A terrific Japanese rites-of-passage drama shot Dogme-style on digital cameras, this puts a fresh twist on the timeless themes of alienation, dislocation and teenage angst. Shunji Iwai's impressionistic, cutting-edge ensemble drama weaves together the lives of several emotionally wounded Tokyo teens united by their blank worship of a distant pop idol, Lily Chou-Chou. Pretentious, but still a punky new voice in Japanese cinema.

Kathryn Bigelow's Cross Of Iron, basically, with Harrison Ford's Soviet submariners the embattled equivalent of James Coburn's Wehrmacht platoon, both groups of men fighting for their lives in films that perhaps unsurprisingly failed to make a huge impression at the box office. Terrific in parts, with imperious turns from Ford and Liam Neeson, Bigelow handles the action stuff brilliantly though comes close to mawkishness in a tear-stained coda.

Commendably lurid directorial debut from Asia Argento—international soft-porn horror princess and Vin Diesel's way-cool goth-vamp co-star in xXx. Dario's daughter not only writes and directs but also stars as a thinlyveiled version of herself, shagging and fighting her way through a sinister, male-dominated, sex-driven film business. Demented, narcissistic, monstrously self-indulgent—all the qualities, in fact, of the very best cult cinema.

George Stevens' Biblical epic is sometimes sluggish and often po-faced, but it's never less than fascinating. A political film-maker and a great chronicler of national identity (see Shane, Giant, A Place In The Sun), Stevens consistently swamps the New Testament in blatant Americana, letting Charlton Heston, John Wayne, and the massive crags and buttes of Utah boldly reinvent Jesus, and Israel, for the American century.

The reunited US college rockers get startling heavy at what may be their final UK appearance

Sparks ROYAL FESTIVAL HALL, LONDON FRIDAY MARCH 21, 2003 If geeks had their own political party, they'd probably be able to organise their conferences around the same time and place as the next Sparks gig, thus ensuring a 100 per cent attendance. That's how London's Festival Hall feels tonight, anyway. Sparks fans make your average Trekkie look like Elvis—that's young Elvis, of course: although even old, fat, shit Elvis wouldn't look so bad beside a myopic thirty something in a lurid "Lights Out Ibiza" T-shirt.

What it means to be in a rock band, or have a career, seems to have melted and fused into something older and freer for Jon Langford. The Welsh leader of original Leeds punks The Mekons lives in Chicago these days, and plays with The Waco Brothers, The Sadies and The Pine Valley Cosmonauts too.

Archive trawlers find more unreleased examples of Randy California's muse

Saucy street-funk from the dream-life of Riley

Loungy electronic sophisti-pop