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"Groundhog Day" is a rare case of audiences actually being ahead of the critics. When this superficially simple tale of a self-obsessed weatherman (Bill Murray) who is forced to relive the same day over and over again was initially released, most critics, even the best, completely missed this movie's subtle and intricate take on the vagaries of life. They followed only its simple premise, slapstick humour and the great, sarcastic shadow of Bill Murray, who, as always, dominates every scene. Audiences, however, immediately took to it. Despite being released (appropriately) in February, the famine period of the movie calendar, "Groundhog Day" went on to gross over $70 million and became a sleeper hit later on video. Soon, the phrase "It's like Groundhog Day" began passing from mouth to mouth as a descriptor for any number of human situations, and Groundhog Day was better recognised as a metaphor than as a holiday. Today, "Groundhog Day" is recognised by the AFI and the Writer's Guild of America.

That "Groundhog Day" works on all the levels it does is not necessarily due to conscious action on the part of the writers (Harold Ramis and John Rubin), who focus primarily on delivering a sharp and witty script that fully explores every comic (and later, tragic) outcome of its premise, but because its premise, so utterly simple, is also marvelously applicable to an almost endless array of life experiences. In that sense, it is like a fairy tale or a myth: a universal story that manages to capture something essential in the human experience. For example, there is very little overt religious symbolism in the film, and yet representatives of several entirely different religions have drawn parallels between the story and the tenets of their faith. Buddhists see Murray's character's dilemma as a representation of the cycle of rebirth, while Catholics see it as Purgatory. In truth, as the film itself notes, *everyone* feels trapped in an endlessly repeating cycle of identical days for at least part of their lives, and so is free to read it as applies to them.

Beyond this though, it really is quite astounding how perfect this little film is; how annoying characters we wouldn't give the time of day to in the street suddenly become fully fleshed out comic creations, simply because we took the time to see them properly. How every bland suburban street reveals turn-of-the-century architectural gems that our eyes would have passed over on first viewing, and how beautiful the sky can look on a cold February morning.

Judge Dredd is arguably the only genuinely famous comic book hero to come out of Britain, a hinterland in a genre overwhelmingly dominated by the US, Japan and France. And even so, he still lacks the global reach of Naruto, Batman or even Asterix. There are many reasons for this; first, Batman and Superman are easy to pigeonhole, because their stories are largely about them. However, from his inception, Judge Dredd, both the man and the comic, have always been more about the universe he inhabits, which means that any depiction of Dredd outside his comic homeland comes saddled with a huge amount of backstory. Also, the comic, with its unrelenting mixture of misanthropic cynicism and fatalistic humour, strikes a uniquely British tone that is unlikely to appeal to foreigners, particularly Americans. Although I described Dredd as a comic book hero, he really isn't: he's a fascist; the unbending arm of a totalitarian regime. The tragedy of his world is that it makes him necessary. The true villain of Dredd is not Dredd, nor the perps, druggies, demons and robots he combats, but you, the reader, for settling into a cowardly state of ineffectual consumerism and letting your society dwindle to nothing. Not really a positive message to send to the wider world, and this movie wisely doesn't try.

After the disastrous Stallone vehicle in 1995, which blundered spectacularly by making Dredd a hero, studios were understandably loth to bankroll another one, meaning that this movie, whatever its intentions, would be hamstrung by its budget. Rather than a jupped-up take on Blade Runner's Los Angeles, Mega-City One now resembles present day Detroit with a few concessions to the future, such as mile- high city blocks, thrown in. By zeroing in on two Judges and their actions over a single day, this allows the producers to save on dollars and the writer (28 Days Later's Alex Garland) to ignore many of the comic's wider and more troubling implications: the Judges are treated as a simple police force, rather than a fascist police state; the people are treated as cowed innocents, rather than hedonistic dullards prey to every fad or scam that comes along. Instead, the movie focuses on pure action, and any allusions to the comic's moral message are made through the sets, cinematography, and unspoken communication, rather than histrionically preached in dialogue. This works, and as the Stallone movie amply showed, is the only way a Judge Dredd movie could ever work.

