Can we talk? Everybody is pretty well agreed that Great Britain's Ken Loach is one of our most important filmmakers. On the basis of his work with actors alone-often actors who are unknown until showcased in his films-he commands a place in the modern Pantheon. The problem is that he sounds terminally "worthy"; his films invariably reflect a commitment to framing harsh sociopolitical realities and steeping us in the fight for justice, a square deal or a square meal. They sound, in short, as if they're "good for you"-whereas the fact is that they are almost always damned good, period. My Name Is Joe makes for an excellent introduction to Loach country-partly because it's just a tad more immediate in its basic viewer appeal. Joe Kavanagh (Peter Mullan), out-of-work Glasgow housepainter, is a terrifically attractive fellow, and though he is also a recovering alcoholic, he seems eminently pulled-together and ready for yeoman service as a movie leading man. The main story line concerns his encounter with and growing attraction to a smart social worker (Louise Goodall). There is nothing star-crossed about their potential love, but each is tough enough to set limits till they've travelled over a distance of mutual ground. Meanwhile, Joe's status as role model among his more emotionally and economically precarious neighbours-an extended family of man-is good for a surprising number of lusty laughs and one fatal, criminal complication that could jeopardise his future. Peter Mullan won a well-deserved Best Actor award at Cannes in 1998, and subsequently directed a family comedy-drama of his own, Orphans. [+]

This is a surprising disappointment, considering it is the third film from director Danny Boyle, writer John Hodge and actor Ewan McGregor. This disjointed and strained romantic comedy is not even near the same league as Trainspotting and Shallow Grave. Cameron Diaz is a spoiled heiress and McGregor an aimless janitor brought together by two angels (Holly Hunter and Delroy Lindo) hoping to hang onto their wings. McGregor kidnaps Diaz, the boss's daughter, after being fired from his crummy job. She is not all that averse to being snatched. Most of the laughs are lost to a scattershot story that feels preposterous instead of magical. -Rochelle O'Gorman.

This 1967 film took home lots of Oscars for its fascinating drama about a Philadelphia detective (Sidney Poitier) who assists a redneck Southern sheriff (Rod Steiger) in solving a murder. A study in racism that ebbs a bit through the collective and shared need between a black man and a white man who don't want to be working together, In the Heat of the Night continues to strike a chord today. Steiger is a mass of snarling danger, Poitier a bundle of nerves covered in class. Norman Jewison (Moonstruck) directs with a keen feeling for the cultural and social atmosphere of the setting. -Tom Keogh.

Sheathing itself in bad taste, this film flaunts its tackiness, its machismo, and its very stupidity, which of course makes for a lot of dopey fun. Harley Davidson (Mickey Rourke) returns to his roots, the LA of 1996 (the film was set in the near future, as it was made in 1991). Burbank has become an airport, a new drug called Crystal Dream is all the rage and Harley's favourite bar is being torn down. To save it, he and the Marlboro Man (Don Johnson, at his most engaging) concoct an armed robbery that goes awry. Instead of cash, they end up with a shipment of Crystal Dream. Hunted by a drug dealer's goons, the two bark, fight, drink and squint at each other as they try to get themselves out of their mess. This is Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid for the monster-truck crowd, with plenty of breasts, choppers, broken pool cues and empty bottles. It's impossible to blame this film for being so emphatically trashy; its creators would consider that a compliment, anyway. -Keith Simanton, Amazon. com.

Peter Greenaway (The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, Drowning by Numbers) continues to delight and disturb us with his talent for combining storytelling with optic artistry. The Pillow Book is divided into 10 chapters (consistent with Greenaway's love of numbers and lists) and is shot to be viewed like a book, complete with tantalising illustrations and footnotes (subtitles) and using television's "screen-in-screen" technology. As a child in Japan, Nagiko's father celebrates her birthday retelling the Japanese creation myth and writing on her flesh in beautiful calligraphy, while her aunt reads a list of "beautiful things" from a 10th-century pillow book. As she gets older, Nagiko (Vivian Wu) looks for a lover with calligraphy skills to continue the annual ritual. She is initially thrilled when she encounters Jerome (Ewan McGregor), a bisexual translator who can speak and write several languages, but soon realises that although he is a magnificent lover, his penmanship is less than acceptable. When Nagiko dismisses the enamoured Jerome, he suggests she use his flesh as the pages which to present her own pillow book. The film, complete with a musical score as international as the languages used in the narration, is visually hypnotic and truly an immense "work of art". -Michele Goodson.

Dawson's Creek is, first and foremost, one of the defining shows about teen angst and complicated teenage relationships. The first two seasons were the classic ones, as Dawson oscillates in his affections between beautiful Jen and his best friend Joey and manages to fall entirely between two stools. This is a show in which indecision and failure to commit is always going to lead to nothing good, however uncertain the prospects of commitment. Michelle Williams as Jen and Katie Holmes as Joey provide the show with its emotional centre of quirky intensity. James Van Der Beek as the essentially unreliable Dawson provides good looks and a hang-dog complexity of feeling to the mix, while Joshua Jackson as his sidekick Pacey provides both reliable comic relief and a sense of more depth to come in the show's later seasons. The "Best of Season 1" provides good examples of what the show does best. "The Scare" is a finely judged commentary on teen horror films-the show's creator Kevin Williamson was also responsible for the Scream franchise-and "Beauty Contest" is a finely judged social comedy about the show's high-toned resort community. Dawson's Creek is essential teen soap, savvy enough in its post-modern edge to play well with self-parody and intertextuality. -Roz Kaveney.

A Broadway playwright puts murder in his plan to take credit for a student's script.

Five best friends, 48 hours and a bucket-load of ecstasy pills make for an enjoyably lightweight slice of pop-cultural ephemera from debut director Justin Kerrigan. Cardiff is the city, and hardcore partying, clubbing and pubbing is on the menu as Jip (John Simm) and his renegade band of McJobbers clock off and head out for a weekend of debauchery. Among Jip's hedonistic posse are the cheeky cockney drug-dealer Moff (Danny Dyer), the terminally jealous boyfriend Koop (Shaun Parkes), and the bad-boy magnet Lulu (Lorraine Pilkington). And that's pretty much it. Our heroes meet in a pub, get drunk, take drugs, go to a club, then to a party, then home, and then meet up in another pub, just in time for the closing credits. Along the way there's a shamefully lethargic attempt to establish character back-story: Jip is temporarily sexually impotent because his mother's a prostitute; Koop's father is institutionalised; Lulu has nasty boyfriends; and Moff has conservative parents. But generally Human Traffic is happier at the heart of the party, celebrating the intoxication of club culture-which it does in style. Kerrigan pulls out all the formal stops with an energetic melange of jump cuts, slo-mo, and speeded-up "smudge" motion camerawork. There's also direct addresses to camera, fantasy sequences and some self-conscious cameos from DJ Carl Cox and former-drug dealer Howard Marks, author of Mr Nice. Wall-to-wall music from the likes of Fatboy Slim, William Orbit and even Primal Scream help paste over the occasional cracks in the veneer, which include some particularly duff lines ("We're gonna get more spaced than Neil Armstrong ever did!") and a drawn analysis of drug references in Star Wars, a nod to the films of Kevin Smith, such as Clerks, Mallrats and Chasing Amy. [+]