LCParkes

Anyone expecting a tawdry,shoddy sleazefest along the lines of "Kurt and Courtney" should be pleasantly surprised here- this is an excellent film.

For a start, the conspiracy theory explored here is a far more credible one, and the evidence Broomfield turns up is very convincing in places. One has to wonder how genuine Broomfield's "camera on at all times" approach is, how much was created at the editing stage- he appears to get away with some very transgressive behaviour here on the basis of sheer amateurism, though it is clear the man has balls of iron. he thoughtlessly wanders through some of the worst neighbourhoods in LA and New York- in one classic scene his cameraman deserts him out of sheer fear, leaving him to manage a ludicrous prison interview with despotic Death Row records overlord Suge Knight alone. Irony being lost on Americans for the most part, Broomfield also manages to get away with some outrageous cheek- for instance asking Knight to deliver his "message for the kids" in a tone of smirking condescension.

For the heads, there is some great, rare footage on offer- a teenage Biggie ripping up a street corner freestyle battle, hoods dancing on their cars at his funeral, an electrifying Snoop Dog calling out New York at the notorious 95 source awards....plenty in there for the hip hop fan, along with some vintage Biggie and (for some reason) Gang Starr on the soundtrack. Broomfield manages to talk to every major player in the drama, with the notable exception of Afeni Shakur- which also explains the lack of 2Pacs' music on the soundtrack.

Despite its grim subject matter, there is much humour on offer here. In short, this is the best "rockumentary" in a very long time, and one that lingers in the mind for some time afterwards.

Something of a triumph.

Back Against the Wall is a startling piece of work, perhaps a calling card for a new cult hero. essentially an exploration of intersexual power relationships, the films glacial shift from mundanity to horror is consummately achieved: the dialogue is sparse, the monochrome film stock pockmarked and meal-textured, the camera almost invariably fixed in one of a scant few locations, the score composed of wavering tape loops, enviromental sound, prepared piano and claustrophobic electronic emissions.

it all adds up to something entirely fresh- a sickeningly disturbing example of the power of minimalism, the subconscious, and the unseen.

certain to divide opinion as starkly as possible, unmissable for aficianados of "other" cinema.

A hit in Russia and inexplicably rated by buffs, this truly awful movie is a dim, messy endurance test. Though they are at the heart of the plot, Viktor's criminal connections are never explained, the acting is amateurish in the worst possible way, and the horrifying array of cable knitwear is too much for western eyes to take. Also a subplot involving a mesmerisingly awful synth rock band called Nautulis seems beamed in from another planet.

Viktor Sukhorukov, who would prove so effortlessly sinister in Balabanov's next project, "Of Freaks and Men" (where his character would again share his real name) is a skeletal, leering caricature, and the less said of Sergei Bodrov in the lead the better. Visually, the film seems lost in a colourless sludge.

Be kind to yourself: see "Of Freaks and Men" instead and forget that this film exists.