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It might only be three minutes long, but Joshua Kahan's Japanese Doctor Who is incredibly humorous and, whether you are a Whovian or not, thoroughly enjoyable. (And surely, even the non-Whovians will know what a Dalek is, and how his version compares.) It parodies what occidentals might think a Japanese version of Doctor Who might look like, complete with martial arts and surprise weapons, and comes across as intended: a late 1970s or early 1980s (more likely the latter, given the wardrobe and colours used) video clip. It's simple to follow, and demonstrates that you don't need a big budget to produce something effective and worth a few repeat views. Kudos to Mr Kahan for bringing a smile to my face.

It's very easy to figure out why The New Professionals was a dud, at least in New Zealand: it didn't just follow in the footsteps of the original, it followed Bodyguards, which out-Professionaled the show considerably with its boss-and-two-agents formula. Cmdr McIntyre was a latter-day George Cowley: tough on his team, but one who would defend them to the death against others. The shadow the show cast was huge.

Well, not as huge as it should have been in the UK. Here, it was networked in prime-time. It was even marketed in the promos as, 'They are the professionals.' Someone else obviously noticed the difference. We were fortunate enough not to have this show released in different regions at different time slots.

It was the high production values that sealed the deal for me. As other reviewers have noted, it followed the great British tradition of the one-hour actioner, but blended in personal elements at the same time. There's a slight undercurrent of something developing between Liz and Ian, though that never distracted one from the real plot. Most episodes were based around inflammatory diplomatic incidents, the sort of thing that helps Spooks along from time to time.

Unlike many 2000s shows, the plot was not sacrificed at the expense of fancy-pants photography or over-stylish direction. Directors like Christopher Young kept the pace up and did their job. They made use of good locations, making Bodyguards slicker than if it had been shot on back roads and alleyways. It was contemporary, it would still stand up beautifully today, and it was one of the better examples of the British actioner in the 1990s, showing that the UK can still do them better than anyone else.

Maybe except for the Germans and their Cobra 11.

Danny Bilson and Paul de Meo had made their names combining cartoon-style story lines with live action, evidenced with their earlier collaborations, The Flash (1990) and Rocketeer (1991). These were the rage in the early 1990s, probably in the wake of the big-screen version of Batman; meanwhile, television cartoons themselves were becoming more adult-oriented.

Viper was born into this era, and admirably filled the gap between the cartoons and the big-screen adventures. Bilson and de Meo's original pilot for a series had an all-too-familiar storyline that Knight Rider fans might recognize: a man is given a chance at a new life after being given plastic surgery, working for an organization that stands slightly outside official legal channels. But where Viper differs is in its forward-looking style and its script, which could be said to be a scaled-down version of one of Bilson and de Meo's feature films.

A unit within the police department has developed an ultimate weapon: a Dodge Viper with a host of non-lethal gadgets designed to stop villains. But they need a driver, and the only one, according to its designer, Julian Wilkes (Dorian Harewood), appears to be a criminal.

The protagonist begins as Michael Payton (James McCaffrey), a wheel man for organized criminals. He changes sides after a car chase, which results in an accident, and a chip is planted in his head to erase his criminal past. Despite plastic surgery and a new identity, one of his old gang recognizes the reborn Joe Astor as Payton, and forces him to steal the Viper.

Certain events—notably the murder of his girlfriend—cement Astor's decision to stay on the side of good, but with this darker history. The cartoon influence was obvious from this, complemented by outstanding (for its time) special effects that saw the regular red Viper turn into the 'Defender', a special armoured mode accomplished by individual hexagonal pieces in the bodyshell flipping over. The idea was revolutionary at the time.

The production design also contributed to the cartoon feel. Tim Burton's Batman mixed eras: 1940s clothing with a futuristic Batmobile and computers in the Batcave. Here, the Viper is a 1994 model, but on the streets are Chrysler concept cars; in one scene, car spotters will be able to spot modified Dodge Monacos—these, in fact, were prototype "mules" on the then-unreleased Chrysler LH platform. (It was probably the only time such prototypes were destroyed on a TV show.) While shot for television, Viper's production values were so high that it could pass for a cheaper big-screen movie. While no Batman, lacking its complexity and depth, it ranked above the run-of-the-mill TV movies showing as an NBC Movie of the Week.

