Films to Review in the Future

1971 was a watershed year for cinema, bringing a string of films which pushed the envelope of what was acceptable and blew away the rose-tinted spectacles of the late-1960s. Sam Peckinpah took his particular brand of machismo violence to a new level in Straw Dogs. Stanley Kubrick?s A Clockwork Orange presented a dark view of British society and youth violence through a prism of intelligence, dark humour and moral relativism. And in Get Carter, Michael Caine gave his finest performance as the cool but cold-hearted Londoner who travels to Newcastle to brutally avenge the death of his brother. In worthy company to these landmark films is The French Connection, a gritty, gripping and realistic crime thriller that launched the careers of its star Gene Hackman and director William Friedkin.

One of the things which The French Connection shares with these counterparts is its relative simplicity, at least from a narrative point of view. In dealing with such an important and controversial subject ? the narcotics trade in New York ? the screenwriters must have been tempted to dress the tale up a little, adding in more emotional and melodramatic scenes to create some kind of emotional appeal.

If the film were being made now, the director would probably include a scene of Popeye Doyle actually getting hooked on heroin, experiencing the stuff he is trying so hard to stop, and maybe having a change of heart. While that would still be interesting and engrossing, it would spoil the earthy simplicity that The French Connection has in spades. The whole point of the film is to show that this kind of thing happens all the time; it?s not an out-of-the-ordinary occurrence, it?s a integral part of modern society.

That?s not to say that the film, or any of its protagonists, condones the state of affairs we find ourselves in. In fact the film is driven by a character whose moral viewpoint is the precise opposite. Gene Hackman presents Eddie ?Popeye? Doyle to us as an impulsive, ruthless, driven individual who will stop at nothing to clean up the streets. We get no clues, in back-story or anything else, as to what has made Doyle do what he does in the way that he does it. We just have to accept it and let him justify himself as he goes along. Hackman gives a powerful performance, at turns engrossing, terrifying, fevered and funny, and he deserved his Oscar for the role.

In a way, though, the power of Hackman?s performance hints at one of the flaws with this film. Hackman is so good, so on the money for every second he?s on screen, that his colleague Roy Scheider has little left to play with. Part of this could be down to Scheider?s acting, which is more understated and thoughtful (but not in a bad way), and part of it could be down to the screenplay. Much like his character in Marathon Man, there are moments where you feel that Scheider?s presence is either confusing or unnecessary, and that in moments the film would work better if it were just a straight fight between Doyle and Le Charnier.

The pace and level of tension sustained in The French Connection is almost perfect. In Marathon Man most of the first hour seems inconsequential, with characters rapidly appearing and disappearing with no explanation; it?s only when we reach the dental scene that we start to get interested. In this, however, the set-up takes much less time and after the first half-hour the tension keeps rising and rising. The famous car chase is brilliant, because it feels like you?re really there: the shots of traffic around the car are done from the driver?s POV, rather than using a tacky rolling backdrop. The scene is so good and so tense that you think the film has peaked too soon. But no ? the final scene is no washout, and it ends on a really good cliff-hanger (which was subsequently spoiled in the inferior sequel).

The French Connection was and is a powerful, visceral film, and its influence, both visually and thematically, remains writ large. You only have to look at Ridley Scott?s American Gangster to see how well this has aged. It?s not flawless, but it has a cracking script, a great cast, a really good score and a wonderful sense of purpose about itself. The sense of integrity at the heart of this film, both morally and in its knowledge of its source, lift the film above previous crime dramas, offering the audience an experience which is simultaneously unsettling and reassuring. You?re shocked by the social malaise you?re presented with, but as long as Hackman is out there, even hyped up on adrenaline, you know you stand a chance of being safe. This is a great crime thriller with the moral darkness of a Western, and it deserves the attention of anyone interested in film.

It's often the case that films we loved in our childhood don't hold up half as well when viewed again as an adult. Likewise it's very common to rediscover a film we hated in our teenage years, only to find that we were completely wrong and that said pariah is actually a masterpiece.

