King Lear re-enacted in modern-day Liverpool as crime boss Richard Harris, broken by the senseless murder of wife Lynn Redgrave, splits his empire between his two black-hearted daughters. The dialogue's got a touch of the Guy Ritchies and the violence is silly, but Harris—cunning, lean, leonine—commands the screen.

Handsome widescreen digital transfer for one of Sam Peckinpah's most underestimated films, 1975's angrily prescient satire on corporate America, whose ultra-cool surface belies the roiling fury at its bleak and bitter heart. James Caan and Robert Duvall are cynical operatives for a San Francisco-based intelligence agency, doing jobs too dirty even for the CIA. Early on, Caan is crippled by gunfire in a bloody double-cross and 'retired' from the company.

A dazzling epic with a dark and bracing tone, George Stevens' Giant details Rock Hudson's old-fashioned Texan cattle baron (and American national metaphor) as he races towards modernity, neck and neck with neighbouring self-made trailer trash oil-swiller Jett Rink (James Dean). Hudson's sometimes stiff, and the pacing is certainly stately, but it's worth it to catch Dean's final intricately self-conscious screen turn.

Keaton-esque Palestinian comedian Elia Suleiman's sporadically successful and loosely-bound compendium of sketches Divine Intervention features two lovers, from Ramallah and Jerusalem, who pass their romance at an Israeli checkpoint while a surreal world of humorous vignettes pass before them—some of which are sublime (like the Yasser Arafat balloon), others unsophisticated (like the Palestinian ninja who dispatches five Israeli henchmen).

Abel Ferrara's excoriating study of how a man wallowing in his own filth at rock bottom finds the way to salvation. In an utterly naked performance as the corrupt, drug-addled, self-loathing New York cop unwillingly turned around by the rape of a nun, a desperately committed Harvey Keitel goes all the way. Then keeps going.

Director Lynne Ramsay draws a mesmerising performance from Samantha Morton as the titular heroine, who discovers her author boyfriend has committed suicide on Christmas Day and passes his unpublished manuscript off as her own before heading off to Spain on an extended jolly. Naturally, serious complications arise. Dreamy and druggy but often difficult, this is an important, original film.

Great fun for surfers, but—considering it's made up entirely of scenic beaches and hotties in bikinis—crashingly inane tedium for the rest of us. A kind of Pointless Break for girls, directed by John Stockwell, it stars Kate Bosworth as the teen rebel surfer who wants to be just like all the other teen rebel surfers. A Ladyshave ad in thin disguise.

Funnier than it has any right to be (and co-written by the Austin Powers chaps), this gives Eddie Griffin a chance to shine as a superhero who's "funky, sexy and proud to be black". A cross between Shaft and James Brown (who cameos), he'll save the world from The Man as long as it doesn't mess with his afro. Denise Richards distracts him as White She Devil. Get on up.

François Ozon places style over substance for this tongue-in-cheek murder-mystery musical—but what style. Gathering Catherine Deneuve, Isabelle Huppert, Emmanuelle Béart, Fanny Ardant and a who's who of Gallic goddesses, the costumes alone make this a fashion icon. That it's also a highly entertaining romp played with boisterous vitality is a bonus.

Antonio Banderas and Lucy Liu play secret agents who start out on opposite sides, then realise they should be allies. The script and plot barely make it out of the first dimension, the stunts are contrived and irritating and one can only assume the stars were blackmailed into taking part. A strong contender for worst movie of the year.