It's been a decade since the first Mission: Impossible film, so by now any resemblance to the TV series, theme music and opening sequence aside, is purely coincidental. Mr Cruise and his team have managed to create, successfully, a new world with very little resemblance to the original idea from Bruce Geller.

In fact, the story is told in reverse: it opens with an event that does not take place till much later in the film, before cutting to the story's true beginning after the match-lighting credits.

This time out, Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) is at his engagement party when he receives a telephone call from his immediate superior at the Impossible Mission Force, Musgrave. He's urged to get out of training agents and into the field for a rescue mission, an event that leads Hunt and his team (Ving Rhames returns as Luther Stickell, while Maggie Q and Jonathan Rhys Meyers join the cast) into the usual double-crosses and red herrings.

The rescue scene near the opening is indicative of the new Mission: Impossibles: Hunt et al have to use weaponry and gadgetry to rescue an agent, Lindsey Farris (Keri Russell), rather than trickery and intelligence. From that point on, this is an action spectacular that will wow mainstream audiences.

Only thing is, even die-hard Mission: Impossible TV fans like myself come in expecting the sort of action set down by the first Brian de Palma film now. In fact, M:I III resembles the first actioner more than the John Woo-directed second outing, with a question mark eventually over whom within the IMF agency is a mole.

J. J. Abrams' touch as a co-writer and director is felt. Any fans of Alias will not be disappointed: the movie comes off with more of that flavour, but with far more explosions and cameras encircling walking actors than one might expect. Michael Giacchino's music works well with the action for the most part and the re-arrangement of the Lalo Schifrin themes sound spectacular with a full orchestra. The musical surprise is an updated version of 'It's Impossible' over the end credits.

The mask-making process is shown more clearly this time around—the use of electronic gadgetry once again—as is the learning of an enemy's voice (no more Rollin Hand here; this is high-tech voodoo, too).

The script holds up reasonably well; certainly it is infinitely superior to the previous outing. For an action spectacular, there is sufficient plot, though it is used to hold action sequences together. The mole's motive is not that clearly explained, while the main villain, Owen Davian (Philip Seymour Hoffman), also disappoints as a baddie who prefers using guns and fists to brains.

Mission: Impossible III has taken over from the James Bonds in certain respects. The spy actioner theme is the most obvious. Secondly, the films go to more exotic locations, with Shanghai being the setting in the second half. The film-makers have used the Chinese city to good effect, showing it as a futuristic metropolis hanging on to some tradition—a 1,000-year-old fishing village and some of Shanghai's back streets are also shown. Some Ford Motor Company (Land Rover, Lincoln) and DHL product placement is evident—another cue taken from the Bonds.

If audiences seek a "bigger" Mission: Impossible, then Cruise and co. have delivered. It's quite a ride, enough to set it apart from other Hollywood action flicks, but not quite enough to make it a supremely satisfying movie. Still, it is worth parting with your money to get the action on the big screen, particularly those Shanghai sequences.

I caught this on television after the opening credits rolled, so I came in to it without any preconceived notion of a 'Dolph Lundgren movie' or a 'John Woo movie'. My initial impressions were positive: Lundgren, whom I didn't recognize, is actually not a bad actor, as much as I surprise myself writing this. His Jack Devlin role gives him a chance to show a softer side as a caring uncle as well as a considerate bodyguard. And, the cinematography was very good—nice lighting, given that it's a cheap TV movie, keeping me drawn in.

However, a good movie needs a good storyline. It also needs to be cohesive. Even when drawn into the movie's own world, it needs to be logical within itself. Blackjack has so many plot holes that it frustrates any viewer, from mystery motorcyclists who aid the assassin, who is supposedly 'working alone', to a willing bad guy who hesitates from killing the hero so the hero gets a chance to find where he's hiding.

It's a huge surprise to learn that this was a John Woo film, given that his direction tends to be solid. This must rank as one of his duffers. Avoid at all costs, especially if you would like to keep a positive image of Mr Woo in your mind.

