Sally Potter's supremely vivid take on Virginia Woolf's tale of a 400-year search for love and freedom. Tilda Swinton switches centuries and sex with enormous serenity, while Quentin Crisp proves an inspired Virgin Queen A visual feast with few equals.

Rattle & Hum director Phil Joanou escaped the U2 camp to direct this uneven saga of Irish mobsters on the loose in early-'90s New York. Sean Penn makes for a reasonably authentic Oirish lead and Gary Oldman blows the roof off as an unwashed homicidal loon, but this sporadically brilliant flick belongs to Ed Harris. His incandescent performance as malevolent mob boss Frankie Flannery will stick in your head weeks after the credits roll.

So it's a musical, it won many Oscars, and it's got Catherine Zeta-Jones in it. But that doesn't mean it sucks! Anything that's influenced by Bob Fosse is bound to have a dark undercurrent, and this crowd-pleasing tale of man-murdering molls and the common craving for publicity is witty and slick. Renée Zellweger, Richard Gere and that Jones woman sing and hoof.

Written and directed by the perennially underrated French-Canadian Denys Arcand, this engrossing 1989 fable sees Lothaire Bluteau as an actor playing Jesus who's caught up in conflict with the church. His problems begin to echo those of the Biblical Christ. Oscar-nominated, the dry, ironic style gives it a wry resonance more effective than any breast-beating.

"The night has its price," mysterious blonde Jenny Wright tells Adrian Pasdar's hapless Oklahoma farm boy before giving him a love bite and dragging him off on the road with her Mansonesque 'family' of white-trash serial-killer vampires—headed by a fantastic, dead-eyed Lance Henriksen. Kathryn Bigelow's genre-bending mix of horror, western and Southern gothic drags blood sucking into the modern world. One of the best horror movies of the last 20 years.

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.

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.

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.

Two Ethan Hawke films. In Richard Linklater's Tape, Hawke's a drop-out, returned to his home town to confront arty high-flier Robert Sean Leonard over old girlfriend Uma Thurman. Confined to Hawke's motel room, it's a pressure cooker. Hawke directs the digitally-shot Chelsea Walls, set in the timeless New York hangout. A good attempt at apeing the kind of meandering independent movie that appeared in the late '60s—but just as trying. Great cast of chums, though, notably Little Jimmy Scott (singing "Jealous Guy") and Kris Kristofferson (trying to be Hemingway).

Shaving a hefty 75 minutes off Tarkovsky's original (and ponderous) 1972 sci-fi classic, director/writer/cinematographer/editor Steven Soderbergh delivers a tight, punchy fable about a crippled space station, a glowing planet, a terrified crew, a lonely psychiatrist (Clooney) and the memories of loss that bind them together. The moods here are both melancholic and thought provoking, while Soderbergh regular Cliff Martinez's lightly tintinnabulating score is utterly beguiling.