Flash Gordon is a more complicated example of this prolonged change of heart. As a boy under the age of 10, you can't believe your luck - bright colours, big action sequences, scary villains and a chisel-jawed hero. As a teenager who desperately wants to be cool, it's deeply embarrassing - dodgy special effects, hammy acting, a nonsensical plot and Max von Sydow dressing up as Fu Manchu. It's only after this difficult period has passed that the film reveals itself for what it really is - one of the most deliberately and thrillingly silly films gave to grace the screen.

If one were to sum up Flash Gordon in a sentence, one could describe it as a remake of the 1936 film, with the added benefits of colour, a better soundtrack (just) and (in Britain at least) more famous actors. For those of us with some knowledge of British character actors and eccentrics, the film contains a number of irresistible one-offs. Where else could you see future Bond Timothy Dalton in green spandex, or ex-I, Claudius emperor Brian Blessed in wings and a leather tunic, or Rocky Horror's Richard O'Brien as a double-crossing pipe-player?

There is also some enjoyment to be derived from the fact that the film is helmed by the same man who made Get Carter, a film as far removed from comics as you can get. Flash Gordon was Mike Hodges' first completed film in six years, after he was sacked from Damien: Omen II three weeks into filming. And for all its technical shortcomings (more on those later), Hodges does direct very well; his compositions are good, the stunts and fights are well-choreographed, the characterisation is memorable and - most importantly - he captures the spirit of the original comics.

The reason that Flash Gordon works so well, both as a comic adaptation and a film in general, is that it is aware of the limitations of both its source material and the level of spectacle its budget allows. The original Flash Gordon comics were classic boys'-own adventure tales: stories of adventure on faraway worlds where ordinary heroes battle evil villains, save the world and get the girl. The film updates the characters a little, so that Flash becomes an American footballer and Dale Arden is a travel agent, but otherwise the story plays out in exactly the same kind of romping, rapid-fire style of the original stories.

If we attempt to take Flash Gordon seriously, watching it as a 'proper' science fiction film and looking for deeper meanings in its talkier scenes, we'd last about five minutes before either giving up or bursting out laughing. The plot is totally ludicrous, requiring us to accept a load of unbelievable coincidences. For instance, how lucky that Flash and Dale's plane happened to crash land right in front of Dr. Hans Zarkov's laboratory, just as he was about to launch the rocket?

Ming the Merciless' evil plan for defeating the Earth is staple science faction fantasy; we're used to films with ray guns and magnetic shields, and so we don't question that he has the ability to move the Moon using a ray. But we still have to contend with a number of cavalier inconsistencies in the plot. The process of brainwashing Zarkov is built up and up into something quite unnerving. But five minutes later, he's back to his old self, having survived it by remembering fragments of the Talmud. In another scene, Princess Aura and Dale catfight for the best part of a minute, and then quickly become friends as if nothing happened. And why, oh why, did Ming choose to stay standing exactly where he was when the spaceship was clearly heading straight for him?

It's true that evolutions in technology take time to filter down through the various echelons of filmmaking; just because Industrial Light and Magic existed in 1980 doesn't mean that everyone could afford them. The art direction in Flash Gordon (which was BAFTA-nominated) makes the clouds resemble a marbling kit, and the special effects themselves make Thunderbirds look slick. Take the early shots of the rocket entering Ming's universe, in which one can clearly see the image on a piece of acetate being moved across the background. And then we have Gilbert Taylor's cinematography, which bathes everything in so much red that it's like watching the whole film through a vat of claret.

And you know what? None of this matters, and here's why. If this storyline had been played even faintly seriously, the film would have been a naff, self-important turkey like Xanadu (or maybe Dune, considering the presence of Dino De Laurentiis). You simply couldn't treat Flash Gordon like Batman or Superman because it's not designed to be taken seriously or to have allegorical connotations. The closest it ever comes to having any kind of message is in the big final showdown, with all the various people uniting against the evil emperor. Considering the comic's origins in the 1930s, one could argue it was making a political message about fascism, but even that's stretching a point.