There are TV chefs who try to involve their audiences (like Martin Yan), or go for a quirkier presentation (like Jamie Oliver), but Hudson and Halls beat them all.

While the pair were able to create some great dishes, Hudson and Halls was ostensibly light entertainment. They did interact with their crew and a very limited selection of special guest stars, but from my recollection of the 1970s, they spent quite a bit of time arguing, usually humorously—though one time food was thrown in anger—with one another.

More conservative commentators might complain that Hudson and Halls lacked the decorum of Julia Child, who stood dutifully behind her kitchen; Halls and Hudson did what came naturally, even if that made life hard for heavy, fixed studio cameras.

Thinking back to 20 to 30 years, the 1970s and early 1980s—the Muldoon era—were a more politically correct time. Today, there would be a song and dance about the men being a gay couple, and weren't we doing well giving them air time? Back then, New Zealanders did not care. I don't remember their homosexuality being discussed in the media. Hudson and Halls got a prime time slot, not the late-night slots given to "openly gay" programmes (Queer Nation, The L Word) in New Zealand today.

We call ourselves a more understanding society today while politicizing every little difference in sexuality, race and religion. Hudson and Halls, as a show, is a reminder of how far we have fallen behind in tolerance. Back then, we practised it. Now, we just say we practise it.

Fallout will probably be remembered for its high production values, its more than able cast, and excellent direction that managed to heighten the sense of drama that took place in New Zealand politics in 1984.

But as a story, one has to wonder about its accuracy. Fallout is more accurate than Hollywood blockbusters in its attempt to re-create recent history. Here, it is about the downfall of the Sir Robert Muldoon-led National Government of 1975–84, but with one of the scriptwriters known for lampooning the then-Prime Minister in his contemporary cartoons and commentaries, it was bound to further his ideas. Post mortem documentaries on Muldoon, which included viewpoints from this mini-series' co-writer Tom Scott, painted a grim figure—one which family members and associates proclaimed was biased and false. Fallout needs to be considered in that shadow, produced at a safe distance after Muldoon's passing—and dead men, of course, cannot sue for defamation.

New Zealand mainstream media tend to regard the late 1970s and early 1980s as dark days, conveniently forgetting the nation's advances; and Sir Robert Muldoon is easily portrayed as a villain. In a nation that prefers the collective to individual endeavour, Muldoon's independent nature became increasingly at odds with the mass media at the time. His opponent, the Labour Party's David Lange, is regarded as a hero, a man who liberated the New Zealand economy—and whose failings are seldom exposed by film-makers, even though his own departure from the premiership would make for equally gripping television. That story remains untold dramatically.

One irony is that such productions might have received greater funding from the government had Sir Robert Muldoon prevailed in 1984, and more stories about New Zealand might have been told.

The premise set, Ian Mune plays Muldoon with little sympathy and great menace. Mune rightly stayed away from lampooning Muldoon's crooked mouth, preferring to concentrate on characterization—and as one of New Zealand's finest character actors and directors, his portrayal is strong and powerful.

Australian comedic actor Mark Mitchell, better known for his outings as Con the Grocer in The Comedy Company, plays Lange as more of a gentleman who takes advantage of National's increasing dissatisfaction within its ranks. Mitchell's nice-guy looks contribute to that—after all, he once did play Santa Claus.

Both actors have voice and accent down pat, and acclaim should be levelled at Mitchell for perfecting his New Zealandisms.

The story centres around the fall of Muldoon and the rise of Lange, and his party's desire to make New Zealand the first sovereign nation to declare itself nuclear-free through legislation—thereby destroying its defence alliance with the United States. Having been made in 1995, when there was still a great deal of support for the move, the story tows the party line; but in that respect it comes across now as a period mini-series that kowtowed to government demands. One would expect that more in a communist régime, not a democracy.

And fair play to the script: it does move events on at an acceptable pace, while the mid-1980s settings are realistic (perhaps not hard 10 years after the events). The Parliament and Government House sets, in particular, deserve mention.

However, director Chris Bailey does his best with what he is given, and stays faithful to the script. Bailey excels when directing drama, not comedy—and this is no exception. He is an underrated television director, and Fallout serves as one of his finer works.