Given its financial limitations, the movie rises and falls on its storytelling, acting and direction, and on all counts, I give this a pass. Karl Urban is far too restrained to really capture Dredd's flamboyant personality; ironically, Stallone's over-the-top, overblown performance in the 1995 adaptation is in many ways closer to Dredd in the comics, though the comics play it for laughs, while Stallone wanted to be taken seriously. With laughs thin on the ground in this adaptation, Urban is forced to rein himself in, and so at times Dredd comes across as a simple honest cop, rather than the square-jawed embodiment of Law he is meant to be. I was not initially happy with the casting of bubbly, apple-cheeked Olivia Thirlby as the weary, hatchet- faced Anderson, but her character won me over, partly through writing (she is now a rookie one day away from washing out, rather than an experienced, accomplished Judge) and through performance (Thirlby showed a grit I hadn't seen before). Lena Heady, playing the crime boss Maw- Maw, is of course, note-perfect, as she can perform this kind of role in her sleep.

On a technical level, given its budget, the movie does pretty well. The CG shots of Mega-City One are seamless and the slo-mo and psychic effects are suitably trippy, without inducing migraine. The action scenes are well-choreographed and, miraculously in this post-Bay universe, easy to follow.

There is little I can say beyond this without spoiling what plot there is. However, it is a very competent action movie that manages to capture something of the spirit of Wagner's seminal comic. I can only hope it is a smash hit, and we are then granted a sequel with sufficient budget to bring us more of Dredd's vast world.

Vadim Jean's second adaptation of Terry Pratchett's longrunning Discworld series of comedic fantasy novels cannot compare to the first, though it is not really his fault. The series adapts Pratchtt's first two novels, The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic, which together form a loose single narrative. Set on a typical fantasy realm, replete with trolls, dwarfs and demons, they are, effectively, a parody of the hero's quest, in that the hero, an untalented "wizzard" named Rincewind, has no intention either of being heroic or of going on a quest but ends up fighting monsters, riding dragons and trying to save the world anyway. He is assisted by his "sidekick" Twoflower, who seems only dimply aware that he isn't on a packaged holiday. And that, without mentioning specifics, is the entire plot. Along the way, several fantasy (or perhaps D&D) conventions, such as talking swords, scantily-clad, Heavy Metal-style warrior women, and raging loin-clothed barbarians, are duly referenced and lambasted.

After the relative success of Hogfather in 2006, Vadim Jean decided to take the series in a surprising direction: backwards. Correctly in my view, he chose perhaps the archetypal novel in Pratchett's canon to adapt first. Hogfather was Pratchett at his absolute height, mixing adventure with philosophical commentary and existential humour, the most mature expression of such Discworldly themes of imagination vs. reality, the power of myth vs rationality, and the dichotomy of "the falling angel and the rising ape". "The Colour of Magic" and "The Light Fantastic" were written 25 years ago, when Pratchett was still finding his feet as a writer. As such, they lack some of the sophistication one comes to expect from the series. The books' humour, which would eventually become character and situation-driven, here operates on the level of broad parody, lampooning the absurdities of many fantasy and fairy tale conventions. The characterisation, which would become far more complex in later novels, is as broad as a wall, with Twofower the naive Asian tourist and Rincewind the cowardly non-hero. In a move that was either very wise or bewilderingly silly, Jean decided to cast Sean Astin as Twoflower, even though in the books he is East Asian in appearance. Perhaps this was done to lessen the racial stereotype, but if so, that doesn't reflect well on the source material. His decision to cast the elderly David Jason as Rincewind, who in the books is a youngish man with a scraggly attempt at a beard, is less explicable, other than Jean was simply grateful that Jason wanted to do another series with him.

But if the plot is slight, the actors certainly give it their all. Astin plays Twoflower with just the right kind of naivete, while Jason, though miscast, creates a Rincewind that is suitably cynical and craven. For Pratchett fans, a number of pleasing retcons have been incorporated: The Librarian becomes an orangutan much earlier; Death is now his fully-evolved, pleasantly bemused self, and the Patrician is unquestionably Vetinari, here played by Jeremy Irons- a nod to Pratchett saying that a good actor for Vetinari would be "that guy from Die Hard", ie Alan Rickman.

In summary, I think Pratchett fans will find pleasure in it, but others should probably stay away.