By playing everything for the fans and getting knowing laughs, Flash Gordon is a triumph - or as close to one as we could expect. The fact that we laugh at it so lovingly is no accident. The screenplay comes from Lorenzo Simple, Jr., who wrote the Batman TV series and manages to tap into the inherent silliness of the plot. The soundtrack by Queen and Howard Blake sounds mediocre on its own, but when you've got big battle scenes with camp choreography, it makes sense to have stunts being backed by kick-ass guitar solos and pounding drums. In any case, Brian May's take on the wedding march is genuinely cool and really brings out the best in that scene.

From an historical point of view, the film also illuminates much about the original Star Wars trilogy. It's well-documented that Star Wars had its origins in the matinee idols and Saturday morning westerns of George Lucas' youth. But the influence of Flash Gordon goes beyond that, with this version containing many scenes which seem to eerily foreshadow Return of the Jedi. Both films feature a forest planet with tribal communities living in the treetops, and both have a giant monster with a beak and tentacles that tries to swallow people up. One could certainly argue that Krylus was the Darth Vader of his day, albeit with a voice which is much more Jeremy Irons than James Earl Jones.

On top of everything, Flash Gordon is simply great fun. Despite the various fallings-out that happened in post-production, you get the sense watching it that the cast and crew had great fun making it. Brian Blessed and Timothy Dalton are clearly having a ball, judging their lines perfectly and relishing the stunts; one can see in Dalton's performance the same kind of ferocious intensity that would serve him well during his tenure as Bond. Max von Sydow relishes his part, playing pantomime villain complete with curled lips and clipped pronunciation. Cinema fans should also keep an eye out for very brief cameos from Robbie Coltrane (at the airfield) and Deep Roy, who would later play all the Oompa-Loompas in Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

It would be very easy to view Flash Gordon with disdain or contempt. Just as Airplane! eventually led to Epic Movie and Disaster Movie, so one could hold Flash Gordon to task for giving us Batman and Robin. But this would be deeply unfair considering how well the finished product holds up after thirty years. The film is directed with wit and intelligence, the script does justice to the comics while retaining a sense of humour, and above all it's virtually faultless as a slice of pure entertainment. For all its faults (and there are many), Flash Gordon is a triumph of both the sublime and the ridiculous. It's incredibly silly from start to finish - and you simply won't care.

Whatever genre he chose to inhabit, Stanley Kubrick always had a knack for creating films which defied people?s expectations without ever completely alienating his audience. So with The Shining, Kubrick gives us horror with a difference, creating a film which is still as terrifying as a normal horror film but with a completely different style, purpose and intellectual blueprint. Its departure from 1970s horror conventions, whether the spiritual shocks of The Exorcist or the blood and guts of Hallowe?en, help to explain why some were unsure about it on first viewing. But as with all Kubrick films, The Shining stands up to, and actually improves with, repeated viewing ? which in itself is unlike a lot of conventional horror.

The main difference between most horror and The Shining is the way in which the tension is built up and how the shocks themselves are exhibited. Whether in dark revenge films like The Last House On The Left, or the comic horror of Sam Raimi, the shocks are frequent and expected. The audience expect to be genuinely scared every ten minutes or so, and the tension is created either in the music or the direction, usually taking the form of quick cuts.

In The Shining, the scares are much less frequent, though they are extreme. Throughout most of the film the tension steadily builds and builds, and with the exception of a few momentary jump cuts or anticlimactic music cues, there is little means to relieve it. Instead of the fright being created by extraordinary circumstances (as in the book) the blandness of the people, and the encounters that they have, force you to focus on Jack Nicholson?s slow descent into madness, making it seem more believable and more chilling. The slow, languid shots, using the newly-invented Steadycam, take the audience right into the heart of the action, sustaining an eeriness while the slow pace also lulls the audience into a false sense of security. Thus when the truly frightening sections of the film arrive in quick succession at the end, one feels completely trapped like the characters, drowning in a sea of terror.

