DVD, Blu-ray and TV

Sam Phillips, Joe Esposito and The Crickets lend authority to a doc that includes early footage and snippets of Elvis interviews, although none of his music. Glen Campbell and Kenny Rogers recall The King's growing isolation and Tom Jones reminisces about Vegas, although the cheese-burger era's largely ignored.

Three of Buñuel's berserk best, ridiculing bourgeois values and 'normal' sexuality. Diary Of A Chambermaid (1964) sees Jeanne Moreau as the social climber playing on the fantasies of the affluent. The Milky Way (1970) follows two tramps on a pilgrimage who encounter loopy heretics and priests. Belle De Jour (1967), with Catherine Denëuve, is, of course, the strangest, most haunting erotica of its age.

After falling out with Tarantino over the credits for Pulp Fiction, Roger Avary made this violent Paris-set heist movie in a bid to establish his creative autonomy. It was hammered by critics, who dubbed it "Reservoir Frogs" and dismissed Avary as derivative. Zoe's better than its reputation suggests, though, and has the added pleasure of Jean-Hugues Anglade going spectacularly bonkers as a smack-shooting gang leader.

With grim, grubby retro-future styling, Michael Radford's movie, originally released in the eponymous year, is the best adaptation of George Orwell's feel-bad totalitarian parable. As reluctant rebel Winston Smith, John Hurt is perfect—looks like he's spent his life in misery. The revelation is Richard Burton, weighed down with strange love, melancholy and menace in his final role as O'Brien, the investigator who takes Hurt under his wing to crush him.

Takeshi "Beat" Kitano goes blond as well as blind to resurrect the long-running samurai avenger, and has more fun with it than original star Shintarö Katsu ever imagined. Outrageously bloody, it's a kind of syncopated slice-'n'-dice. Sure, Takeshi could have done it with his eyes closed—and does-but it's his most satisfying effort since Hana-bi.

Since 24, the world's somehow overlooked Steven Bochco's ice-breaking 23-part epic series (here on six discs), which traced the ricocheting ramifications of a Hollywood murder trial in obsessive detail, locking us into addictive characters with exquisite week-on-week suspense. Daniel Benzali is the snidey-but-good lawyer, Stanley Tucci the reptilian suspect millionaire. It still ensnares you. Good as it gets.

Jean Cocteau's 1949 reworking of the myth of Orpheus (Jean Marais) portrays him as a beat poet torn between his art, his wife (Marie Déa) and the love of Death (Maria Casares) herself. The effects are a miracle of low-budget ingenuity, the dream-like imagery unforgettable: mysterious motorcycling assassins, poetry from beyond the grave on the radio, and all mirrors lead to the Underworld. A masterpiece.

Director Emir Kusturica assembled Johnny Depp, Jerry Lewis, Faye Dunaway, Lili Taylor and Vincent Gallo in the desert and waited for inspiration. Quite what he was on can only be imagined. The movie has its ups and downs, but does boast two prime pieces of Gallo-ana: a reenactment of Cary Grant's escape from a cropduster, and a classic set-to between De Niro and Pesci with Vinnie playing both parts. Mad.

Elmore Leonard's first modern fiction novel was originally filmed in 1969 with Ryan O'Neal in the starring role. It flopped. This remake (directed by Miami Blues' George Armitage) fares no better; it drifts aimlessly, while Owen Wilson's small-time crook, drawn into a relationship with the thrill-seeking girl of a local property developer, never engages your feelings. Morgan Freeman, Charlie Sheen and Vinnie Jones co-star.

Sam Fuller once claimed that the point of any opening sequence was to give the viewer an erection. Here we have Barbara Stanwyck in black, on a white stallion at the head of her 40 hired men. As lawman Barry Sullivan exclaims succinctly: "Whoa!" Shot in 11 days, in Cinemascope, this is Fuller firing on all cylinders, taking the '50s pulp western and squeezing more juice out of it than any of his contemporaries.