"Dirty" Harry Callahan was one of the first screen characters to embody contemporary fears about crime--and the uncompromising response to it that much of the audience would liked to have seen. Clint Eastwood's laconic rogue cop became an instant screen icon; his catchphrases ("Do you feel lucky?", "Make my day") were and still are endlessly quoted, and he even inspired a futuristic comic-strip counterpart in the person of Judge Dredd. Made at the time when the real "Zodiac" serial killer was terrorising San Francisco, the original Dirty Harry struck a frighteningly realistic note in 1971: aside from Eastwood, director Don Siegel's taught, pacey direction, Lalo Schifrin's nervy jazz score and Andrew Robinson's cackling psycopath "Scorpio" all make a strong impact. Such was the film's success that it gave rise to no less than four sequels, none of which are its equal but all of which get by on the charisma of Eastwood's anti-hero, even when he's increasingly trapped by the character's one-dimensional persona.

This five-disc box set contains all the "Harry" movies: Dirty Harry (1971); Magnum Force (1973, with David Soul as a vigilante bike cop); The Enforcer (1976, with Tyne "Lacey" Daly as Harry's new and reluctant partner); Sudden Impact (1983, the weakest of the lot costarring Eastwood's then-partner Sondra Locke) and The Dead Pool (1988, a surprisingly upbeat end to the series). --Mark Walker

The sudden disappearance of the local hero, throws the entire town into frenzy. After many failed attempts, they give up. However, after several years, his best friend gets a call?

When released in 2000, The Dish achieved the highest opening gross in its native Australia, a testament to the country's pride in its home-grown movies. Concentrating on that legendary day in July 1969 when Neil Armstrong set foot on the Moon The Dish looks at the small but crucial role of the Parkes satellite receiver, without which the world would never have seen the historic landing. Sam Neill is the pipe-smoking "Dish Master" Cliff, whose team includes Dish mover "Mitch", distractedly love-struck electronics nerd Glenn and NASA representative Al.

The Dish could have played the plot premise as a documentary or with a dramatic edge, but chooses instead to present the story at a leisurely comedic pace which oozes charm. The excited little community offers a snapshot of a fondly remembered past full of the idealism of the 1960s. Populated by warm-hearted souls, it's easy to forgive the town band welcoming a US Ambassador with the "Hawaii 5-0" theme instead of the National Anthem. The Dish may not have the sense of danger of Apollo 13, or the dazzling FX of something like Armageddon, but it does have rounded, enjoyable characterisation and a truthful, warming atmosphere, making it easily one of the most enjoyable films inspired by the "space race". --Paul Tonks

Based on the novel by Frederick Forsyth, The Dogs of War is an uneasy mix of espionage and combat that never really succeeds in either role. Based around the character of Paul Shannon, the film follows events in the fictional African state of Zagaro. Hired on a reconnaissance mission by a nameless multi-national corporation, Shannon is captured and tortured before his release, only to return to the country to lead a small band of mercenaries (the dogs of the title) in a bloody coup.

The first section of the movie works best, building a real sense of tension and unease, not least through a typically understated performance by Christopher Walken as the paranoid loner who keeps a pistol in his fridge (watch too for a brief appearance from a young Jim Broadbent). There are obvious references to the by-then obsolete school of Vietnam filmmaking in the second section, with the Asian enemy replaced by an African one. The gung-ho mentality of the soldiers is, however, so two-dimensional that the viewer develops little empathy for their plight. The action is slow and drawn out, with the seemingly endless pregnant pauses operating as a means for enabling the film to achieve a reasonable running time.

On the DVD: little is on offer here aside from the usual scene selection, audio and subtitle options and original cinema trailer. --Phil Udell

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. --Kim Newman