The other great success of The Shining is its open-endedness. Most horror films, even those which spawn sequels, are fairly conclusive fare, with all the loose ends tied up usually coinciding with the killer revealing his/ her identity. With this, you?re never quite sure what it all means - but rather than being confusing or frustrating, this makes the film all the more fascinating. The subversive thrill of being scared, even when you know the film inside out, makes you want to revisit it, at the very least to be scared again and at the most to attempt to apply different theories.

The film raises many questions over its meaning: does Jack Torrance simply get cabin fever and go mad? If so, are the events of Delbert Grady pure coincidence; is the encounter between Torrance and Grady in the toilet simply playing out in Jack?s head? Alternatively, if Jack has been there before, does that make him a ghost? Is he both alive in the present and a figure from the past, and is he sent mad by the merging of his past and present selves? What do the ghosts want from him: is he fulfilling his duty by repeating immediate history, or is there something more? Is this simply a horror film, or an elaborate allegory of the persecution and ?correction? of the Native Americans by white settlers? This is no ordinary horror film; it?s a philosophical puzzle, or, more appositely, a mental maze.

When it comes to the performances, they?re all absolutely superb. Jack Nicholson?s performance is career-defining; all allegations of him going unnecessarily over-the-top can be safely laid to the rest once you have witnessed the gradual nature of his transformation. Having said that, his transformation would have been less believable if the first 15 minutes were not quite so naturalistic. These give the film some grounding in reality, needed so that the audience may have some standard of sanity to compare Nicholson?s madness. Shelley Duvall, meanwhile is highly convincing as his long-suffering wife, playing up much of her later scenes with great amounts of hysteria, without letting it ever get tiresome or feel rehearsed. And Joe Turkel puts in a highly ghostly turn as the barman, which if nothing else is a befitting warm-up to his performance in Blade Runner two years later.

Because of its extreme open-endedness and ambiguity, The Shining is not a flawless film; it is not that it is frustratingly uncertain of itself, or reluctant to give answers, but it takes time and care to reward examination of its deeper features. More a work of art than a disposable shocker for Friday nights, it has become a hugely influence on both horror and popular culture in general without ever ceasing to seem scary or groundbreaking. It isn?t Stanley Kubrick's best film - that remains A Clockwork Orange - but it remains a cut above almost every other horror film, an icon of both the genre and of cinema as a whole.

It is perhaps one of the greatest ironies in film or literature that Stephen King, one of the great humanist writers of our time, could be the source of one of the greatest Christian parables ever committed to pen or placed on celluloid. Frank Darabont?s first creation, The Shawshank Redemption, was and is awe-inspiring, but with The Green Mile he has created one of the five greatest films of all-time.

At nearly three hours long, and shot in a style which is slow-moving, it?s by no means an easy ride. And whereas Shawshank gave you something in the way of a happy ending, with Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman embracing on the edge of the Pacific, this is dark the whole way through. There are, however, several moments of light humour to give the audience ample relief, for instance where Wild Bill (Sam Rockwell) spits the moon pie at Brutal (David Morse), or the dark but warm banter between the guards and the governor (James Cromwell). Even the character of Percy becomes funny in the end; the more cowardly he becomes, the more ironic the humour is until he gets his comeuppance in the last hour.

This film, like Shawshank before it, is a feast for the intellect riddled with little touches, visual motifs and allegorical exchanges which renew one?s faith in the power of cinema. John Coffey, played by the amazing Michael Clarke Duncan, is more than just a faith healer who is a victim of a miscarriage of justice; he is an allegory for Jesus, who suffered similar plight before his death. The racial prejudice of 1930s America is analogous to the racial antipathy between the Romans and the Jews, culminating in Jesus being condemned to death at Pilate?s hands. Coffey?s ability to perform miracles comes at a price, both in his growing reputation and the physical toll it takes on him (remember that sequence in the Gospels where Jesus and the disciplines take the boat out into the centre of the lake to completely escape the crowds?). And finally, like the Lamb led to the slaughter who did not open his mouth, Coffey accepts his fate in sure knowledge of his innocence, to demonstrate how flawed our existence is and how our world is empty and futile without unconditional love.

