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Rebel Yell

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Well, somebody had do it. And with the outrages being committed by his government in the name of war (and peace) mounting daily, Steve Earle decided to pick up the gauntlet. In the past ("Christmas In Washington") he's invoked the spirit of Woody Guthrie, and here he seizes the activist-rallying mantle. The foolhardy zeal of a reformed addict on 12-step may drive him, but Earle's stance is both vibrant and refreshing. The unashamedly polemical Jerusalem (2002) was the strongest album of his career, a defiant and thought-provoking response to Dubya's America. And, as partisan as his friend Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11, ...Revolution continues where its predecessor left off. The opening and closing title track is a riposte to the last album's sour left-wing requiem, "Amerika V 6.0". The Stones/Creedence riffs and cute handclaps aligned to a clarion-call lyric make for a song of defiant purpose and clarity. Continuity is one of Earle's strong suits?the clattering "Home To Houston" has the hapless trucker who hit the "Hillbilly Highway" on his debut (Guitar Town, 1986) on a perilous road out of Basra, "ice water in his veins", vowing never to drive again?if he gets out alive. The rank injustice of the War On Terror is seen from the perspective of both US-bred cannon fodder and a Palestinian-recruited suicide bomber on the wounded but righteous ballad "Rich Man's War". The vernacular punk blitz of "F The CC" is a snarling free-speech tirade, and the non-PC nature of Earle's revolution throbs on "Condi Condi". Lubricated by sleazy Caribbean garage rock, he gets into a froth over US National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice's hidden charms. File under justified harassment, possibly. Although an Emmylou duet provides respite, the agit-rock triumph isn't total. There are a few turgid moments, but these are minor quibbles: the heart beats loud and strong and, mostly, Earle's music matches his intent.

Well, somebody had do it. And with the outrages being committed by his government in the name of war (and peace) mounting daily, Steve Earle decided to pick up the gauntlet. In the past (“Christmas In Washington”) he’s invoked the spirit of Woody Guthrie, and here he seizes the activist-rallying mantle. The foolhardy zeal of a reformed addict on 12-step may drive him, but Earle’s stance is both vibrant and refreshing. The unashamedly polemical Jerusalem (2002) was the strongest album of his career, a defiant and thought-provoking response to Dubya’s America. And, as partisan as his friend Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11, …Revolution continues where its predecessor left off.

The opening and closing title track is a riposte to the last album’s sour left-wing requiem, “Amerika V 6.0”. The Stones/Creedence riffs and cute handclaps aligned to a clarion-call lyric make for a song of defiant purpose and clarity. Continuity is one of Earle’s strong suits?the clattering “Home To Houston” has the hapless trucker who hit the “Hillbilly Highway” on his debut (Guitar Town, 1986) on a perilous road out of Basra, “ice water in his veins”, vowing never to drive again?if he gets out alive. The rank injustice of the War On Terror is seen from the perspective of both US-bred cannon fodder and a Palestinian-recruited suicide bomber on the wounded but righteous ballad “Rich Man’s War”. The vernacular punk blitz of “F The CC” is a snarling free-speech tirade, and the non-PC nature of Earle’s revolution throbs on “Condi Condi”. Lubricated by sleazy Caribbean garage rock, he gets into a froth over US National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice’s hidden charms. File under justified harassment, possibly.

Although an Emmylou duet provides respite, the agit-rock triumph isn’t total. There are a few turgid moments, but these are minor quibbles: the heart beats loud and strong and, mostly, Earle’s music matches his intent.

Velvet Crush – Stereo Blues

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Eight years down the line, Ric Menck and Paul Chastain have decided it's time to shred the nerves of power-pop freaks with an album both luminous and agreeably bleak. Aided by guitar wunderkind Adam Schmitt, Stereo Blues bristles with intent from the wondrously down "Rusted Star" to the country-fried "Great To Be Fine". Chastain's depressive vocals and Menck's madcap drumming have few equals, and they apply all their harmonic skills to both the Neil Young-esque "The Connection" and the moody "California Incline". Schmitt's trickery is buried in layers, but this isn't a garage item-it's a classic on the forecourt.