Operation: Cougar, or Daihao Meizhoubao in its original Mandarin, had one redeeming feature: a more hopeful future between the People's Republic of China and the Republic of China. It's written in the script, but other than that positive note, the movie fails on most counts.

After a botched hijacking attempt, a plane is forced to land in the middle of the Red Chinese countryside. Chinese special forces, coupled with a Taiwanese expert, cooperate to rescue the hostages.

However, the film smacks of cheapness—the editing is some of the worst I have seen, high-level meetings in Taipei and Beijing are shown with series of still photos, while the script has very obvious plot holes. One, in the middle of the film, involves one of the hijackers' collaborators, stationed outside the plane and keeping tabs on the Red Army. Since no one knew where the plane would land, how could the collaborator be conveniently based there? The stand-off is implausible for the most part, with numerous attempts at rescues failing. But they are almost designed to fail from the start: one soldier going it alone atop the plane's fuselage without a real plan; or, when special forces advance, none of them return fire when fired upon by two hijackers.

But at least the movie does not attempt to glorify the mainland, so it could not be seen as veiled propaganda. Both Beijing and Taipei have parts to play in securing the hostages' release.

Gong Li has a role as a stewardess, and director Yimou Zhang has since gone on to make motion pictures that have been exported to the west. Cougar perhaps can be seen as both parties' genesis, and has curiosity value for their fans, but little more.

If you were a child of the 1970s, then you will probably remember this as the definitive Avengers, and find the original rather odd. It's not to say I dislike the original, but when I watched The New Avengers in the 1970s, it had that sense of realism and style that was very formative in my younger days.

Technically, the 1970s saw lighter cameras and greater use of location filming, two things that made The New Avengers different from its forebear. These enabled the series to be grittier, in keeping with the mood of the time. Preserving the fanciful, "British Batman" ideals of the 1960s' series would have gone sharply against the realism that viewers demanded in the 1970s. Britons (and plenty of people worldwide) wanted to see Britain, not a studio mock-up of it. And car chases were de rigueur. On these counts, The New Avengers delivered.

Purdey, not Emma Peel, was the first strong female character I knew on television. Columbia Pictures Television's Police Woman seemed phoney with Angie Dickinson getting her gun out of her handbag; it was Joanna Lumley's willingness to do her own action sequences that made her Purdey character more convincing. The fact she did her high kicks while wearing Laura Ashley, and not encased in PVC, did not seem strange; it was more her short hair that naice girls on telly did not have.

And because I was introduced to the Avengers' mystique through this series, I have always been used to the idea of Patrick Macnee's John Steed being the elder statesman. The suggestive nature of his relationships with his female partners in the 1960s seemed inappropriate when I viewed The Avengers in re-runs (and Macnee once quipped that he felt John Steed did consummate his relationships 'continuously and in his spare time'). The Gambit character played by Gareth Hunt was more my idea of the action-oriented British gent who had spent time in the military, though I recall both being relatively wooden, save for a few episodes.

The spy story lines were entertaining, and I understand the original series' fans being less than impressed. But they were a clever differentiation from the typical cop shows of the decade, and even though there were some corners cut (using old footage of Diana Rigg in one episode), I never felt cheated by The New Avengers. The thriller style that Brian Clemens and his team introduced to this series kept viewers on the edge of their seats, and it must have been good enough to warrant a second season at the time—even if the latter was partly made in France and Canada. Even then, the episodes were not as bad as some have made out—Continental filming, in particular, gave me one of my earliest impressions of Europe. I don't think I had seen anything made in Canada prior to The New Avengers.

In many respects, The New Avengers was more a forerunner to The Professionals—one of the greatest British TV actioners made—than a successor to The Avengers. It had the same producers and very similar crews. By coincidence, The Professionals' Lewis Collins and Martin Shaw guest-starred together in one episode. And, like The Professionals, it gave the sense that after an hour, you got great value. The same could not be said for most TV series of this genre today, made to please a network and an accounting firm rather than the audience.

