DVD, Blu-ray and TV

Not as astute or ambitious a satire of "reality TV" as Series 7: The Contenders, but Marc Evans' house-of-horror, shot on webcam, hosts a rattling good scary yarn. If the kids stay in the creaky pad for six months they win a million, but as Davina day looms, things get gory. A superior, if pretentious, genre piece.

Audrey Tautou's wide-eyed, innocent expressions are subverted cleverly in this Gallic romance-mystery. Hints of Hitchcock, but a mention of Memento's inevitable, as we see the story first through her eyes, then through those of the object of her amour fou, Samuel Le Bihan. Doesn't soar, but studded with scenes both picturesque and psychologically taut.

Much-emulated screwball comedy, directed by Frank Capra and starring Gary Cooper as the disingenuous rustic type who inherits a $20 million fortune and a new life in New York. There he's pitted against a variety of shysters, cynics and dodgy lawyers who lend the film its edge as well as material for the underlying homily against urban sophistication. Jean Arthur adds charm as the hard-bitten tabloid hack who falls for Cooper.

TV mini series from 1988 directed by David (The Sweeney) Wickes and starring Michael Caine as the police inspector investigating 'orrible murders in Whitechapel, with Lewis Collins as his sidekick. Hack melodrama with red herrings galore, but still quite watchable.

If Easy Rider spelled the end of the hippie dream, then Chainsaw provided the full-blown nightmare. A camper van full of paisley-shirted, astrology-obsessed kids pulls up in rural Texas only to discover Leatherface and his family only too willing to show them some local hospitality. The opening half-hour still remains the most unnerving in horror history.

A polite, prissy take on Wilde which seems to think he wrote for children. Rupert Everett and Colin Firth are there, of course, as a playboy and a country mouse, both posing as "Earnest" while ducking scenery-munching from the tragically overrated Judi Dench and, in the token Gwyneth role, Reese Witherspoon. Muffs every joke as lamely as a fifth-form production.

Made in 1990 but in a Serpico-style '70s tradition, Sidney Lumet's Q&A pits Nick Nolte's corrupt Irish-American cop against Timothy Hutton's idealistic assistant DA. Quality old-school fare, marred only by over-emphasis on a sub-plot involving Armand Assante's gang boss and Nolte's odd moustache and high-heeled shoes.

The spaghetti western was flagging by 1970 when Enzo Barboni gave it a spoof shot in the arm with this breezy global smash and its sequel—now a one-disc double bill. Terence Hill plays the eponymous drifter with a lightning draw and an appetite for beans; Bud Spencer is his bear-like half-brother, Bambino, who dispatches opponents by thumping them on the head; a laid-back but lethal Laurel & Hardy favouring slapstick over ultraviolence.

Sean Penn has done many good things, and none of them can be found in this sentimental guff. As Sam, he's an autistic who, with the help of saintly lawyer Michelle Pfeiffer, tries to prove he's a fit father to his daughter. It's manipulative, dishonest, and wreaks carnage on The Beatles' songbook. Penn was Oscar-nominated. You have to laugh.

Danny Aiello dominates this ensemble drama as the weary owner of an Italian restaurant in New York's Tribeca, caught between mobsters and his son's desire to transform the place into a chiceatery. Director (and restaurateur) Bob Giraldi keeps things hustling between tables, but cranks up the pace in the kitchens. A grittier companion to Stanley Tucci's gastro-porn classic Big Night. Tasty.