Eight years down the line, Ric Menck and Paul Chastain have decided it’s time to shred the nerves of power-pop freaks with an album both luminous and agreeably bleak. Aided by guitar wunderkind Adam Schmitt, Stereo Blues bristles with intent from the wondrously down “Rusted Star” to the country-fried “Great To Be Fine”. Chastain’s depressive vocals and Menck’s madcap drumming have few equals, and they apply all their harmonic skills to both the Neil Young-esque “The Connection” and the moody “California Incline”. Schmitt’s trickery is buried in layers, but this isn’t a garage item-it’s a classic on the forecourt.

Clayhill – Small Circle

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What with the likes of Adem and The Earlies, folk-flavoured 'rock' is enjoying a resurgence. Like the latter, Clayhill are retro-modernists whose enchanting, occasionally rousing songs suggest both an affinity with Americana and a working knowledge of electronica. Which is no less than you would expect from a trio whose line-up boasts Beth Orton sidekick Ted Barnes plus singer Gavin Clark, a onetime member of cult folk-rock group Sunhouse and film director Shane Meadows' regular collaborator. The result is an album that, as "End Refrain" and "Alpha Male" gloriously illustrate, adds a hint of Four Tet's grace to Richard Ashcroft's swagger.

What with the likes of Adem and The Earlies, folk-flavoured ‘rock’ is enjoying a resurgence. Like the latter, Clayhill are retro-modernists whose enchanting, occasionally rousing songs suggest both an affinity with Americana and a working knowledge of electronica. Which is no less than you would expect from a trio whose line-up boasts Beth Orton sidekick Ted Barnes plus singer Gavin Clark, a onetime member of cult folk-rock group Sunhouse and film director Shane Meadows’ regular collaborator. The result is an album that, as “End Refrain” and “Alpha Male” gloriously illustrate, adds a hint of Four Tet’s grace to Richard Ashcroft’s swagger.

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On 2003's Clutch, the veteran singer/songwriter Hammill mused on the ravages of time. With Incoherence, he concerns himself with the multiple difficulties and impossibilities in using words and language to communicate. Musically, the acoustic backdrop of Clutch has been succeeded by sober, drumless electronica. Although the occasional aggressive guitar riff ("Cretans Always Lie") sneaks in, this is an austere but accessible recital. It's noticeable, however, that Hammill's still magnificent voice is most powerful when he abandons language altogether?which probably proves his point that, to express pure emotion, words sometimes aren't necessary.

On 2003’s Clutch, the veteran singer/songwriter Hammill mused on the ravages of time. With Incoherence, he concerns himself with the multiple difficulties and impossibilities in using words and language to communicate. Musically, the acoustic backdrop of Clutch has been succeeded by sober, drumless electronica. Although the occasional aggressive guitar riff (“Cretans Always Lie”) sneaks in, this is an austere but accessible recital. It’s noticeable, however, that Hammill’s still magnificent voice is most powerful when he abandons language altogether?which probably proves his point that, to express pure emotion, words sometimes aren’t necessary.

Grand Drive – The Lights In This Town Are Too Many To Count

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Why aren't Grand Drive hailed as alt.country heroes? Perhaps it's down to prejudice: that, because they're from south London rather than southern Texas, somehow they're not authentic. On the fourth release from the prolific Wilson brothers, the potent songwriting and fine harmonies remain little changed. But what kicks the album into the grown-up league is the atmospheric production of Malcolm Burn, who produced the last two Emmylou Harris albums. He gives their gentler side a mysterious, shimmering quality and adds a previously missing garage-like conviction to their attempts to rock out. By some way, their best yet.

Why aren’t Grand Drive hailed as alt.country heroes? Perhaps it’s down to prejudice: that, because they’re from south London rather than southern Texas, somehow they’re not authentic. On the fourth release from the prolific Wilson brothers, the potent songwriting and fine harmonies remain little changed. But what kicks the album into the grown-up league is the atmospheric production of Malcolm Burn, who produced the last two Emmylou Harris albums. He gives their gentler side a mysterious, shimmering quality and adds a previously missing garage-like conviction to their attempts to rock out. By some way, their best yet.

