Cast Away reunites star Tom Hanks and director Robert Zemeckis in their first collaboration since the heavy-handed sentimentality of Forrest Gump. Thankfully, this time their film's life-affirming message is delivered with more subtlety, attributable both to an extraordinarily committed, physically demanding central performance from Hanks and to Zemeckis' technically masterful but carefully understated direction. It's also a film with three distinct "acts" or, to be old-fashioned about it, a proper beginning, middle and end. The story follows schedule-obsessed but fulfilled FedEx supervisor Chuck Noland (Act 1) on a personal journey into the bleakest, most solitary despair (Act 2), before Helen Hunt, in the thankless role of ex-girlfriend, unwittingly allows him to glimpse an optimistic future full of untapped possibilities (Act 3). Hanks' sojourn on the island is the centrepiece, but this is no tropical island idyll: following a terrifying plane crash (the one sequence in the film where Zemeckis shows off his uncanny ability to choreograph action), life on the island is seen to be a depressing and bitter experience filled with disappointment, danger and suicidal despair. Having lost all hope of rescue, ultimately Noland's greatest test is not to survive, but to find a reason to survive. He has no Man Friday for company, just a volleyball named "Wilson" that is both a narrative device allowing Hanks to deliver dialogue and an intriguingly pagan personification of the island's spirit under whose protection Noland is finally able to summon fire (significantly, and heartbreakingly, Wilson leaves him as he regains contact with the world). In an era of MTV-style film editing, Zemeckis and Hanks fearlessly take their time establishing with total conviction the grim realities of Noland's situation, his devastating loss of hope and the means by which he achieves his escape. Like Contact before it, Cast Away is a refreshingly thoughtful piece of mainstream cinema that explores weighty existential issues but retains a warm human intimacy. On the DVD: The luminous anamorphic print with vivid Dolby 5. [+]

true story of two teenagers in love who go on a murderous spree across the plains of nebraska in 1958.

"Style is the answer to everything," intones skid row poet Charles Serking, played by the suitably grizzled and worn Ben Gazarra, to his somnambulistic audience. Serking is, of course, a not-at-all veiled stand-in for beat legend Charles Bukowksi, whose autobiographical short stories were the basis for Tales of Ordinary Madness. But Serking, in many ways, comes off more like a gin-soaked fantasy of a skid row Hemingway whose sports of choice are alcohol, women, and sex. Behind the salt-and-pepper beard and rummy eyes lies an actor too poised to allow himself to fully sink into the alcoholic sloppiness that Mickey Rourke so easily brought to the screen in the less pretentious and more concise Barfly, which Bukowski himself scripted. But if Italian-born director Marco Ferreri stumbles over the self-conscious dialogue, he's right at home capturing the seedy atmosphere of dim, run-down apartments and underlit bars in the real Hollywood Serking calls home. When Serking's fling with the stunning, self-mutilating Italian hooker Cass (Ornella Muti, who puts her oversized safety pin to some rather startling uses) becomes too emotional, he takes the anonymous safety of the streets-crashing in a flophouse, passing around a bottle with a listless knot of derelicts. Serking melds right in with the littered streets and lost souls, a real man of the people. Suddenly you see it: he's got style. -Sean Axmaker.

Arriving from the provinces to embark on his studies, naïve, plodding country cousin Charles (Gérard Blain) finds himself way out of his depth as he struggles to negotiate the niceties and posturing of Parisian student life in the fast lane at the end of the '50s. Try as he might, his stay at the home of his sophisticated, cynical, hard-living cousin Paul (Jean-Claude Brialy) turns into a harsh lesson in modern urban living. In almost every respect, Les Cousins is the mirror image of Chabrol's depiction of rural France in his earlier film Le Beau Serge. Brialy and Blain essentially reprise their roles in an urban context, and-despite some exemplary New Wave glimpses of Paris from speeding cars-Le Beau Serge's extended flirtation with the documentary form is here ousted by crisp expressionistic cinematography and taut editing. Les Cousins presents a fable about moral confusion as traditional French values come under threat from burgeoning post-war consumerism. Chabrol repeatedly foregrounds the superficiality of Paul's circle of friends, with their tastes for fast cars, expensive apartments, and militaristic ritual and guns. Meanwhile the lucid exploration of the overlap between hedonism and fascism in 1950s Paris serves as a sharp reminder of the deep roots of neo-fascist politics in contemporary France. -Michael Witt.

Star Trek: Voyager, the first Trek spin-off to be made without any input at all from Gene Roddenberry, made its debut in 1995 and quickly established itself both as markedly different from cosmic cousin Deep Space Nine and as the successor to The Next Generation. Despite a lack of originality in its premise (Lost in Space anyone?), Voyager has none the less often been a bigger ratings success than any of its predecessors. Catapulted unwittingly to the far-flung Delta Quadrant, the crew of the Federation vessel Voyager must try somehow to get back home. The ghost of Katherine Hepburn lives on in Kate Mulgrew's forceful Captain Janeway, who has an equivocal (does she, doesn't she fancy him?) relationship with first officer and Native American-lite Chakotay (Robert Beltran). Tim Russ gives possibly the franchise's first fully realistic (yawn) portrayal of a Vulcan, and to enhance the alien quotient there is cuddly chef Neelix (Ethan Phillips). Garret Wang must have drawn the short straw for character development, since his Harry Kim is never imbued with any of the drama of rebellious pilot chum Tom Paris (Robert Duncan McNeill), who even gets the series' only romance with the seemingly inescapable resident half-breed B'Elanna Torres (Roxann Dawson). Until the fourth season, the fan favourite was the straight-funny man role of Robert Picardo's nameless Doctor. Then, with the brave Borg storyline "Scorpion Part 2", a serious improvement in the show's behind-the-scenes thinking introduced actress Jeri Ryan as Seven of Nine, who immediately upped sex appeal and viewing numbers. There have been some oddities and errors along the way, such as the disappearance of cast regular Kes, the appearance of semi-regular Naomi Wildman, and various Holodeck obssessions with Leonardo Da Vinci, a smoky bar, and an "Oirish" village. None the less flashes of brilliance still emerge, while Jerry Goldsmith's graceful theme always opens the show in style. [+]

