Raymond Chandler's cynically idealistic hero of The Long Goodbye, Philip Marlowe, has been played by everyone from Humphrey Bogart to James Garner-but no one gives him the kind of weirdly affect-less spin that Elliott Gould does in this terrific Robert Altman reimagining of Chandler's penultimate novel. Altman recasts Marlowe as an early 70s Los Angeles habitué, who gets involved in a couple of cases at once. The most interesting involves a suicidal writer (Sterling Hayden in a larger-than-life performance) whom Marlowe is supposed to keep away from malevolent New-Ageish guru Henry Gibson. A variety of wonderfully odd characters pop up, played by everyone from model Nina Van Pallandt to director Mark Rydell to ex-baseballer Jim Bouton. And yes, that is Arnold Schwarzenegger (in only his second movie) popping up as (what else?) a muscleman. Listen for the title song: it shows up in the strangest places. -Marshall Fine.

An unexpected marriage of big-budget production values and low-budget instincts, The Ring offers chills to be savoured. Usually when Hollywood indulges its cash-hungry game of remaking foreign films the result sacrifices much of what made the original so special. Clearly, the supremely eerie supernatural vibe that permeated the legendary 1998 Japanese horror film must have done something to those Hollywood suits, because Gore Verbinski's remake is actually rather good. Certainly, it's not superior to the original, but it's undoubtedly a cut above most modern horror efforts, expertly wringing every drop of suspense. The impressive Naomi Watts (Mullholland Drive) plays a journalist investigating an urban myth of a videotape that kills the viewer a week after watching it. Succumbing to curiosity, she watches it herself-big mistake-and has a week to solve the mystery or fall victim to its sinister power. While transferring the action from Japan to modern-day Seattle may weaken the impact of the plot's mythological elements, and the film may be guilty of pointless padding (belying the original's lean format), Verbinski's effort is no less squirm-inducing, bolstered with a tremendous shocker of an ending. Exquisitely utilising the strong visual sense displayed in The Mexican, Verbinski creates a thick atmosphere of dread and suspense that never lets up, thankfully favouring old-fashioned scares, rather than retreating to blunt CG spectacle. In Watts, the film has a horror heroine who far exceeds the average wide-eyed scream queen, perfectly conveying the endless stream of bone-chilling moments. -Danny Graydon.

An all-too-rare opportunity to see two titans of straight-to-tape gurning, grimacing, and hamming it up in tandem: Rutger Hauer, who looks like on-set his trailer must have doubled as a cake shop, and Eric Roberts, still wearing the permanently huffy expression of a man whose little sister Julia could buy and sell him any time she wanted. For anyone who's ever seen Phillip Noyce's trashy but entertaining 1989 sea-bound thriller Dead Calm, Voyage is basically exactly the same film, only with Hauer and Roberts in lieu of Sam O'Neill and Billy Zane (which actually doesn't sound like such an unfair trade). For the benefit of everybody else, the storyline centres around happily married couple Morgan and Catherine Norvell (Hauer and Karen Allen), who have recently decided to abandon their respective careers and sail off together around Europe. However, a few days before leaving the shore, the pair meet the delightful Gail and Ronnie Freeland (Roberts and Connie Nielson). The two couples bond, share a few laughs and, before you know it, Morgan and Catherine have invited their new best friends aboard. The rest is, of course, a masterclass in dark secrets, latent psychosis and as little exposition as possible before the ostensibly thrilling climax. Not so much derivative as carbon copied from its predecessor, Voyage offers nothing in the way of originality, but the direction-by a slumming John Mackenzie (director of the classic British gangster flick The Long Good Friday)-is surprisingly fluent. If nothing else, the sight of a chunky Hauer floating around the water in his T-shirt-presumably out of reluctance to remove it for the camera-is a thing of pure comic wonder. -Danny Leigh.

From the outset, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine was about conflict. Producers Rick Berman and Michael Piller challenged the utopian ideals of Gene Roddenberry's Star Trek universe to create something totally different from its predecessors. That meant no familial camaraderie, squeaky-clean Federation diplomacy, or beige décor. Instead they wanted interpersonal friction, ruthless enemies (Gamma Quadrant Imperialists-The Dominion) and rebellion at every turn. The DS9 concept was originally facilitated by introducing the Cardassian/Bajoran war during The Next Generation's final days. After a muted first reception fans gradually came to accept the new look, but no one liked Star Trek without a starship and eventually the producers capitulated to viewers' wishes by introducing the USS Defiant (an apt name) in Season 3. Relying far less on technobabble than TNG, DS9 was unafraid to focus on matters of the spirit instead, demonstrating a ballsy independence from its parent shows. Taking up the gauntlet thrown down by Babylon 5, improved CGI space battles also became a fan favourite. Throughout the increasingly serialised story arc there were rebellious factions within the different establishments: Kira had belonged to the Shakaar resistance cell; the Maquis was Starfleet vs Cardassians; section 31 was a secret Starfleet group; the True Way was a Bajoran group opposed to peace; the Cardassians had their Obsidian Order and the Romulans their Gestapo-like Tal Shiar. Yet for all its constant bickering and espionage (even Bashir got to be James Bond), there was always some contemporary social commentary lurking: the Ferengi were used as a comedic foil to frown on materialistic greed; drugs were looked at via the Jem'Hadar foot soldiers' addiction to Ketracel White. [+]