22-20s

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In the reflected glow of Elephant, the Zep-on-Harleys blues savagery of Lincoln's 22-20s sounded, last year, like Britain was joining Detroit's mission to start rock music from scratch. In Libertine-loving 2004, however, their debut emerges as an anachronism, albeit with a fire in its chest. The likes of "22 Days" and "Devil In Me" exist in a world where only John Lee Hooker and The Stooges have ever made records, while the Afghan Whigs-ish "Shoot Your Gun" is a timely sign of 22-20s' melodic marrow. The blues duly revitalised?next up, Nu Skiffle.

In the reflected glow of Elephant, the Zep-on-Harleys blues savagery of Lincoln’s 22-20s sounded, last year, like Britain was joining Detroit’s mission to start rock music from scratch. In Libertine-loving 2004, however, their debut emerges as an anachronism, albeit with a fire in its chest. The likes of “22 Days” and “Devil In Me” exist in a world where only John Lee Hooker and The Stooges have ever made records, while the Afghan Whigs-ish “Shoot Your Gun” is a timely sign of 22-20s’ melodic marrow. The blues duly revitalised?next up, Nu Skiffle.

Full Glottal

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Med...

Med

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What are Selfish C*** rebelling against? What have you got? If the purpose of Martin Tomlinson and Patrick Constable's music is to provoke reaction, they've succeeded. Thrillingly unpredictable performers whose contemptuous debut single, "Fuck The Poor"/"Britain Is Shit", sold 6000 copies, their no-less controversial album is a bilious broadside that shocks and amuses in equal measure. Risible, compelling, flawed and brilliant, it demands to be heard.

What are Selfish C*** rebelling against? What have you got? If the purpose of Martin Tomlinson and Patrick Constable’s music is to provoke reaction, they’ve succeeded. Thrillingly unpredictable performers whose contemptuous debut single, “Fuck The Poor”/”Britain Is Shit”, sold 6000 copies, their no-less controversial album is a bilious broadside that shocks and amuses in equal measure. Risible, compelling, flawed and brilliant, it demands to be heard.

Embrace – Out Of Nothing

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Thanks to Keane, billowing Hollyoaks indie is insanely popular. As such, Embrace have timed their unlikely return to perfection. Following 2001's leaden If You've Never Been, much of their spirited fourth album evokes the lighters-aloft romance of debut single "All You Good, Good People". Furnished with choir and strings, "Ashes", "Someday" and the Chris Martin-penned "Gravity" comprise an opening trio worthy, certainly, of Coldplay. But the record sags?the old, pedestrian Embrace return, and Danny McNamara's mawkish lowing grates?leaving the bombastic salvo of "Near Life" and "Out Of Nothing" to restore credibility. Well; it could've been worse.

Thanks to Keane, billowing Hollyoaks indie is insanely popular. As such, Embrace have timed their unlikely return to perfection. Following 2001’s leaden If You’ve Never Been, much of their spirited fourth album evokes the lighters-aloft romance of debut single “All You Good, Good People”. Furnished with choir and strings, “Ashes”, “Someday” and the Chris Martin-penned “Gravity” comprise an opening trio worthy, certainly, of Coldplay. But the record sags?the old, pedestrian Embrace return, and Danny McNamara’s mawkish lowing grates?leaving the bombastic salvo of “Near Life” and “Out Of Nothing” to restore credibility. Well; it could’ve been worse.

Joss Stone – Mind, Body And Soul

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On her first collection of original material, Stone tries her hand at a few different genres, including reggae and cramped-sounding uptempo pop. She remains, though, most comfortable in the retro/ nu-soul genre, even if the songs don't always match her singing in quality. Stone's technical prowess is unquestionable, but it's when she holds back?as she does brilliantly on "Spoiled" and the closing "Sleep Like A Child"?that her potential greatness can be glimpsed. Listeners beguiled by last year's The Soul Sessions won't be disappointed, but to be a truly soulful singer she's simply got a lot more living to do.

On her first collection of original material, Stone tries her hand at a few different genres, including reggae and cramped-sounding uptempo pop. She remains, though, most comfortable in the retro/ nu-soul genre, even if the songs don’t always match her singing in quality. Stone’s technical prowess is unquestionable, but it’s when she holds back?as she does brilliantly on “Spoiled” and the closing “Sleep Like A Child”?that her potential greatness can be glimpsed. Listeners beguiled by last year’s The Soul Sessions won’t be disappointed, but to be a truly soulful singer she’s simply got a lot more living to do.

