Sean Connery plays a master thief thought to be long retired, while Catherine Zeta-Jones is his foil, a hotshot insurance investigator assigned to his case. They both have a little something to hold over each other's heads, until it turns out that Zeta-Jones is a professional art thief herself and is playing on both sides of the fence. At first they eye each other with mutual distrust until they team up for a job, which goes off without a hitch. Inevitably their prickly relationship begins to thaw somewhat, and the two become attracted to each other as they plan out the massive Y2K bank scam that is the movie's climax (complete with sequel-ready ending). Entrapment plays a little like a 70s caper movie revamped for the gadget-happy high-tech 90s. The plot takes a few too many laboured twists and turns, and the chemistry between the two leads is nearly non-existent, though both carry on gamely in their parts. On the other hand, there is some genuine suspense in many scenes as they go about their business, dripping with whiz-bang burglary devices. Zeta-Jones, of course, is drop-dead gorgeous, and Connery is as reliable as always in his role. The fairly flat editing and direction tends to drag the film down somewhat, but fans of caper movies, high-tech thrillers and the two leads should find plenty to like in this film. -Jerry Renshaw, Amazon. [+]

Take off your thinking caps and toss 'em in a corner, 'cos you won't need 'em when you're watching this deliriously dumb thriller from 1997. Bruce Willis stars as a demoted FBI agent who comes to the aid of an autistic boy whose mind holds a potentially deadly secret. It seems that by gazing on a puzzle magazine and making order out of a hidden system of numbers, the 9-year-old autistic boy (Miko Hughes) has accidentally deciphered a sophisticated top-secret government code. This makes him the prime target of the ruthless bureaucrat (Alec Baldwin, in one of his silliest roles) and Willis comes to the rescue. This formulaic thriller sets up this plot with a lot of entertaining urgency but you can't give any thought to Mercury Rising or the whole movie collapses under the weight of its own illogic and nonsense. The redeeming values are the performances of Willis, young Hughes and newcomer Kim Dickens as a woman who agrees (perhaps too easily, it seems) to aid Willis in his plot to out manoeuvre the bad guys. Mercury Rising is not a waste of time compared to other formulaic thrillers but its entertainment value depends on how much you enjoy being smarter than the movie. -Jeff Shannon.

When Samuel (Lukas Haas), a young Amish boy travelling with his mother Rachel (Kelly McGillis), witnesses the murder of a police officer in a public restroom, he and his mother become the temporary wards of John Book (Harrison Ford), a detective who's been assigned to solve the crime. After suspect line-ups and mug-shot books yield nothing, Samuel, in the most memorable scene of the film, recognises the murderer as a narcotics agent whose picture he sees in the precinct. Once Book realizes that the police chief is in on it, too, he whisks Samuel and Rachel back home to Amish country, where he himself goes into hiding as a plain Amish man. The juxtaposition between the life of the Amish and the violence of inner-city police corruption work surprisingly well for the story, and Kelly McGillis as the falling in love widow gives an almost perfect performance. Directed by Peter Weir, the film is extremely successful in drawing the viewer into its world and, accordingly, is immensely entertaining. The only thing that mars its polish is the one-dimensional, almost cartoonish handling of the upper-echelon police corruption-a subtler, more realistic treatment of this aspect of the story would have rendered the film near perfect. -James McGrath, Amazon. com.

Of all the Sherlock Holmes tales written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles (one of the four novels) remains the best-known. Adding a dash of the supernatural to the Great Detective's adventures, it is certainly one of the most dramatic and an obvious target for screen interpretation. Prior to Jeremy Brett indelibly making the role his own to modern TV audiences, Ian Richardson made for a suitably incisive and enthusiastic Holmes in this enjoyable 1983 adaptation. The much-filmed tale finds Holmes and Watson drawn in to the mysterious curse afflicting the well-heeled Baskerville dynasty. Is a monster stalking the heir to the Baskerville fortune, or is the culprit a far from demonic force? As Holmes, Ian Richardson is blessed with the avian features that, like Basil Rathbone or Peter Cushing, effectively capture Sidney Paget's original likeness. Though Holmes' more anti-social facets are dispensed with, Richardson is engaging in such a well-explored role, recalling the razor-sharp wit and intelligence of Rathbone. Attracting a distinguished British cast (Brian Blessed, Denholm Elliot, Martin Shaw) and decent production values (though with a few Hammer Horror moments), this will not disappoint fans of Victorian literature's finest detective, nor those in search of a classic, chilling thriller. -Danny Graydon.