Solaris is a remake of Andrei Tarkovsky's Russian film (often called the "Soviet 2001"), itself an adaptation of the Polish Stanislaw Lem's novel, and is anything but a typical American science fiction film. Psychologist Chris Kelvin (George Clooney, playing it very cool and introverted) is sent to a space station orbiting the perhaps-living planet Solaris to investigate a loss of communication with Earth, and finds only two survivors: a free-associating neurotic (Jeremy Davies) and a control freak (Viola Davis), along with several corpses and evidence of recent violence. Kelvin is shocked to wake up next to his wife Rhea (Natascha McElhone), who committed suicide back on Earth years ago, and treats her like a body-snatched alien, disposing of the creature by jettisoning her into space. But she comes back again, and Kelvin realises she isn't a soulless monster out to get him but a genuinely self-aware construct built from his own memories. Though warned against getting involved, Kelvin tries to maintain a relationship with the non-human woman, hoping to avoid this time the mistakes he made that led to Rhea's death. Steven Soderbergh, the most versatile and unpredictable director in Hollywood, stages a few big space moments, fascinated by the red and stringy ball of Solaris itself, but mostly sticks to interiors that have a Bergman-esque austerity, with Clooney and McElhone inhabiting their own room and going through deep emotional traumas while avoiding actual outbursts. It may be too interior a film for mainstream audiences, though at a clipped hour-and-a-half it isn't as hard going for non-devotees as the three-hour Tarkovsky version, but there is a lot of real meat here none the less. -Kim Newman.

Star Trek: Voyager, the first Trek spin-off to be made without any input at all from Gene Roddenberry, made its debut in 1995 and quickly established itself both as markedly different from cosmic cousin Deep Space Nine and as the successor to The Next Generation. Despite a lack of originality in its premise (Lost in Space anyone?), Voyager has been a bigger ratings success than any of its predecessors. Catapulted unwittingly to the far-flung Delta Quadrant, the crew of the Federation vessel Voyager must try somehow to get back home. The ghost of Katherine Hepburn lives on in Kate Mulgrew's forceful Captain Janeway. Until the fourth season, the fan favourite was the straight-funny man role of Robert Picardo's nameless Doctor. Then, with the brave Borg storyline "Scorpion Part 2", a serious improvement in the show's behind-the-scenes thinking introduced actress Jeri Ryan as Seven of Nine, who immediately upped sex appeal and viewing numbers. -Paul Tonks On this tape: Told in retrospect to the Borg children by Neelix, "The Haunting of Deck Twelve" involves Voyager enduring a complete power shut-down while passing through a nebula. "The Haunting" of course isn't a ghost but a non-corporeal-living-nebula-creature that manifests itself in a series of malfunctions throughout the ship. Like other "ship malfunction" stories it can't create enough drama to sustain an entire episode. "Unimatrix Zero" takes another twist on Borg individuality by creating a "dream realm" for their individual minds to inhabit when regenerating. [+]

Thanks to generous funding from media mogul Ted Turner, first-time director Ronald F Maxwell was able to make an almost word-for-word adaptation of Michael Shaara's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, The Killer Angels. Running over four hours, Gettysburg (1993) splits into two convenient parts for TV viewing (although a 70mm print was given limited theatrical release). This story of three bloody days of conflict in July, 1863 (an unimaginable 50,000 casualties), is divided equally between Union and Confederate forces. On the Union side, Jeff Daniels is the quietly heroic Colonel Joshua Chamberlain; Sam Elliott is utterly convincing as General Buford, the Union cavalryman who holds the Confederate army at bay on the first day. Martin Sheen plays an oddly subdued and vacillating General Lee-a controversial portrait of the legendary Confederate chief-while Tom Berenger, despite being almost hidden underneath an enormous authentically period-style beard, is strong and authoritative as General Longstreet (whose opposition to Lee's plans gave many in the Confederacy a reason to blame him for the disaster at Gettysburg). Chamberlain's last-ditch defence of Little Round Top, which prevented the Union forces from being flanked on the second day of battle, forms the climax to the first half; the heartbreaking Pickett's Charge-the Confederates' disastrous frontal assault on the entrenched Union lines on the third day-is the movie's greatest set piece and one of the most compelling reasons to endure a little too much stodgy dialogue (lifted directly from the novel) and an apparently over-reverential attitude to the subject-matter. But much of this movie was made in and around the actual battle site, so it's only to be expected that the cast and crew tread carefully, as if literally under the watchful eyes of the men whose lives they are re-enacting. And re-enactment is the key: with a cast of thousands in splendidly detailed period costumes, cannonades galore and massed ranks of musketry, the sheer scale of the military spectacle is endlessly impressive. If as a piece of filmmaking it has many faults, as an historical re-enactment Gettysburg is unsurpassed-even by the epic Waterloo (1970), which drafted in a large chunk of the Russian army as Napoleonic extras. -Mark Walker.