The Blue Nile – High

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Another lengthy hiatus, another Blue Nile album. Here Paul Buchanan revisits the same spot on the hillside overlooking the evening city lights, is still filled with the same surging, oblique melancholy and longing that has sustained The Blue Nile since 1984, is still crafting singularly mature MOR in a darker shade of turquoise all his own. This time, however, the overall return feels diminished in effect?"I Would Never", for instance, trespasses dangerously close to U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For". Still, purchase of this is mandatory for the tolling, appalling beauty of the opener, "Days Of Our Lives", which must go down as one of the five greatest ever Nilesongs.

Another lengthy hiatus, another Blue Nile album. Here Paul Buchanan revisits the same spot on the hillside overlooking the evening city lights, is still filled with the same surging, oblique melancholy and longing that has sustained The Blue Nile since 1984, is still crafting singularly mature MOR in a darker shade of turquoise all his own. This time, however, the overall return feels diminished in effect?”I Would Never”, for instance, trespasses dangerously close to U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”. Still, purchase of this is mandatory for the tolling, appalling beauty of the opener, “Days Of Our Lives”, which must go down as one of the five greatest ever Nilesongs.

Ben Christophers – The Spaces In Between

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Christophers was always more than just another singer-songwriter, if only because of the startling electro production of Faultline's David Kosten on his first two releases. Without Kosten, his third album sounds considerably more orthodox. Here, the emphasis is squarely on Christophers' strange, fallen-choirboy voice and eerie, melancholic songs. His Jeff Buckley-like vocal inflections have become less extreme and the songs less dark: "River Song" and the title track betray a new-found contentment and, despite its title, Christophers sounds positively happy-go-lucky on "Good Day For The Hopeless". It's undeniably beautiful. But those who hoped he might develop that earlier weirdness to become Wolverhampton's answer to Tom Waits will be disappointed.

Christophers was always more than just another singer-songwriter, if only because of the startling electro production of Faultline’s David Kosten on his first two releases. Without Kosten, his third album sounds considerably more orthodox. Here, the emphasis is squarely on Christophers’ strange, fallen-choirboy voice and eerie, melancholic songs. His Jeff Buckley-like vocal inflections have become less extreme and the songs less dark: “River Song” and the title track betray a new-found contentment and, despite its title, Christophers sounds positively happy-go-lucky on “Good Day For The Hopeless”. It’s undeniably beautiful. But those who hoped he might develop that earlier weirdness to become Wolverhampton’s answer to Tom Waits will be disappointed.

The Finn Brothers – Everyone Is Here

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The Finn Brothers – Everyone Is Here

On the sleeve of 'Everyone Is Here', Tim and Neil Finn, frowning and pale, cannot bring themselves to look at each other. Does this suggest that, like Abba's 'The Visitors' before it, 'Everyone Is Here' is a great split-up album, full of bared claws and tension? Um, no, not at all. But the forced glumness of the cover is a pretty good pointer for what lies within. Say what you like about Crowded House – and we will – amid their saccharine harmonies and ill-advised trousers, they at least looked like they were having a good time. Here, stultifying moroseness and a constant furrowing of the brow permeate from start to finish, with titles like 'Disembodied Voices' and 'Edible Flowers' betraying middle-aged men striving for some kind of higher seriousness before they retire. The only levity comes on 'Luckiest Man Alive' and 'All God's Children', and then that's only because they're the ones that sound most like Crowded House. And if that's all you have to recommend yourself, then you ain't got much.

On the sleeve of ‘Everyone Is Here’, Tim and Neil Finn, frowning and pale, cannot bring themselves to look at each other. Does this suggest that, like Abba’s ‘The Visitors’ before it, ‘Everyone Is Here’ is a great split-up album, full of bared claws and tension? Um, no, not at all. But the forced glumness of the cover is a pretty good pointer for what lies within. Say what you like about Crowded House – and we will – amid their saccharine harmonies and ill-advised trousers, they at least looked like they were having a good time.