a blood bath of terrifying violence directed by mike jackson 1986

Like many other films by Canadian director David Cronenberg (especially Crash), Dead Ringers presents the cinematic and psychological equivalent of an automobile accident-you dare not look, but you can't turn away. The film marked a directorial breakthrough for Cronenberg, who was able to continue some of the themes explored in his earlier horror films while graduating to a higher, more critically "respectable" level of artistic sophistication. The film is loosely based, amazingly enough, on a true story about twin gynaecologists who routinely traded each others' identities, lives and even lovers. Utilizing innovative split-screen technology (years before computer manipulation made such trickery much easier), the film stars Jeremy Irons in flawless dual roles as the identical brothers Beverly and Elliot Mantle. Their ability to instantly switch identities leads them to a shared relationship with a well-known actress (Genevieve Bujold) and, ultimately, a physical and psychological tailspin that sends them both to the brink of madness and death. The scenario suggests that both men are halves of a whole, and that one cannot exist without the other. But when Beverly pursues a kinky, drug-addicted affair with the actress, his more self-controlled brother is helpless to prevent their mutual decline. In this way Dead Ringers becomes a fascinating and stylistically clinical study of duality, and Cronenberg doesn't shy away from the dark and unpleasant aspects of the story. (One look at the movie's display of bizarre gynaecological instruments and you'll know why women find this film particularly-and unforgettably-disturbing. ) The Criterion Collection DVD includes illuminating commentary by Cronenberg, Irons, production designer Carol Spier and others; extensive production information; interviews with the principal cast; and a detailed examination of the film's groundbreaking use of invisible special effects. [+]

Audrey Hepburn's last Oscar nomination was for this adaptation of Frederick Knott's famed stage thriller about a blind woman, a con man (Alan Arkin), and a doll full of heroin. Thanks to Hepburn's husband, a photographer who does a good deal of travelling, she's unknowingly come into possession of said doll, which was given to him on a plane by a comely young drug runner who winds up dead. The murderous Arkin, aided by sympathetic henchman Richard Crenna, will let nothing stand in the way of his obtaining it, even if it comes down to assaying multiple "personalities" in order to visit and terrorise Hepburn; Crenna is unwillingly enlisted to help. However, the "world's champion blind lady" (as Hepburn sardonically states) is more than up to the task of defending herself in her basement Manhattan apartment in a heart-stopping climax that to this day still defines the way horror movies with jack-in-the-box psychos are made. Despite the obvious staginess of it all (the entire action takes place in Hepburn's apartment), it still works magnificently, thanks to Hepburn's steely will and Arkin's deadly, sadistic madman. A helpful hint: turn out all the lights when you watch it; theatres back in 1967 did so, killing the guiding lights during the film's last 15 minutes. We can't tell you why, but trust us, it's worth it. -Mark Englehart, Amazon. com.

Gangster No. 1 is without doubt the most stylish British violent crime thriller from the many produced at the end of the 20th century. For all the pop-video glamour of Guy Ritchie's Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch, neither have anywhere near as much a sense of danger as is shown here. Paul Bettany ignites the screen with a fury that explodes far more than it smoulders beneath his tautly kept temper. The tale concerns his ascent to the titular position of primacy in 1960s London, told in flashback by his present-day self (an equally riveting Malcolm McDowell). A lust for power won't allow anything to stand in either incarnation's way, especially the foppish posturing of established crime boss Freddie Mays (David Thewlis). What distinguishes this from many other tales of greed is that the never-named Gangster actually wants to be Freddie, not simply replace him. Saffron Burrows plays the suffering trophy moll in the middle of this personality clash and provides about the only level head and gentle tongue in what is otherwise a super-violent and super-profane script. This is what The Krays should have been, and therefore not for the squeamish. -Paul Tonks.

What do you get if you take a generic action plot, an enormous pyrotechnics budget, two of the finest actors of their generation and spice it up with an IRA backstory? A complete turkey, apparently. Jeff Bridges is Jimmy Dove, the best of the best in Boston's bomb disposal department, which is in pieces left, right and centre following a series of massive explosions. It is, of course, personal: Dove's former best friend, recently escaped maniac bomber Ryan Geraghty (Tommy Lee Jones), is targeting the squad to punish Dove for letting him take the rap for a bungled IRA bombing years ago. Cue a predictable mix of cat and mouse suspense, red wire/blue wire dilemmas and Jeff Bridges running in slow motion. This really should have been at least equal to the sum of its parts and there are good moments: the explosive set-pieces are spectacular and when Geraghty's bombs, cobbled together from colourful bric-a-brac and electrical appliances, are triggered they're seen in looming close-ups. But it's all let down by a generally clumsy representation of Irishness and the conflict. Jones drinks watery Guinness, has an implausible "Oirish" accent and, since his motivation is abstractly political, has to start crying and cross himself before he can kill anyone. In addition, there's an unconvincing tacked-on ending, an overblown and intrusive orchestral score, lots of incongruous U2 records and limp direction from Stephen Hopkins, who seems capable of making a hamfist of even the most sure-fire prospect (such as The Ghost and the Darkness and Lost In Space). Blow your money on something else. -Paul Philpott.