The Vietnam war had been over for three years by the time Hal Ashby made Coming Home in 1978. Those who'd survived the combat zones of South-East Asia had returned to find themselves shunned and quarantined, like lepers in their home towns; a living, breathing reminder of a shameful war many back home would rather forget had ever happened. Some of those who came back perhaps wished they'd died out there in the jungles—the paraplegics, the traumatised, forever dreading the nameless, shapeless things that whispered to them in the night.

Paul Giamatti, a character actor who's embodied a host of losers and creeps, always merited a lead role, and was surely born to play Harvey Pekar, the grumpy but ultimately likeable (not lovable) hospital clerk who finds a means of expression through his comic books/graphic novels. Inspired by friend Robert Crumb (and this is a superior film to the 1994 documentary Crumb), our obsessive-compulsive antihero depicts and ponders the mundane and everyday through his work, and the world and his wife relate.

Considering the testosterone on display both in front of and behind the camera (Mickey Rourke stars, Michael Cimino directs, screenplay by Oliver Stone), this 1985 cop thriller, with Rourke's decorated Viet Vet turned NYPD cop taking on the Triads in Chinatown, is nowhere near as deranged as you'd hope. The two set pieces—a gun battle in a Chinese restaurant and the final shoot-out—barely compensate for a disappointingly muted feel.

Ken Russell's 1975 adaptation of The Who's rock opera cast Roger Daltrey as the deaf, dumb and blind boy who finds enlightenment, but downplayed the mysticism in favour of addled Freudian guff. It's a real mish-mash, with some truly embarrassing moments (Paul Nicholas, for one), but is redeemed by the performances of Ann-Margret and Oliver Reed, interesting cameos from Elton John and Tina Turner, and a stylish sense of design.

Harold Becker's tale of US Military School cadets squaring up against greedy property developers stars Timothy Hutton and a youthful Sean Penn and Tom Cruise. It's a faintly ludicrous story that works thanks to Becker's understated direction and three strong leading performances, made all the more interesting when you consider that a post-breakthrough Penn and Cruise would have been cast the other way round. Here, Cruise is the hothead and Penn the conscience-stricken man of reason.

A superb lyrical antidote to the countless guns-and-gangs depictions of life in the black communities of LA, Charles Burnett directs Danny Glover as Harry Mention, a man who stirs up past tensions when he comes to visit old family friends. With an excellent blues, gospel and jazz soundtrack to boot.

Paul Newman, all Texan swagger and mesmerising Marlboro sneers, completely redefines the concept of 'iconic' as the eponymous heavy-drinking, skirt-chasing, joy-riding cattleman and self-declared "cold-blooded bastard" in Martin Ritt's 1962 classic. Able support comes from sultry Patricia Neal, suitably green Brandon DeWilde (Shane) and James Wong Howe's perfect black-and-white cinematography.

This 1976 adaptation of Jack Higgins' best-selling WWII novel was a fitting late-'70s swan song for John Sturges. Michael Caine leads a band of principled, Nazi-hating German commandos off to invade Blighty on the sly. Robert Duvall, Donald Sutherland, Jenny Agutter and Donald Pleasance join the action.

One of the most gratifying indie dark horses of last year, with writer/director Dylan Kidd giving Campbell Scott the role of a lifetime. As ageing Lothario Roger, getting bitter as he realises his sleazy charms are fading, Scott is dynamic, demanding no sympathy as he educates and corrupts his eager-to-learn-the-ropes nephew. Jennifer Beals and Elizabeth Berkley turn their noses up. Honest to a fault.

Henry Hathaway's Nevada Smith takes one of the characters from Harold Robbins' Hollywood potboiler The Carpetbaggers (filmed by Edward Dmytryk two years earlier, with Alan Ladd in the role) and wraps an entire movie round him. Steve McQueen stars as the young Smith, a half-breed cowboy hellbent on tracking down his parents' killers. Beautifully shot by Lucien Ballard, McQueen is as quietly hypnotic as ever.