Here, stultifying moroseness and a constant furrowing of the brow permeate from start to finish, with titles like ‘Disembodied Voices’ and ‘Edible Flowers’ betraying middle-aged men striving for some kind of higher seriousness before they retire. The only levity comes on ‘Luckiest Man Alive’ and ‘All God’s Children’, and then that’s only because they’re the ones that sound most like Crowded House. And if that’s all you have to recommend yourself, then you ain’t got much.

The Chronicles Of Riddick (Pitch Black 2)

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OPENS AUGUST 13, CERT 15, 119 MINS Coming on the back of Saving Private Ryan and Boiler Room, Pitch Black encouraged critics to imagine Vin Diesel might be the next Arnie. In the four years since we have learnt to lower our sights. The next Steven Seagal, more like. Pitch Black 2 takes up a notional five years later. Forced out of hiding by mercs (bounty hunters), Riddick is the last of the Furions, which puts him top of the hit-list for Lord Marshal (Colm Feore), leader of the Necromongers?a kind of thespian death cult. Bizarrely, Dame Judi Dench floats through proceedings as a kind of ethereal sci-fairy godmother. Vin certainly looks the part-and sounds it, too. If mountains could speak, this is what they might sound like. Too bad writer-director David Twohy only supplies him with groaners like: "It's a long time since I smelled beautiful." The CGI production design is a handsome Deco-Roman Dune rip-off. But computers can't generate excitement, and Riddick ultimately smells like stale goods.

OPENS AUGUST 13, CERT 15, 119 MINS

Coming on the back of Saving Private Ryan and Boiler Room, Pitch Black encouraged critics to imagine Vin Diesel might be the next Arnie. In the four years since we have learnt to lower our sights. The next Steven Seagal, more like.

Pitch Black 2 takes up a notional five years later. Forced out of hiding by mercs (bounty hunters), Riddick is the last of the Furions, which puts him top of the hit-list for Lord Marshal (Colm Feore), leader of the Necromongers?a kind of thespian death cult. Bizarrely, Dame Judi Dench floats through proceedings as a kind of ethereal sci-fairy godmother.

Vin certainly looks the part-and sounds it, too. If mountains could speak, this is what they might sound like. Too bad writer-director David Twohy only supplies him with groaners like: “It’s a long time since I smelled beautiful.” The CGI production design is a handsome Deco-Roman Dune rip-off. But computers can’t generate excitement, and Riddick ultimately smells like stale goods.

13 Going On 30

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OPENS AUGUST 6, CERT 12A, 98 MINS In the time-honoured tradition of body-swap comedies-Big, Freaky Friday, er, Face/Off-comes a sugary mainstream vehicle designed to do for rising Alias star Jennifer Garner what Pretty Woman did for Julia Roberts. There's no mistaking it's a chick flick from hat to heels, but it has a few shrewdly funny scenes, and an '80s retro soundtrack boasting Talking Heads, Soft Cell and Pat Benatar's "Love Is A Battlefield". When Jen quotes the lyrics to this, her co-stars go, "Wow. That's so...deep." As a 13-year-old in '87, Jenna (Garner) is frustrated. She wishes she was 30, and some sparkly magic dust does the rest. Now it's 2004, and Jenna's spooked by mobile phones, bewildered by her boobs, horrified by naked men and urging everyone to dance to Jacko's "Thriller". She's a hotshot NY magazine editor, and there are quality jokes at the industry's expense. She's also besotted with childhood sweetheart Mark Ruffalo: cue heavy rotation of Madge's "Crazy For You". You'll chuckle, despite yourself.

OPENS AUGUST 6, CERT 12A, 98 MINS

In the time-honoured tradition of body-swap comedies-Big, Freaky Friday, er, Face/Off-comes a sugary mainstream vehicle designed to do for rising Alias star Jennifer Garner what Pretty Woman did for Julia Roberts. There’s no mistaking it’s a chick flick from hat to heels, but it has a few shrewdly funny scenes, and an ’80s retro soundtrack boasting Talking Heads, Soft Cell and Pat Benatar’s “Love Is A Battlefield”. When Jen quotes the lyrics to this, her co-stars go, “Wow. That’s so…deep.”