Coming to America is harmless fun—though at the time of the release I remember some African–American groups being less than delighted about it. I can't remember the reason, and being neither black nor white, I saw the film without any politicization surrounding race. And when viewed in that vein, this is a charming, traditional, popcorn love story, with the mainstream laughs you would expect from a 1980s Eddie Murphy film.

It's the old tale of the prince in an arranged marriage who wishes to seek, instead, an independently minded woman. And he meets her on his first night in Queens, New York, the place that seems the farthest from the mythical Zamunda, a wealthy African nation where zebras and lions roam outside the royal palace and James Earl Jones is king. The courtship is fairly speedy as the movie has to finish within two hours; though I'll hold back on whether Prince Akeem gets the girl or not due to IMDb rules.

However, this was produced by Eddie Murphy and he came up with the original story, so there are suitably naughty bits—in the day when Murph wasn't a Dad and wasn't making kid-friendly fare. The opening scenes of a pampered prince are enjoyable, not to mention an early appearance of Garcelle Beauvais; Madge Sinclair, as the queen of Zamunda, plays her role with such class she could pass for royalty. Murphy's and Arsenio Hall's multiple roles are memorable, including Murphy's (white) Jewish character, Saul, and singer Randy Watson. Eriq la Salle gives a convincing portrayal of a spoilt heir, in direct contrast to the conscientious prince—there is meaning behind these roles.

Despite these characterizations, Coming to America breaks little new ground, but it is largely satisfying. It is what it says it is—a romantic comedy—and succeeds on both those counts.

I was so disappointed with The Spy Who Shagged Me, this film's prequel, that I did not see Goldmember till it played on network television. And I'm regretting I didn't pay to see it uninterrupted at the time, back in 2002.

This is an Austin Powers movie, not a Dr Evil movie like its predecessor. Austin doesn't look lost, but is back in his element. It doesn't give too much focus on the villains. With Michael Caine as Austin Powers' father, the scenes seem to have more sparkle—perhaps knowing they would attract someone of Caine's calibre, everything was that much more polished. Even the toilet humour seems tolerable compared with the previous outing.

The sets are more expensive; the jokes are less repetitive; and there are more cameos than before, including those of Tom Cruise and Gwyneth Paltrow in a clever film-within-a-film sequence. While Myers penned this idea in his original script for Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, it was nice to see it realized here.

Beyoncé Knowles is a surprisingly good actress, and at no time does it appear this is her first film role. And rather than be directly inspired by a James Bond film, Myers has charted a more original, and highly entertaining, course. In fact, the Michael Caine references are plentiful: the use of a Mini as a getaway car, a sequence where the stars sing a version of 'What's It All About, Alfie' (edited out, though the song is still heard in the end credits), and even old footage of Caine. The Nigel Powers character's spectacles are a take-off of Caine's Harry Palmer's, from the 1960s. And not a lot of people know that.

One disappointment is the lack of screen time for Robert Wagner, and Mr Bigglesworth, the cat, is hardly seen except in a flashback sequence.

Goldmember nearly had the sort of impact its predecessors did. Just as fingered "air quotes" became commonplace after the first film, many people will have the idea that a Dutch accent is the bad one Myers adopted for his Goldmember persona.

The finalé is a surprise, and that's hard for a movie series that has prided itself on self-referential humour and parody. And while it gives a reasonably satisfying conclusion, it leaves open the opportunity of a very different fourth Austin Powers movie.

A very short-lived spy series that didn't deserve its early cancellation, Mr & Mrs Smith filled a late-night slot in New Zealand—where hardly anyone saw it.

Still, those of us who stayed up were rewarded with light-hearted scripts, the occasional plot twist, and an insight into the world of modern espionage—one done by a private concern, rather than a government department.

Each story would generally begin with Mr Big (Roy Dotrice) receiving an assignment by way of a private contract, assigning it to his two field agents who would invariably have to pose as a couple. However, as the credits put it, 'We're not married'—though most of the episode would feature a great deal of 'Will they? Won't they?' tension.

Of course, they wouldn't, and never did, thanks to the series' cancellation a few episodes in to its first season.

