The Evil Cult (aka “Lord of the Wu Tang”) is a wildly and wacky supernatural epic in which Jet Li masquerades as Mo-kei, a weakling warrior orphaned as a child when his parents are killed by two evil Jinx warlords. Chased out of the Wu Tang compound by a leader who considers him a liability, Mo-kei (and his female protectress) find themselves trapped in a dark abyss where they stumble upon a “cooking monk” trapped in a massive boulder who holds the secret to a lost form of Shaolin kung fu. They trick him into teaching Mo-kei the secret of his “solar stance”. Newly empowered, Mo-kei sets off to find his maternal grandfather, King of the Gold Lion (de facto leader of the Evil Cult), to rally his clan with the Wu Tang in order to defeat the stifling government forces and exact revenge on the terrible Jinxes. Martial Law‘s Sammo Hung appears as Chang San Fung, Tai Chi Master of the Wu Tang clan (Hung also choreographed the action sequences for this film). Director Wong Jing (who also helmed the God of Gamblers series, Hard Boiled 2, and Return to a Better Tomorrow) just about keeps a handle on the plot and ably directs the stunning action sequences, some of which occur on battlefields swarming with soldiers.

On the DVD: the main feature is presented in letterboxed format with original Cantonese dialogue and English subtitles. The print is generally of good quality but afflicted with blemishes and white flecks throughout. The subtitles are clear but their awkward translation and speed of transition serve at times to make an already convoluted plot harder to understand. It’s a shame that an option to listen to a dubbed soundtrack wasn’t added as the dubbed theatrical trailer (included here) enhances the daffiness of the movie. Other extras include comprehensive cast and crew filmographies and a small selection of stills. –Chris Campion

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There’s a satisfying sense of closure to the definitive noir kick achieved in The Big Heat: its director, Fritz Lang, had forged early links from German expressionism to the emergence of film noir, so it’s entirely logical that the expatriate director would help codify the genre with this brutal 1953 film. Visually, his scenes exemplify the bold contrasts, deep shadows, and heightened compositions that define the look of noir, and he matches that success with the darkly pessimistic themes of this revenge melodrama.

The story coheres around the suicide of a crooked cop, and the subsequent struggle of an honest detective, Dave Bannion (Glenn Ford), to navigate between a corrupt city government and a ruthless mobster to uncover the truth. Initially, the violence here seems almost timid by comparison to the more explicit carnage now commonplace in films, yet the story accelerates as its plot arcs toward Bannion’s showdown with kingpin Lagana (Alexander Scourby) and his psychotic henchman, the sadistic Vince Stone, given an indelible nastiness by Lee Marvin. When Bannion’s wife is killed by a car bomb intended for the detective, both the hero and the story go ballistic: suspended from the force, he embarks on a crusade of revenge that suggests a template for Charles Bronson’s Death Wish films, each step pushing Lagana and Stone toward a showdown. Bodies drop, dominoes tumbled by the escalating war between the obsessed Bannion and his increasingly vicious adversaries.

Lang’s disciplined visual design and the performances (especially those of Ford, Marvin, Jeanette Nolan as the dead cop’s scheming widow, and Gloria Grahame as Marvin’s girlfriend) enable the film to transcend formula, as do several memorable action scenes–when an enraged Marvin hurls scalding coffee at the feisty Debby (Grahame), we’re both shattered by the violence of his attack, and aware that he’s shifted the balance of power. –Sam Sutherland

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In a way, Scarlet Street is a remake. It’s taken from a French novel, La Chienne (literally, “The Bitch”) that was first filmed by Jean Renoir in 1931. Renoir brought to the sordid tale all the colour and vitality of Montmartre; Fritz Lang’s version shows us a far harsher and bleaker world. The film replays the triangle set-up from Lang’s previous picture, The Woman in the Window, with the same three actors. Once again, Edward G Robinson plays a respectable middle-aged citizen snared by the charms of Joan Bennett’s streetwalker, with Dan Duryea as her low-life pimp. The plot closes around the three of them like a steel trap. This is Lang at his most dispassionate. Scarlet Street is a tour de force of noir filmmaking, brilliant but ice-cold.