As a 13-year-old in ’87, Jenna (Garner) is frustrated. She wishes she was 30, and some sparkly magic dust does the rest. Now it’s 2004, and Jenna’s spooked by mobile phones, bewildered by her boobs, horrified by naked men and urging everyone to dance to Jacko’s “Thriller”. She’s a hotshot NY magazine editor, and there are quality jokes at the industry’s expense. She’s also besotted with childhood sweetheart Mark Ruffalo: cue heavy rotation of Madge’s “Crazy For You”. You’ll chuckle, despite yourself.

Trauma

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OPENS AUGUST 27, CERT 15, 93 MINS Here's Colin Firth, trying to banish forever the memory of being "television's Mr Darcy", teaming up with Resurrection Man and My Little Eye director Marc Evans to make something edgy and intense, a dark psychological thriller. With ants. Oh, dear. Colin plays Ben...

OPENS AUGUST 27, CERT 15, 93 MINS

Here’s Colin Firth, trying to banish forever the memory of being “television’s Mr Darcy”, teaming up with Resurrection Man and My Little Eye director Marc Evans to make something edgy and intense, a dark psychological thriller. With ants. Oh, dear.

Colin plays Ben, left comatose following a car crash in which his wife died. Recently awoken, he now lives in a Gothicky converted hospital in grim old east London, with nothing but an ant farm for company and Mena Suvari as his neighbour. Ben starts having visions of his dead wife. But is she really dead? And is Mena herself real or a figment of Ben’s rapidly fragmenting imagination? And what goes on downstairs in the gloomy old boiler room…?

Evans third is, frankly, a mess, littered with clich

My Architect: A Son’S Journey

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OPENS AUGUST 13, CERT PG, 116 MINS My Architect... sees Nathaniel Kahn travel across America, to Israel and to Bangladesh in search of the truth about his father, the highly renowned architect Louis Kahn, who died in 1974, bankrupt and alone, and who was discovered to have been conducting three sep...

OPENS AUGUST 13, CERT PG, 116 MINS

My Architect… sees Nathaniel Kahn travel across America, to Israel and to Bangladesh in search of the truth about his father, the highly renowned architect Louis Kahn, who died in 1974, bankrupt and alone, and who was discovered to have been conducting three separate, secret relationships. The father appears in old film footage, as fleeting and generally elusive as he was in life. The picture that emerges is that of a determined, obstreperous, ingenious emigr

The Stepford Wives

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OPENED JULY 30, CERT 12A, 93 MINS Something funny is going on in Stepford. Well, mildly amusing anyway. Nearly three decades after Katharine Ross began to suspect that Nanette Newman was too good to be true, Nicole Kidman repairs to the gated Connecticut community with hubbie Matthew Broderick. Nicole thinks her new neighbours are bake'n'fake airheads. Matty doesn't mind a bit. Ira Levin's novel mashed up Rosemary's Baby paranoia with Women's Lib nightmare, and inspired a very straight Bryan Forbes movie. The remake positions itself as 'post-feminist ironic', playing for broad laughs and never believable. Scripted by Paul Rudnick, this version does have witty moments, almost all of them in the first half-hour, establishing Nicole's credentials as castrating TV exec. Bette Midler, Glenn Close and Christopher Walken offer enthusiastic, if unsubtle, support. But it's dismaying how the movie falls apart in the second half as director Frank Oz tries to patch the gaping plot holes. And a cynic might add they could have cast a less mechanical actress then Kidman...

OPENED JULY 30, CERT 12A, 93 MINS

Something funny is going on in Stepford. Well, mildly amusing anyway. Nearly three decades after Katharine Ross began to suspect that Nanette Newman was too good to be true, Nicole Kidman repairs to the gated Connecticut community with hubbie Matthew Broderick. Nicole thinks her new neighbours are bake’n’fake airheads. Matty doesn’t mind a bit.

Ira Levin’s novel mashed up Rosemary’s Baby paranoia with Women’s Lib nightmare, and inspired a very straight Bryan Forbes movie. The remake positions itself as ‘post-feminist ironic’, playing for broad laughs and never believable.

