The Nightmare on Elm Street series continues to run out of steam, with director Stephen Hopkins (Lost in Space ) applying something approaching brilliance to a script (partly by horror novelists John Skipp and Craig Spector) that falls apart under the light. Among the impressive horror-weird sequences include a boy being absorbed by a motorbike or the characters straying into a superhero comic, but it still has boring Freddy wisecracks, a parade of indistinguishable and annoying teenage cannon fodder, an incomprehensible premise about the dreams of an unborn baby and lots of pompous would-be scariness to drag it down into the morass. Lisa Wilcox returns, but there's no particular reason to be excited about that. -- Kim Newman

A subtitled three-hour saga of an ordinary middle-class urban family in modern-day Taiwan, at first glance, A One and a Two might not seem the most appealing of prospects. But don't be misled: this is a film that draws you in with all the warmth and density of a good novel, and once you are past the surface unfamiliarity of Taipei society, there's nothing in this tale of a troubled family that would seem alien anywhere in the world.

Romantic stories often end with a wedding. Realistic stories are as likely to begin with one. Writer-director Edward Yang's film starts in a mass of floaty white dresses and heart-shaped pink balloons, but the smiles seem a little too effusive, the jollity feels forced. And sure enough, disaster is lurking. The seeming simplicity of Yang's narrative style conceals a subtle, intricate design. His camera moves obliquely, often holding its distance from the action, letting us take in all the elements of a scene and draw our own conclusions. Wider social implications--about modern society, about international business ethics--are hinted at, but never rammed home. By the end we realise we've been watching a microcosm of human life, with all its humour and tragedy. For all the apparent narrowness of its canvas, A One and a Two makes most British and American films feel hopelessly parochial. The Best Director Prize at Cannes was rarely more richly deserved.

On the DVD: A One and a Two comes to disc with a generous helping of extras. The original theatrical trailer, wordless and intriguing; numerous cast and crew biographies; a brief stills gallery; and, best of all, a full three-hour commentary track of Edward Yang in conversation with Tony Rayns, UK expert on Chinese-language cinema. Their discussion is relaxed and illuminating. The print, and the SR Dolby Digital sound, are clean and crisp, and we get the full 1.85:1 ratio of the original release. --Philip Kemp

A Passage to India, David Lean's adaptation of EM Forster's mysterious tale of racism in colonial India, turned out to be the master director's final film. Subtle and grand at the same time, Lean's adaptation is faithful to the book, rendering its blend of the mystical and the all-too human with exquisite precision. Judy Davis plays a young British woman travelling in India with her fiancé's mother. While visiting a tourist attraction, she has a frightening moment in a cave--one that she eventually spins from an instant of mental meltdown into a tale of a physical attack that ruins several lives. Lean captures Forster's sense of awe at the kind of ageless wisdom and inexplicable phenomena to be encountered in India, as well as the British tendency to dismiss it all as savage, rather than simply different. --Marshall Fine

Remaked of Hitchcock's "Dial M for Murder", this glossy Hollywood take on the classic is given great star power, and in an early main role the future King of Gondor (Mortensen). Rich man wants his wife to be murdered, he pays her boyfriend to the do the deed, and it all goes spiralling from there...

Scorsese's invigorating history of American movies avoids the straitjacket of chronology. Although he makes dutiful nods in the direction of Edwin S. Porter, D.W. Griffith and Orson Welles, he is equally interested in figures working at the margins, film-makers such as Andre De Toth, Ida Lupino, Sam Fuller and Edgar Ulmer, "who circumvented the system to get their vision onto the screen". He describes them as "illusionists", "smugglers", con artists who managed to hoodwink the money men into allowing them to make the films they wanted. Some worked in B-movies ("less money, more freedom") others (like Scorsese himself) struck their own Faustian bargains with the studios, making "one movie for them, one for yourself"

His heroes are the outsiders, the film-makers who chafe against the assurances of the American dream. He offers a vivid, guilty vignette of himself as a four-year-old child, sitting in a darkened auditorium watching in amazement as Gregory Peck overpowers Jennifer Jones in Duel in the Sun, one of the first films his mother took him to. "The savage intensity of the music, the burning sun, the overt sexuality ... it seems that the two could only consummate their passion by killing each other". There's a certain irony in Scorsese, who once seriously considered becoming a priest, succumbing to a David O. Selznick Technicolor extravaganza which had already been condemned by the church.

While often sounding like a serious-minded apprentice who watches old movies to pick up tips which will help him in his own work ("study the old masters, enrich your palette, expand the canvas-there's always so much more to learn") he never overlooks the illicit pleasure that cinema can bring. "I don't really see a conflict between the church and the movies, the sacred and the profane". --Geoffrey Macnab