The American newspaper heiress' kidnapping and brainwashing by the self-styled urban revolutionaries of the Symbionese Liberation Army, as retold by Paul Schrader. In the title role, Natasha Richardson goes through the trauma with committed desperation, but, despite being based on Hearst's own memoir, you never feel any closer to her, even if Schrader's film is often as claustrophobic as the cupboard in which she was imprisoned for 50 days.

Ninth-rate martial arts animé about a killer with the mind of a six-year-old child. Frankly, a six-year-old child would have written something more entertaining than this—the only imagination on display here is reserved for the gore and violence, which is accompanied by a great deal of noise but no sense, and even the animation is unimpressively low-rent. Utterly worthless.

Lou Ye's beguiling movie tells the hazy, cut-up tale of a motorcycle courier once hired to follow a woman he then fell for, who subsequently threw herself into the river but seems to have been reborn as a nightclub performer dressed as a mermaid. With its drifting, subjective camera capturing jump-cut collages of street life in the neon-splashed city, it's a fascinatingly intimate portrait of the Shanghai river front, wrapped around a mystery.

Tran Anh Hung's 1992 debut begins in 1951, as 10-year-old peasant girl Mui travels to Saigon to serve in a middle-class household. As she grows into a woman, we witness her daily domestic tasks, and the growing fractures in the family and society around her. A headily serene, hypnotically sensuous movie, observing reality in such close detail it becomes poetry, a song about work, life, and how the two run together.

Minor shocker (made for TV) from Wes Craven, starring Linda Blair as a schoolgirl whose boyfriend and family get taken over by her evil cousin, a backwoods witch. Only Blair's horse and friendly supernatural expert Macdonald Carey can tell the possessed from normal people. Also known as Stranger In Our House, and for Blair and Craven completists only.

Rain? Leather? Uzis? Slow-mo? Plot? Ah...Character? Um...Performance? Ahem...Sexy and inspired concept—werewolves versus vampires, with extra ammo—visibly collapses amid a slew of derivative Matrix shoot-'em-ups, excruciating line deliveries and cack-handed direction from Megadeth music video veteran Len Wiseman. Kate Beckinsale can only high-kick and cringe.

Beautifully gauged 1989 romantic comedy from the undervalued Steve Kloves, with Jeff and Beau Bridges glorious as two competitive but complementary brothers who constitute a lounge act. When they employ Michelle Pfeiffer's seductive Susie Diamond as chanteuse, Jeff's hard-boiled heart goes whoopee. Oscar-nominated Pfeiffer, cleverly, sings well but not too well. Lovely.

Krzysztof Kieslowski's 1979 satire charts the experiences of a Polish clerk who buys an 8mm camera to record the arrival of his new baby, but becomes increasingly consumed by his hobby. After his employers ask him to make a film to mark their company's 25th anniversary, he's propelled into the position of political film-maker. With Kieslowski's documentary background clearly on display, it's a wry, heartfelt contemplation of the film-maker's burden.

Charles Boyer is the ultimate Gallic douche-bag and Ingrid Bergman the twittering naif trapped in a marriage inferno in this brilliant and beautiful psychological thriller from studio workhorse George Cukor. Boyer's after some diamonds, but Bergman's in love. He bullies her, makes her kiss Bibles, and slowly drives her insane. Genius.

Controversial in its day (1967), Joseph Strick's bold stab at Joyce's unfilmable novel was (echoing the book) banned in Ireland until as recently as 2001. This year will see the 100th anniversary of "Bloomsday": as a warm-up, watch this intriguing, prescient art movie, vividly stalking Bloom and Dedalus around Dublin, then committing the last half hour to Molly (Barbara Jefford) and her lusty soliloquy.