Like some of Stanley Kubrick?s later films, The Green Mile is also a subtle commentary on the dual nature of the prison system, something which simultaneously dignifies and dehumanises the individual. On the one hand, the guards in the prison are perfectly civilised. They deal in death every day and yet they are not reduced to animals as a result of their jobs. With the exception of the sadistic coward Percy (Doug Hitchison), they are all genteel, salt-of-the-earth individuals, who treat each other and the prisoners with dignity and respect. On the other hand, they live their lives on Death Row, a place designed to sap the human spirit and destroy all hope. The guards are hard when they have to be, are cynical, disillusioned with their faith and difficult to shake out of their routines. And the prisoners vary in their responses to their fate, from tearful remorse (John Coffey) to insanity (Wild Bill) and quiet acceptance.

Tom Hanks has given many great performances over a career spanning three decades, but this has to be his best. He was wrongly overlooked for the Best Actor Oscar, perhaps due to winning it twice in a row earlier in the 1990s for Philadelphia and Forrest Gump, and being nominated the previous year for Saving Private Ryan. He inhabits Paul Edgecomb like no other character he?s ever played, combining hope and cynicism, light and dark in perfect measure, to achieve both pathos and humour. Supporting roles from David Morse, Barry Pepper and James Cromwell are also highly commendable.

The film is beautifully shot, with great sets which are both expansive and claustrophobic. The direction is languid but no scene is allowed to overstay its welcome just to prove a point. This is a dark, tragic, tear-jerking film which will bring you to tears and warm the heart in equal measure. The greatest film of the 1990s, a real must-see.

Both Chicken Run and Curse of the Were-Rabbit are at heart homage projects; they are the filmmakers paying tribute to the films and genres they admire, using well-known voices or characters to draw us into the story. Where Chicken Run took on stiff-upper-lip war movies like The Great Escape and The Guns of Navarone, Were-Rabbit takes the much-loved duoâ??s comedy, puts it together with Hammer and John Landis, and comes up with a winner.

The initial success (or relief) with Curse of the Were-Rabbit is that the central characters whom we know and love successfully translate from the small screen to the big screen. So many television series, like Rising Damp and Porridge, have come a cropper on the big screen, spinning out crazy storylines and pointless set-pieces which take the characters out of their element and therefore dilute the jokes. The great success of Curse of the Were-Rabbit is that the relationship between the central duo remains the focus of the film. No matter how big the set-pieces, or how star-studded the voice cast, we always come back to their long-suffering friendship.

Much of this success lies in the look of the film, not just in its visual style but its great cinematography. Aardmanâ??s affinity for plasticene and wire modelling over CGI and digi-mation has allowed them to make their characters as realistic and involving as possible. If you compare the look of this to A Grand Day Out or even The Wrong Trousers, you will understand just how far they have come. Add in the excellent lighting and the top notch score (produced by modern maestro Hans Zimmer) and you have all the ingredients for a sparky character comedy.

On top of this, the film is unrelentingly funny. Although the film tips its hat towards horror in both its subject matter and its visual, its approach to comedy is far closer to Zucker Brothers comedies like Airplane! and The Naked Gun. The beauty of stop-motion animation is that it allows filmmakers to fill each individual frame or scene with more gags or visual tropes than the audience has time to take in. Sometimes this is done for the sake of visual beauty, on other more infamous occasions â?" like Who Framed Roger Rabbit â?" it allows the animators to have some fun. In this every joke has another joke attached to it, and you find yourself wanting to rewind the film a few second back to spot something you saw out of the corner of your eye.

What this means is that for the most part the more parochial, British sitcom jokes carry through. There are occasional moments where the humour delves too deeply into the territory of the Carry On films or Up Pompeii, which will seem overbearingly retrograde for viewers of a certain age. But for most of us such occasions will either whizz by without a second thought or be covered up by a series of jokes more suited to our tastes.

This strange mix of so-called â??British humourâ?? with more universal comedy like physical slapstick, puns and parody make this film an irresistible treat, particularly for the film buffs out there. The film references a number of great and much-loved horror films, from the Hammer version of Dracula (the Vicar crossing the cucumbers in place of candles) to King Kong (Wallace hanging onto the flagpole, being surrounded by planes and then falling to his death). But the two biggest influences on the film are An American Werewolf in London (both in being a horror comedy and in the transformation sequence) and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Not only do we start with what we think is the monster (as happens in the novel), but for a long time Wallace is unaware of his deranged alter ego.