Scripted by Paul Rudnick, this version does have witty moments, almost all of them in the first half-hour, establishing Nicole’s credentials as castrating TV exec. Bette Midler, Glenn Close and Christopher Walken offer enthusiastic, if unsubtle, support. But it’s dismaying how the movie falls apart in the second half as director Frank Oz tries to patch the gaping plot holes. And a cynic might add they could have cast a less mechanical actress then Kidman…

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DIRECTED BY Sam Raimi STARRING Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco, Alfred Molina Opened July 15, Cert PG, 127 mins After grossing more than $800 million in 2002 and converting comic-book sceptics the world over, Steve Ditko and Stan Lee's iconic creation is back for another crack at web-spinning world domination. Sam Raimi's original cast and crew are reunited for this better, stronger, faster sequel. Ignore similar claims that may have been made (even by Uncut) on behalf of Raimi's original, Richard Donner's Superman or Bryan Singer's X-Men 2?this, frankly, is the best superhero flick ever made. The basic plot is ripped straight out of Ditko & Lee's original comic books. Peter Parker (Maguire) is having trouble living up to his late Uncle Ben's mantra: with great power comes great responsibility. Pining for a normal life where he can give up wall-crawling and spend more time with his girlfriend Mary Jane (Dunst), Peter attempts to bin his costume and retire from superheroics. Meanwhile, best friend Harry Osborn (Franco) is becoming obsessed with hunting down Spidey, who he blames for the death of his father, Norman Osborn aka The Green Goblin. When a horrific lab accident transforms Osborn-sponsored scientist Otto Octavius (Molina) into the psychotic, metal-tentacled Dr Octopus, Harry hires Doc Ock to track down the inactive wall-crawler?all of which culminates in one almighty face-off. Raimi and his scriptwriters have distilled several years of comic-book continuity into a gripping action flick that's both outrageously exciting and?yes?genuinely moving. Despite his undoubted genius for delivering audacious roving camera shots (back with a vengeance after being downplayed in the first instalment), Raimi's major achievement with Spider-Man 2 is understanding that human drama lay at the heart of Spidey's web-swinging superheroics. Peter Parker is a regular guy with regular problems who just happens to have been given an amazing gift and a set of deep-seated principles. Stuffed with great performances, eye-popping special effects, bang-on-the-money humour and real drama, Spider-Man 2 is the ultimate slam-bang summer event movie. Where on earth can Raimi go with part three?

DIRECTED BY Sam Raimi

STARRING Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco, Alfred Molina

Opened July 15, Cert PG, 127 mins

After grossing more than $800 million in 2002 and converting comic-book sceptics the world over, Steve Ditko and Stan Lee’s iconic creation is back for another crack at web-spinning world domination.

Sam Raimi’s original cast and crew are reunited for this better, stronger, faster sequel. Ignore similar claims that may have been made (even by Uncut) on behalf of Raimi’s original, Richard Donner’s Superman or Bryan Singer’s X-Men 2?this, frankly, is the best superhero flick ever made.

The basic plot is ripped straight out of Ditko & Lee’s original comic books. Peter Parker (Maguire) is having trouble living up to his late Uncle Ben’s mantra: with great power comes great responsibility. Pining for a normal life where he can give up wall-crawling and spend more time with his girlfriend Mary Jane (Dunst), Peter attempts to bin his costume and retire from superheroics. Meanwhile, best friend Harry Osborn (Franco) is becoming obsessed with hunting down Spidey, who he blames for the death of his father, Norman Osborn aka The Green Goblin. When a horrific lab accident transforms Osborn-sponsored scientist Otto Octavius (Molina) into the psychotic, metal-tentacled Dr Octopus, Harry hires Doc Ock to track down the inactive wall-crawler?all of which culminates in one almighty face-off.

Raimi and his scriptwriters have distilled several years of comic-book continuity into a gripping action flick that’s both outrageously exciting and?yes?genuinely moving. Despite his undoubted genius for delivering audacious roving camera shots (back with a vengeance after being downplayed in the first instalment), Raimi’s major achievement with Spider-Man 2 is understanding that human drama lay at the heart of Spidey’s web-swinging superheroics. Peter Parker is a regular guy with regular problems who just happens to have been given an amazing gift and a set of deep-seated principles.

Stuffed with great performances, eye-popping special effects, bang-on-the-money humour and real drama, Spider-Man 2 is the ultimate slam-bang summer event movie. Where on earth can Raimi go with part three?