Both director-entrepreneur Ted V Mikels and the packaging of The Doll Squad claim that the TV show Charlie's Angels was ripped off from this cheapo action film. In truth both concepts owe a lot to Emma Peel, Pussy Galore's Flying Circus or the femme armies that crop up in Our Man Flint and other 60s spy efforts. Despite its (horrible) lounge score and eye-straining selection of flared, midriff-baring 70s outfits, Mikels' opus is basically a late-trailing Bond knock-off shot without a stunt budget. Extortionist baddie Eamon O'Reilly (the usually classier Michael Ansara) wants to blackmail the US into handing over secrets and giving into a load of terrorist demands by spreading a bubonic plague manufactured by twin (or clone) mad scientists. "Big Bertha", a computer, suggests that the best way to nail O'Reilly is to send out "the Doll Squad", a cadre of female agents led by Sabrina (Francine York), who can take advantage of his weakness for women (and occasional impotence). The first two choices, a Q-type scientist and a martial artist, are killed by O'Reilly's goons, though Sabrina sees off her would-be assassin with a cigarette lighter/flamethrower that scars his face (and only mildly perturbs the people in the next booth at the bar), so she rounds up a new gang of hairspray-addicted fashion victims: a librarian (Sherri Vernon), a stripper (Tura Satana) and a swimmer (Leigh Christian), later hauling in a squealy and useless undercover girl who is easily kidnapped by O'Reilly to lead them into a trap. We're supposed to believe most of the action takes place in a Dr No-like island retreat but it looks a lot like scrubby California desert and the director's ranch-style "castle". Aside from some fab gear (matching jumpsuits with bust-accenting white lines) the girls have little to do but run around shooting inept stuntmen. On the DVD: For a marginal title, The Doll Squad offers some pleasing extras: a lurid trailer that's probably a more fun watch than the film ("Sabrina's code-prefex is OO-38-24-35!"); a gallery of publicity materials and stills; an exhaustive Mikels filmography; and an odd 1993 interview with the director. The film itself looks as good as it ever will-it's muddily photographed with low-tech effects (the flamethrower flames are just scratched on the emulsion) but at least the colours are vivid and the print is in great condition. [+]

Victim is quite simply a watershed moment in cinema history. The first mainstream film to portray sympathetically and realistically homosexual society, it did so at a time when homosexuality was still a crime in Britain. Janet Green and John McCormick's screenplay makes Dirk Bogarde's Melville Farr a deeply conflicted man; married and in love with his wife, he also has relationships with men; while as a lawyer he is bound to uphold the law, even as he is compelled to break it. When Jack Barrett (a young Peter McEnery) commits suicide to avoid the consequences of blackmail, Farr sees this as murder, and decides to end the extortion even if it costs him his career. Rather more skilfully plotted than it initially appears, Victim generates considerable tension, and boasts fine performances from an ensemble cast including Sylvia Syms as Farr's wife, Norman Bird, Donald Churchill and John Barrie. Basil Dearden, who memorably featured Bogarde in an early role in The Blue Lamp (1950), directs with professional assurance. Not just a historical document-though the location footage of central London circa 1961 is fascinating in its own right-Victim was instrumental in changing attitudes, which led to the decriminalisation of homosexuality. A turning point for Bogarde too, the film marked a move from matinee idol to the more serious fare of The Servant (1963) and Darling (1965). On the DVD: Victim is presented in an anamorphically enhanced 16:9 transfer, which beautifully captures the noir-ish black-and-white cinematography of Otto Heller. There is occasional print damage, but it is minimal and doesn't distract from the film. [+]

Breathless, Jim McBride's 1983 remake of Au Bout de Souffle rewrites Godard's existential hipster as a vain, style-obsessed hood and in the process loses some of the point. Godard's hero was a translation and productive misunderstanding of a quintessentially American sort of delinquent; because it is a retranslation, Gere's intelligent, nervy performance as Jesse Lujack suffers by comparison, however admirable it is taken in itself. McBride's direction strokes Gere's face and body lovingly-his every foxy smile, or glance at himself in a mirror, is played for passionate significance. This is also a good-looking film: the back alleys of LA and sunset over the Mojave desert have rarely looked as good. Valerie Kaprisky's Monica is inevitably given secondary importance; the decision to make the woman who goes along with Jesse's wild final ride on a whim an exchange student makes her at once more and less like her equivalent in the Godard-she has a touching exoticism that is at the same time somehow beside the point. The DVD includes the original theatrical trailer. -Roz Kaveney.