Steve McQueen on mesmerising form in Don Siegel's bleak anti-war classic

The nominal director is Lee H Katzin, but this was entirely Steve McQueen's project. Starring and driving, his 1971 film about the famous 24-hour race was his obsession, and he was in a strange place when he made it, his paranoid quest for perfection reflected in the extraordinary cinematography of motors in motion. Barely any plot, it's all wheels, speed and engine noise. Less a movie than a machine.

Rowdy late John Ford comedy starring John Wayne and Lee Marvin as Guns Donovan and Boats Gilhooley, brawling Navy veterans who stay on in the South Pacific after the war against the Japanese ("bad, black days"). Contemporary audiences will probably find it crude, noisy and rambling—but it's ravishingly shot, and beneath the slapstick there's a sharp satire on class, race and friendship.

After an almost imperceptible slight to his honour, gruff Napoleonic soldier Harvey Keitel challenges effete cavalryman Keith Carradine to a duel. The duel is fought, the outcome is inconclusive, and thus begins 16 long years of sporadic but all-consuming bouts between these two barely acquainted foes. An ambitious 1977 Cannes Award-winning debut from Ridley Scott, The Duellists is visually sumptuous, and is nicely underplayed by both Keitel and the endearingly camp Carradine. Yet it's a film defined by the brevity of its source material, a 'short' short story by Joseph Conrad.

You could argue a case for Funny Face or Breakfast At Tiffany's, but this William Wyler rom-com—now 50 years young—is perhaps Audrey Hepburn's shining moment. An incognito princess who leaps into love with journalist Gregory Peck (well, we can all dream), you'd have to be brutish not to catch its spark. And Rome's not bad-looking either.

When compared to Baz Luhrmann's hysterical synapse-splitting kitsch, there's something strangely reassuring about Franco Zeffirelli's stodgy '68 classicist version of Romeo And Juliet. Here, the many pleasures include Michael York's fantastic cheekbones as Tybalt, a cherubic Bruce Robinson as Benvolio, and a plethora of badly choreographed sword-fights. Even the infamous shots of Olivia Hussey's 17-year-old breasts seem quaint rather than smutty.

Jack Nicholson's second film as director, an anarchic western, with Jack's filthy outlaw saved from hanging, married off to Mary Steenburgen and put to work on her land. It's a shaggy, high plains African Queen, with Nicholson the director simultaneously coarse and tender and allowing Nicholson the actor one of his more raggedly wolfish turns.

Magisterial, tough-hearted 1967 western from writer/director Tom Gries. Charlton Heston is a revelation as the eponymous ageing cowhand, a lonesome, unemployed illiterate, bushwhacked by deranged preacher Donald Pleasence and his boys. While recovering, he encounters Joan Hackett, who, although travelling through the wilderness to join her husband, offers the chance of a life he's never known.

Joyously kitsch or shamefully ham-fisted, Tom Holland's Disclosure esque erotic office thriller sees the surprisingly blank Timothy Hutton as a cookie company kingpin with a suspiciously enthusiastic secretary, Lara Flynn Boyle, who has her own secret and ultimately homicidal plans to take over the entire cookie-making empire. Enjoyably silly until it completely reneges on narrative logic or plot cohesion.

Al Pacino and Michelle Pfeiffer are the short order cook and waitress in a New York diner in Garry Marshall's romantic drama. The stars ensure that it's at least watchable, but the chemistry between them is nowhere near as intense as it was in Scarface, a few years earlier.