The cast of Curse of the Were-Rabbit fit snugly into their roles with such ease that you might almost accuse them of playing themselves. Aside from the usually solid Peter Sallis as Wallace, Helena Bonham Carter is really enjoyable as Lady Tottington. Having played a monkey in Planet of the Apes and a one-eyed witch in Big Fish, she draws on her Merchant Ivory roots to play the slightly crazy rabbit-loving landowner. Ralph Fiennes is great as Victor Quartermaine, drawing on the great comedic villains of Basil Rathbone and Vincent Price, and adding in his own particular brand of snarling cruelty so that he chews up every bit of scenery he stands on. There is also a gallery of good supporting performances from the likes of Peter Kay and Liz Smith, who lift some of the quieter moments with some well-timed off-beat one-liners.

In the end, Curse of the Were-Rabbit passes the test of all great comedies; it was funny at the time, and it remains funny on repeat viewing. It isnâ??t flawless, and it may not be the best thing that Aardman makes (although considering the mixed response to Flushed Away, stop-motion is clearly what they do best). But it stands in solid company with the earlier outings of Wallace and Gromit as a genuinely enjoyable family film which will entertain people of all ages. Only time will tell whether it enters into the pantheon of great animated childrenâ??s films, but in the meantime we should embrace Nick Parkâ??s touching film, which trumps much of Pixarâ??s output from the same period and brings a warm and happy glow to the viewer.

Ridley Scott's forte has always been in creating worlds which are simultaneously realistic and fantastic. The places he puts on screen, whether the battlefields of Kingdom of Heaven or the dingy streets of Blade Runner, tap into an audience's sense of the familiar. They recognise features in it, either from personal experience or popular culture, which lead them to accept it as 'real' or 'true'. But all of these locations have a layer of creative drive -- a 'fantasy', if you like -- interwoven, so that no matter how commonplace the surroundings, you always expect something new and interesting to come out of them.

This has allowed Scott to immerse himself in whatever genre he chooses, and produce something which is always interesting, even if nothing else about it works. The thing which distinguishes Blade Runner from other dystopian sci-fi like Soylent Green is that personal touch, that sense that something, somewhere will emerge to alter your perception of the 'real' forever. In Soylent Green, you know that something bad is coming just from looking at the set, and hence the ending is no big surprise. In Blade Runner, every humane twist is a great and welcome surprise, making the film emotionally powerful as well as visually arresting.

In the case of American Gangster, Scott has taken the well-worn road of the gangster film and produced something which is intense, arresting and gripping. There have been so many films made about gangsters doing drugs -- The French Connection, Scarface, Goodfellas -- that you might think that nothing original can come out of it. But here's the thing: Scott knows how much these films are revered, hence he doesn't try to directly imitate them simply to put an audience in the picture. It would have been easy to rip off The French Connection for the sequence with the cars under the Jersey Bridge, but he doesn't, taking what we know and twisting it to give us a completely different story.

The central performances by Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe are absolutely brilliant. Helped by a razor-sharp script from Steven Zaillian, they achieve a level of intensity and conviction which is rarely matched by anyone else on screen, even Armand Assante in a surprisingly good cameo. Washington's Frank Lucas starts off as calm and as steady as anyone else, but within the first hour he has transformed into a ruthless, cold-blooded businessman. The scene in which he walks out of a diner, shoots someone in broad daylight and then resumes having coffee, is completely chilling.

Crowe gives as good as him as the moral force of the film; we root for Richie Roberts from the start, but he never comes across as an annoying goody two-shoes. There's a great scene of him shambling through the park with his estranged wife and child, before pulling out his badge and shouting off at a bunch of street kids. Crowe at his best can do anger and quiet dignity in equal measure, and this ranks alongside his great dualistic turns in both Gladiator and Master and Commander.

