Reviews

New York's prolific eccentric vents anti-Bush spleen

Michael Moore takes on America's plutocrats and warmongers in his Palme D'Or-winning documentary

Haunted house shocker from Japan

John Singleton's explosive debut lifted the lid on South Central LA in the early '90s, and was arguably as influential as the burgeoning wave of hip hop of the same period in bringing black urban culture to a wider audience. It's characterised by Singleton's unflinching storytelling, plus a career-best performance from Cuba Gooding Jr.

Filmed in 1943, with memories of Pearl Harbor still raw, this WWII submarine movie sees Commander Cary Grant steering his boat into Japanese waters. Directed by no-nonsense action man Delmer Daves, the sub warfare is tightly handled, but the film is just as interested in the close interaction of the itchy crew, among them the great John Garfield.

Yes, on tuesday, June 13, 1978, voodoo rockabilly avatars The Cramps (in their greatest line-up, Lux Interior and Poison Ivy backed by Nick Knox and Byron Gregory) rolled into the recreation room of California's Napa State Mental Hospital, to play for the residents. Don't ask how this was ever allowed.

Explosive albums from turbulent jazz bassist impeccably demonstrate his raucous, propulsive take on jazz history

Given his gutbucket-of-blues voice, it's a surprise to find the ex-Uncle Tupelo/Son Volt man's first live album arriving 15 years into his career. Backed by Washington DC's Canyon, this is Farrar's 2003 US tour: the sound crisp, tight and fluid. Alongside thrusting newies "Doesn't Have To Be This Way" and "6 String Belief" are covers of Floyd's "Lucifer Sam" (an early Tupelo staple) and Neil Young's "Like A Hurricane". His solo material is typified by the thudding "Damn Shame".

What's not to love about a score that fills nearly half its running time with diverse versions of Rodgers and Hart's "My Funny Valentine"? Elvis Costello, Chet Baker (sublime), The Kronos Quartet and pianist Marvin Laird all saunter down its plush chandeliered corridors, its tree-lined boulevards, its narcoleptic nooks and crannies. No less a figure than Van Dyke Parks fills up the residual squares and piazzas, and there's even a waft of Julee Cruise (and a shiver of Saint-Saens and Bach) to gratify those desiring even loftier highs.

Third album from New York's Kansas raised tunesmith