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Impeccable 1948 Hollywood swan song from Preston Sturges detailing the destructive effect of marital infidelity on suave millionaire Rex Harrison (brilliantly unhinged). Naturally, there's polished badinage, snappy one-liners and physical comedy aplenty. But it's also curiously dark and modern—see Harrison mutilating his wife with a cut-throat razor, and forcing her to play Russian roulette.

Timely reminder, in the midst of all the Kill Bill hyperbole, of true balls-to-the-wall Tarantino talent—that sickly mint-green warehouse, those black suits, that red blood, the infectious music, the terrifying Hawksian machismo and, mostly, that dialogue: witty and crude, poignant and allusive, naturalistic and downright poetic. Nothing less than genius.

Return to form for Costner, who directs and co-stars in brutal, blazing western

A debut from 24-year-old Jérôme Bonnell that suggests he could well be the heir to Eric Rohmer. The Frenchman boasts a subtle eye beyond his years, as this love story-disguised as a coming-of-age melodrama-slowly develops from The Hairdresser's Husband-style infatuation to genuine insight and intimacy. Olga's chignon is a red herring; it's the pair at the film's heart that you'll watch. And it's some heart.

Magnificent, melancholic moodpiece concerning two lost souls in Tokyo

Tragicomic genius and founding father of black American humour filmed at his peak

The original grunge-pop heroes' '88 tour footage plus essential documentaries

Now 77, Jimmy Martin has been a bluegrass legend since he became lead singer and guitarist in Bill Monroe's band in 1949 and helped pioneer that "High Lonesome Sound" (see This Month In Americana, p98). His story is told through archive and contemporary footage, and Martin proves to be a highly engaging raconteur, although you might wish for a little more music and fewer talking heads.

No matter how much his music is over-used on crap TV travel shows, there's no denying that DJ Shadow is hip hop's premier auteur. His trademark (pyro)technics signature is all over this live performance from Brixton Academy, June 2002. Performance in this context means a silhouetted, hooded man mixing up a subtle sonic brew in front of some spiffy visuals for 50 minutes, but the crowd lap it up.

A potentially tasteless cash-in (given that the makers can't even get the date of his death right on the back jacket), surprisingly this turns out to be an immensely watchable documentary detailing Elvis' tragic demise. The usual suspects from the "Memphis Mafia" line up to share tearjerking anecdotes about junk food and drugs ("he jurst ferkin' lurved 'em!"). Morbidly fascinating.