Both of these performances hint toward the film's central theme of violence simmering below the surface. At the centre of the Lucas character is the idea that he is the least likely person in the world to be a drug lord, at least in terms of appearance. And indeed, in many of his scenes he comes across as the emblematic American family man: providing, loyal, firm but fair, successful and content. But after the incident at the boxing match, Lucas' true colours come to light, and as the various threads of his empire start to unravel he becomes more impulsive and cruel to those who cherish him the most.

The film is also about the role of capitalism in organised crime. Films like Goodfellas and The Godfather have the family as the engine room; everything comes and goes through members of the family, or the extended family of trusted associates. Prices are manipulated by threats, not by spreading rumours on the stock market. But while family still features strongly, American Gangster is more about challenging the myth that the market is entirely a force for good. Lucas gets the purest heroin not by leaving horses' heads in people's beds, but by going to the lowest bidder. He handles his suppliers like a salesman rather than a mob enforcer, and his family are treated like employees rather than kinsmen, which is unusual for a film about black culture. The cultural analysis is not as obvious as in Scott's earliest films, but there is a still a lot to be read into this. Quentin Tarantino called gangster films "parodies of the American Dream", and he may well be right.

The film is not flawless. Like a lot of Scott's films, the opening 20 minutes feel slow and unmoving. In Alien this was not a problem since the slow pace served as a great contrast for the nail-biting tension that came after. There is enough intensity in the performances to carry the film, but even so it could have been tightened up. The ending also feels loose and inconclusive. In Goodfellas Henry Hill is left on his doorstep, thankful for his safety but still wishing he were a gangster. In this, Lucas leaves prison, looks around at how the world has changed, and then the screen goes black.

But for all its little problems -- and they are little -- American Gangster is a very worthy addition to the gangster movie canon, and a great return to form for Scott after A Good Year. Like all his best films, it is beautifully shot, has a great soundtrack, and has many great ideas and themes bubbling beneath the surface. It's easily his most accomplished film since Gladiator, if nothing else because it looks like the work of someone taking their time to be intricate, rather than rushing from film to film with minimum fuss. A flawed but fascinating return to form.

When I reviewed Gregory?s Girl (1981), I argued that coming-of-age movies are both thin on substance and have a limited lifespan. Films as varied as American Graffiti and Dirty Dancing revolve around the same old stories of young love and heartbreak; the ones that last are not just those that evoke their period, but which contain some form of deeper truth about the process of growing up.

Being a young man still very much within the coming-of-age bracket, it is hard to me to say how good Scott Pilgrim vs. the World will look in ten years? time, when the gaming world has moved on and young people no longer talk like extras from Juno. It may well be that, like Edgar Wright?s previous films, it will get better with age, at least to those who saw it the first time round. All that can be said right now is that this is one of the best coming-of-age comedies in a long, long time.

For starters, Wright has managed to make a film about video games which doesn?t feel like a video game adaptation. The plot on paper does seem like a video game; defeat a series of bosses to win points and end up with the girl. But unlike, for instance, Tomb Raider, the film doesn?t feel like you are watching someone else playing a game and expecting you to be interested. The fight sequences feel like natural continuations of the story, and the character development in-between is a damn sight more complex and insightful than the swathes of exposition in something like Silent Hill.

The film has an extraordinary visual style which is somewhere between Tron and Sin City. Like Tron, you feel at moments like you are inside a video game rather than just a spectator. And as in Sin City, the film retains a very literal comic book structure, albeit without the dull pomposity of Robert Rodriguez? film. The video game elements in both the design and the content of the battles are used to compliment and enhance the conflict; the powers gained and used by Scott and his foes do not become distracting goals unto themselves.

Like the comic it is based upon, Scott Pilgrim jumps from one form of reality to another without warning. There are many flights of fantasy which are either poignant or hilarious, and the film explores issues of love and death with a fascinating alacrity. It makes no bones about its comic book violence, shooting the battles in a playful and entertaining manner with minimal focus on any lingering amount of pain. We still believe the characters are in danger, but as in Christopher Nolan?s Batman movies there is no real need to demonstrate their danger beyond stylised forms of suggestion.