The Stranger, according to Orson Welles, “is the worst of my films. There is nothing of me in that picture”. But even on autopilot Welles still leaves most filmmakers standing. A war crimes investigator, played by Edward G Robinson, tracks down a senior Nazi to a sleepy New England town where he’s living in concealment as a respected college professor. Welles wanted Agnes Moorehead as the investigator and Robinson as the Nazi Franz Kindler, but his producer, Sam Spiegel, wouldn’t wear it. So Welles himself plays the supposedly cautious and self-effacing fugitive–and if there was one thing Welles could never play, it was unobtrusive. Still, the film’s far from a write-off. Welles’ eye for stunning visuals rarely deserted him and, aided by Russell Metty’s skewed, shadowy photography, The Stranger builds to a doomy grand guignol climax in a clocktower that Hitchcock must surely have recalled when he made Vertigo. And Robinson, dogged in pursuit, is as quietly excellent as ever.

On the DVD: sparse pickings. Both films have a full-length commentary by Russell Cawthorne which adds the occasional insight, but is repetitive and not always reliable. The box claims both print have been “fully restored and digitally remastered”, but you’d never guess. –Philip Kemp

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The Maltese Falcon is still the tightest, sharpest, and most cynical of Hollywood’s official deathless classics, bracingly tough even by post-Tarantino standards. Humphrey Bogart is Dashiell Hammett’s definitive private eye, Sam Spade, struggling to keep his hard-boiled cool as the double-crosses pile up around his ankles. The plot, which dances all around the stolen Middle Eastern statuette of the title, is too baroque to try to follow, and it doesn’t make a bit of difference. The dialogue, much of it lifted straight from Hammett, is delivered with whip-crack speed and sneering ferocity, as Bogie faces off against Peter Lorre and Sidney Greenstreet, fends off the duplicitous advances of Mary Astor, and roughs up a cringing “gunsel” played by Elisha Cook Jr. It’s an action movie of sorts, at least by implication: the characters always seem keyed up, right on the verge of erupting into violence. This is a turning-point picture in several respects: John Huston (The African Queen) made his directorial debut here in 1941, and Bogart, who had mostly played bad guys, was a last-minute substitution for George Raft, who must have been kicking himself for years afterward. This is the role that made Bogart a star and established his trend-setting (and still influential) antihero persona. –David Chute END

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Humphrey Bogart stars as Rip Murdock, a World War II veteran ensnared in a web of crime and conspiracy when his best friend, Johnny Drake (William Prince), disappears en route to Washington, D.C., to receive a war medal. Murdock follows the trail to Drake’s hometown in the Deep South, where he finds his friend’s body burned beyond recognition at the local morgue. Murdock, determined to find the murderer, begins his own investigation but soon falls for Drake’s ex-girlfriend, femme fatale Cory Chandler (Lizabeth Scott). When Murdock finds his first lead dead in his own hotel room, he begins to suspect that Chandler may be a lot more than just a local singer. Directed by acclaimed veteran John Cromwell (SO ENDS OUR NIGHT, ABE LINCOLN IN ILLINOIS), DEAD RECKONING provides sharp and merciless suspense. The dark, winding plot twists in this classic film noir are held together and energized throughout by Bogart’s commanding, inimitable screen presence and his paradoxically expressive, world-weary deadpan.

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Terry Pratchett’s Discworld is, perhaps unsurprisingly given the game’s title, the setting for this point-and-click romp which combines the best elements of Bogart-esque private eye movies with the best-known fantasy environment in the world.

The game follows the trials and tribulations of the Discworld’s first PI as he takes on his first case–a missing persons job on behalf of a darkly mysterious female client who’s husband has gone walkies.

