DVD, Blu-ray and TV

The ever-eccentric Richman continues his idiosyncratic musical odyssey. Recorded live in San Francisco in 2002, Take Me To The Plaza mostly comprises material from his last album, Her Mystery Not Of High Heels. Performing just with guitar and drums (something he was doing way before The White Stripes) his timing and wit are immaculate. But there's only "Pablo Picasso" (recently covered by Bowie) and "Girlfriend" from the old days.

You'll never eat frogs' legs again. This darkly witty 2D animation feature is full of cute moments and haunting images, if perhaps not the life-altering classic it's been hailed as in some quarters. The rotund Madame Souza buys her shy grandson Champion a bicycle, and years later, after much strictly regimented training, he's competing with the best. Then, in a fit of surrealism, he's kidnapped by shadowy men in black. Granny and faithful canine Bruno defy all logic to cross oceans and metropolises to rescue him.

Spike Lee's blazing take on 'last hours of freedom' tale

The latest of several Bob Marley documentaries on the market contains little footage of the man himself. But Spiritual Journey makes up for it with revealing interviews from the likes of son Ziggy and former Jamaican premier Michael Manley, and such fascinating archive material as BBC2's Newsnight report on Marley's funeral in 1981. The result is a thoughtful film that intelligently explains just how and why he became the Third World's first genuine superstar.

In this quasi-autobiographical account of the tortured filming of A Ma Soeur's sex scenes, formerly dour feminist director Catherine Breillat holds tongue firmly in cheek as she demolishes the petty vanities of 'movie people' (including, gamely, her own honed auteur persona) while simultaneously celebrating the alchemy of movies themselves.

James Foley back on form with a nimbly entertaining, fleetingly noir, conman romp. Ed Burns, Rachel Weisz and gang unwittingly rip off sleazy crimelord Dustin Hoffman, and are forced to pull a bank heist for him. Andy Garcia floats around, countertwist follows triple-bluff, but for all the cleverness it's pacy and energised, with a smattering of drop-dead one-liners. Makes you want to like it.

The Damned were always a proficient and exciting live band, and they still are. However, their air of danger disappeared with Rat Scabies, and it's disturbing to find a keyboard-playing goon with a perm and a drummer in a gorilla costume compounding Sensible's permissible buffoonery.

Derek Jarman's 1979 version of Shakespeare's final play is suitably 'camp' and 'punk', starring Toyah Willcox and Heathcote Williams, and culminating in Elisabeth Welch singing "Stormy Weather" to a bunch of jolly sailors. It's visually flamboyant and wants badly to be sexy, but it's aged dreadfully, and its shock tactics seem a bit silly now.

Michael Winner's 1972 Cold War thriller manages to be built entirely from clichés, yet is almost completely incomprehensible. Burt Lancaster is the seen-it-all CIA man on the run through Europe from superiors who want him dead, pursued by his protégé, cat-loving contract killer Alain Delon. Muddy, but the stars tough it out, and if you've ever wanted to see Lancaster in blackface, dressed as a priest, this is your film.

Zappa's late-'70s antics and muso wanking redeemed only by sexy claymation