There were some techniques that were refreshing for the mid-1990s: the Thomas Crown split-screen effect was put to good use and took us back to an earlier time; the production designers gave everything a slick—but not too slick—style that suggested a nice blend between fact and fiction; and a jazzy theme tune, 'Do You Want to Dance', delivered with soul and more melody than most of the electronica served up in the period.

All this paled in comparison to the performances given by Maria Bello and Scott Bakula. Bakula perhaps had the same uncertainty in his Mr Smith character as his Sam in Quantum Leap, but Bello played her role with great charm, showing that femininity and strength (she did many of her own stunts) were quite compatible. It's not something that Hollywood does well with its stereotypes. And if you hadn't heard of Maria Bello prior, you would after this. The fact she managed to get larger roles after Mr & Mrs Smith highlights the impact the few episodes had.

Mr & Mrs Smith's cancellation is mind-boggling at best. There are no surface reasons for its failure, given that the production values were high, the scripts were strong, the cast was well skilled. It was better than its contemporaries. The stories were not overly complex—just complex enough to please most people for an hour at a time. Nor was it out of step with tastes in 1996. That usually leaves one explanation: closed-door meetings and politicking among the network, forgetting the one group that needed to be pleased. The viewers.

The movie version with Pitt and Jolie was obviously inspired by this; but when that movie's credits give no mention of this foray, it's an added injustice on a series which, while it broke no new ground, was a highly entertaining, well made distraction.

Take the creator and the producer of The Professionals, the composer of Beverly Hills Cop, and you should have a sure-fire hit, correct? Blue Blood was a München-made version of a series that Brian Clemens had written but had set in England initially; but when English backing was not forthcoming, the concept was altered and the setting shifted to suit the money source. The English lord—an idea Clemens explored with The Persuaders—became, ein, zwei, drei, a German count.

The result is fairly pleasing, with Austrian actor Albert Fortell playing Count Heinrich von Alternberg, a.k.a. Henry Altern, with great sincerity. And he has sufficient charisma to play a count, albeit a penniless one driven to private investigating to pay the bills. Capucine plays his mother in one of her final roles, with the sort of class one would expect of her. Ursula Karven plays Henry's ex-wife, Lisa Prentice, who conveniently happens to be an investigative journalist who can help him solve crimes.

Being a penniless aristocrat, Altern does not have the funds to make his character particularly different to others of this ilk—Amos Burke he is not. But as he goes from case to case, there are those who adore a chance at snobbery by associating with him; and despite being broke, it appears that his title is useful credit for renting a luxury apartment in one episode. However, the back-story of his being a titled German doesn't seem to impact greatly (and probably doesn't work well in countries that got rid of their monarchies a long time ago); hints of his near-participation in the Olympics (for skiing) and his thirst for adventure were more relevant. One episode, 'Deadly Weekend', was told in flashback, to explain that he had an amateurish knack for solving crimes—though the script was one of the weakest among the nine stories.

The scripts are generally acceptable, though one might label them 'Eurobland'. There is usually a rather simple plot at the core, layered with a few minor twists. The stories lack the sophistication of what Clemens had turned out for The Professionals, but are on a par with most private-eye series of the late 1980s. Sidney Hayers' direction has plenty of pace for any idiosyncrasies to be readily ignored; and the continental European settings in Germany, France, Italy, Spain and Austria help endow the show with a little exoticism compared to British and American fare. Guest stars such as Lewis Collins (from The Professionals), Franco Nero, and Lauren Hutton contribute to Blue Blood's globe- (or at least continent-) trotting idea. German pop songs sung in English, occasionally used for incidental music, are period but pleasant.

And when there is a pretty enough female guest star—such as Swiss actress Denise Virieux—Karven conveniently goes missing from that episode's cast.

If you seek character development, look elsewhere. Like The New Avengers and The Professionals, Clemens' earlier shows, everything is wrapped up at the end of the hour, and the question of whether Henry and Lisa would ever reconcile is never answered. By the next episode, it's all reset anyway. Henry still has no money, Lisa is on another story that happens to coincide with something Henry gets hired for, and Mum just potters around at a castle with no heating.