It’s pretty standard adventure fare with pointing and clicking aplenty as the case unravels, villains are revealed and outrageously long FMV sequences disturb the flow of the plot.

OK, so far it doesn’t sound that good, right? But perseverance is the name of the game and you won’t be able to help getting drawn further into the plot to the point where it is impossible to leave it alone. The major draw in this title is the obvious input from Pratchett himself. The characters really bring this game to life, mixing the new, such as Lewton the private eye and main character, with the old, Nobby Nobbs of the City Guard, Death and the Grim Squeaker–a hilarious character who is actually the Death of Rats.

Comedy abounds here, from the obvious to the incredibly subtle, and there is plenty going on to keep you playing for quite a while.

At the end of the day, this is more suited to the Discworld fan then to someone looking idly around for an adventure game to fill in a couple of hours, but with its budget price thanks to an Infogrames re-release, Discworld Noir is a good purchase. –James Gordon

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Wolverine, fan favourite of the X-Men universe in both comic books and film, gets his own movie vehicle with X-Men Origins: Wolverine, a tale that reaches way, way back into the hairy mutant’s story. Somewhere in the wilds of northwest Canada in the early 1800s, two boys grow up amid violence: half-brothers with very special powers. Eventually they will become the near-indestructible warriors (and victims of a super-secret government program) known as Wolverine and Sabretooth, played respectively by Hugh Jackman (returning to his role) and Liev Schreiber (new to the scene). It helps enormously to have Schreiber, an actor of brawny skills, as the showiest villain; the guy can put genuine menace into a vocal inflection or a shift of the eyes. Danny Huston is the sinister government operative whose experiments keep pulling Wolverine back in, Lynn Collins is the woman who shares a peaceful Canadian co-existence with our hero when he tries to drop out of the program, and Ryan Reynolds adds needed humour, at least for a while.

The fast-paced early reels give an entertaining kick-off to the Wolverine saga, only to slow down when a proper plot must be put together–but isn’t that perpetually the problem with origin stories? And despite a cool setting, the grand finale is a little hemmed in by certain plot essentials that must be in place for the sequels, which may be why characters do nonsensical things. So, this one is fun while it lasts, if you’re not looking for a masterpiece, or an explanation for Wolverine’s facial grooming.

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There’s a satisfying sense of closure to the definitive noir kick achieved in The Big Heat: its director, Fritz Lang, had forged early links from German expressionism to the emergence of film noir, so it’s entirely logical that the expatriate director would help codify the genre with this brutal 1953 film. Visually, his scenes exemplify the bold contrasts, deep shadows, and heightened compositions that define the look of noir, and he matches that success with the darkly pessimistic themes of this revenge melodrama.

The story coheres around the suicide of a crooked cop, and the subsequent struggle of an honest detective, Dave Bannion (Glenn Ford), to navigate between a corrupt city government and a ruthless mobster to uncover the truth. Initially, the violence here seems almost timid by comparison to the more explicit carnage now commonplace in films, yet the story accelerates as its plot arcs toward Bannion’s showdown with kingpin Lagana (Alexander Scourby) and his psychotic henchman, the sadistic Vince Stone, given an indelible nastiness by Lee Marvin. When Bannion’s wife is killed by a car bomb intended for the detective, both the hero and the story go ballistic: suspended from the force, he embarks on a crusade of revenge that suggests a template for Charles Bronson’s Death Wish films, each step pushing Lagana and Stone toward a showdown. Bodies drop, dominoes tumbled by the escalating war between the obsessed Bannion and his increasingly vicious adversaries.

Lang’s disciplined visual design and the performances (especially those of Ford, Marvin, Jeanette Nolan as the dead cop’s scheming widow, and Gloria Grahame as Marvin’s girlfriend) enable the film to transcend formula, as do several memorable action scenes–when an enraged Marvin hurls scalding coffee at the feisty Debby (Grahame), we’re both shattered by the violence of his attack, and aware that he’s shifted the balance of power. –Sam Sutherland

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