.

Quirky variant on the Frankenstein riff. Klaus Kinski is a scientist working on a space station with his android assistant Max404 (Don Opper, who co-wrote). Max is going through android adolescence—he's restless, sulky, curious about sex. Then a trio of escaped convicts invade, and one of them's a girl. Funny and compelling, and worth catching for Opper's geeky performance alone.

Hard to tell what's the main feature and what are the extras in this excellent four-part, three-hour package from Canada's heroes of spooked alt.country. There's an hour-long documentary on the Junkies' 2001 world tour, a Quebec festival appearance, Margo and Michael Timmins playing an acoustic set and the same pair in lengthy conversation to make it a must for all Cowboy Junkies fans.

This late John Wayne movie has The Duke as a Chicago cop trailing his man to London, while a hitman seeks to fulfill a contract on Wayne's life. It's middling, fish-out-of-water fare, the kind of bawdy, roustabout stuff Wayne did far too often, but by way of compensation you get Richard Attenborough as Wayne's finicky Scotland Yard sidekick.