Several moments in the film really stick in one?s mind. Towards the end, Pilgrim is ?killed? by Gideon, the last of the evil exes played brilliantly by Jason Schwartzman. He finds himself in some kind of desert, identical to the dream in which he first saw Ramona. He then uses the ?life? he had gained before to replay all the previous events and finally defeat Gideon. Having the exes shatter into piles of coins when defeated is ingenious, as is the spectacle of sound waves forming into two dragons and taking on a giant aural gorilla during the battle of the bands.

Despite its large quantities of geeky references to video games and the like, the film gets away with it for the simple reason that it doesn?t take itself too seriously. So many other films with video game elements fail as much from being po-faced as they do from being plot-less. For all its visual style, Silent Hill is not scary, and for all its seeming intensity, Max Payne is not exciting. Scott Pilgrim, on the other hand, has an incredible and knowing lightness of touch. It drifts like its central character from one scene to another, paying enough attention to follow what?s going on while still finding time to escape into fantasy and have fun.

The film is laugh-out-loud funny from beginning to end, with jokes coming so thick and fast that you struggle to keep up or breathe. The humour comes in all shapes and sizes, from physical slapstick to witty one-liners. We have Wallace, Scott?s gay roommate, who hits on everyone?s boyfriends and can seemingly text Scott?s overprotective sister even whilst slipping into unconsciousness. We have Todd, the third evil ex, whose status as an arrogant vegan has given him psychic powers. We have the Japanese twins, who look like a bizarre marriage between Kraftwerk and Siegfried & Roy. And we have all of Scott?s embarrassing verbal slip-ups, such as confusing ?love? for ?lesbians? and asking Ramona if she?s into drugs.

Jokes like this drift very close to the more putrid adolescent comedies, like Animal House, Porkies or Superbad. But despite all the moments where we cringe at the characters? actions, Scott Pilgrim is not out to make us wriggle uncomfortably in our seats. The more intimate scenes, including those of Ramona in her underwear, are shot with an underlying sense of respect. The film treats its female characters on a level playing field, not just by demonstrating they can fight as well as the men, but by refusing to fall into the trap of laughing at their misfortune during the break-up scenes.

In the midst of all the belly laughs and eye-popping visuals, Scott Pilgrim is a very tender treatment of young love, demonstrating not just how to get the girl but how to deal with the baggage that goes with all relationships. Both Scott and Ramona have issues with commitment, with the latter admitting that she went through a phase of being a total bitch. And like in Gregory?s Girl, there is the faint suggestion that the girl Scott falls for may not be the one he is destined to be with. In the original draft of the screenplay, which preceded the final comics, he ends up with Knives instead.

In defeating the evil exes, Pilgrim is not just standing up to other people?s demons but also confronting his own insecurities, and in going so gaining self-respect. The film genuinely conveys the sense of heartbreak on both sides which comes at the end of a relationship, and it doesn?t pretend that our heroes are perfectly compatible and therefore destined to be together. Ramona?s changing hair colour and tendency to withdraw both represents the fragile nature of love and encapsulates the modern age of complicated relationships and how hard communication can be despite (or perhaps because of) new technology.

The performances in Scott Pilgrim are all of a high calibre. Michael Cera, who can often be annoying, puts in his best performance since Juno, taking his familiar dweeby character and refining it to make Scott genuinely empathetic rather than simply pitiful. Mary Elizabeth Winstead is terrific as Ramona, possessing a sense of mystery while being completely natural and down-to-earth. Kieran Cullin is hilarious as Wallace, and Brandon Routh is very good as Todd, turning in a performance which is a million times more charismatic than his work in Superman Returns.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is one of the best films of the year and is destined to be a cult classic. It isn?t quite a masterpiece, being slightly too long and feeling somewhat rough around the edges. It takes time to adjust to its peculiar execution, and I woul be hard-pushed to say it was Wright?s best film. But as a document of teenage love and insecurity, it is up there with Juno, and is therefore essential viewing for anyone in their early-20s.