Killer Elite

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DIRECTED BY David Mamet STARRING Val Kilmer, Derek Luke, William H Macy Opens August 6, Cert 15, 106 mins Nobody makes gusty dramas better than Chicago playwright/director David Mamet, and this relentless conspiracy thriller jumps straight to the top of his already impressive cinematic CV. Val Kilmer, right back at the peak of his form, plays lone-wolf special forces agent Robert Scott, a roving assassin for an ultra-secret unit of the US Army. When the president's daughter is kidnapped from college by a bunch of white slavers unaware of her political significance, Scott is partnered with rookie agent Curtis (Luke) and ordered to track down and rescue the missing girl before the press pick up the story. Scott's ruthless, stop-at-nothing dedication brings him within a hair's breadth of finding the girl before his mission is brought to an abrupt halt, leaving the idealistic Curtis to instigate an unofficial investigation that uncovers a conspiracy leading straight to the cold, dark heart of the US government. Spartan has everything you could want from a David Mamet flick: seductively labyrinthine plotting, razor-sharp dialogue, rock-solid acting and a healthy undercurrent of government-baiting cynicism. The first, and best, hour is a masterclass in tension-building, and delivers complex plot exposition via pared-to-the-bone dialogue and understated performances. A number of ever-reliable Mamet stock players are on hand to flesh out this dark political world. Ed O'Neill's Burch and William H Macy's Stoddard are dead-eyed officials who project genuine menace, while Antwone Fisher's Luke contributes a quietly effective performance as the partner-cum-conscience who ultimately spurs Scott to question his superiors. Spartan is as much Val Kilmer's triumph as it is Mamet's. Harnessing the leading-man brilliance he's always been capable of, Kilmer is utterly convincing as the consummate, albeit conflicted, assassin?a man who is equally at home inspiring troops, manipulating witnesses or executing enemies of the state. Blessed with such a charismatic central performance, Spartan powers its way through some routine second-half heroics, showcases Mamet the film-maker at his hardboiled best and emerges as that cinematic rarity: an ass-kicking action thriller with style and brains.

DIRECTED BY David Mamet

STARRING Val Kilmer, Derek Luke, William H Macy

Opens August 6, Cert 15, 106 mins

Nobody makes gusty dramas better than Chicago playwright/director David Mamet, and this relentless conspiracy thriller jumps straight to the top of his already impressive cinematic CV.

Val Kilmer, right back at the peak of his form, plays lone-wolf special forces agent Robert Scott, a roving assassin for an ultra-secret unit of the US Army. When the president’s daughter is kidnapped from college by a bunch of white slavers unaware of her political significance, Scott is partnered with rookie agent Curtis (Luke) and ordered to track down and rescue the missing girl before the press pick up the story. Scott’s ruthless, stop-at-nothing dedication brings him within a hair’s breadth of finding the girl before his mission is brought to an abrupt halt, leaving the idealistic Curtis to instigate an unofficial investigation that uncovers a conspiracy leading straight to the cold, dark heart of the US government.

Spartan has everything you could want from a David Mamet flick: seductively labyrinthine plotting, razor-sharp dialogue, rock-solid acting and a healthy undercurrent of government-baiting cynicism. The first, and best, hour is a masterclass in tension-building, and delivers complex plot exposition via pared-to-the-bone dialogue and understated performances.

A number of ever-reliable Mamet stock players are on hand to flesh out this dark political world. Ed O’Neill’s Burch and William H Macy’s Stoddard are dead-eyed officials who project genuine menace, while Antwone Fisher’s Luke contributes a quietly effective performance as the partner-cum-conscience who ultimately spurs Scott to question his superiors.

Spartan is as much Val Kilmer’s triumph as it is Mamet’s. Harnessing the leading-man brilliance he’s always been capable of, Kilmer is utterly convincing as the consummate, albeit conflicted, assassin?a man who is equally at home inspiring troops, manipulating witnesses or executing enemies of the state.

Blessed with such a charismatic central performance, Spartan powers its way through some routine second-half heroics, showcases Mamet the film-maker at his hardboiled best and emerges as that cinematic rarity: an ass-kicking action thriller with style and brains.

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