The series was actually filmed in English, and one quirk of this was that Karven was unable to dub herself in the German version due to other commitments. Oddly, she was criticized at the time in Germany for her weak voice in Hörzu magazine. But the original English dialogue is acceptable, if dull—something that probably keeps Blue Blood from being repeated too often, and classes it as lacking mainstream appeal. There's little banter between Fortell and Karven: Clemens was probably trying too hard to ensure dialogue that could translate, and lost the charm in the process. Either that, or he could not master the idea of German humour. A shame—Blue Blood is a perfectly acceptable, but slightly too short-lived, crime series.

The script for King Kong might not be rich in dialogue, and the movie could be argued as being special effects-laden, but it's in Peter Jackson's expression of the humanity within the story that make this one of the finest films around.

Film-maker Carl Denham (Jack Black, whose name curiously appears before Academy Award winner Adrien Brody's) discovers actress Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts) and convinces her to join him on a journey to Skull Island, at which his half-finished movie can be completed. While there, Darrow is taken by the natives and offered as a sacrifice. A giant, 25 ft gorilla comes for her, but instead of killing her, begins to care and feel for her.

The story is well known enough for the majority of reviews to avoid real spoilers, but at no other time has King Kong been told with such poignancy. Andy Serkis's movements, including his eyes which were scanned and magnified for the Kong character, give the creature more realism than ever—so much so that Mr Serkis deserves such a high billing ('and Andy Serkis as') for his contribution.

Every scene featuring Kong and Watts stirs the soul, and at no time does one consider that most of them would have been filmed with a green screen. In fact, every scene featuring Watts steals the movie: the camera loves her more here than in any of her previous films. She is at the height of her beauty and absorbs us into it. Her eyes convey all her emotions, considering she has few words shared with Kong. And Jackson fittingly plays up her strength at every opportunity.

The complaints are few: Black is a competent actor but pales in comparison with Brody and, especially, Watts; Black's last line is delivered with a cringe. The travel to Skull Island takes considerable time, and we learn that Darrow's relationship with playwright Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody), which develops on this journey, is secondary anyway. Jackson delights perhaps a little too much in his monsters, though this writer disagrees with an earlier reviewer that the dinosaurs were inferior to those of Jurassic Park. Eagle-eyed moviegoers may spot the odd computer-made sign or prop.

But pedants are more than catered for with an outstanding, CGI-made replica of New York, including carefully modified cars to get their steering wheels on the left. The fight scenes featuring Kong and his rivals on Skull Island excite. Opening scenes of Depression-era hardship set up the first act admirably (as well as a feeling of spectacle). Visually there are in-jokes: a Universal Pictures sign high above Times Square, and a reference to Fay Wray near the beginning of the film as being a size 4 but under contract to RKO.

It may not feel like The Lord of the Rings other than sweeping camera-work, a Hobbitesque left-to-right journey into Skull Island's interior (and right-to-left in the escape from it), and, of course, a smörgåsbord of creatures that are responsible for quite a high body count within the middle of the film.

It is true that King Kong does not feel like three hours, but it does feel like a substantial two. If the middle feels long, then the dénouement feels short, simply because by that time, we are in love with both the gentle Kong and Naomi Watts. Jackson's direction has made us care about these characters: a monster film this is not. It is, instead, a simple but extravagantly told tale about the emotions and thoughts that drive all creatures: survival, nurturing, affinity, and love.

A wasted effort. On the surface it's a typical disaster movie: we're involved in the lives of a few people who get caught up in the Big Event. However, the script is so awful and there's so much explaining of the characters' background within the dialogue that we feel we're being treated like morons. Even Sesame Street didn't explain the origins of Mr Snuffleupagus or how Mr Hooper died: we can work it out. Someone thought that entering 'Enron' into the script would give it currency when discussing power companies. The acting is by and large bland, with the exception of the older performers (Randy Quaid, Brian Dennehy), and after the first hour, I couldn't care less about who the storms took out.

But maybe there are the special effects to watch. Sadly, no. Even on a 20-year-old TV set I could see one tractor and trailer were computer-generated—badly. Maybe there are budgetary limitations, so I can forgive that one. Footage of a plane trying to land looked pretty real, but I kept telling myself I had seen that before. This site confirms it: it was from an earlier film, Nowhere to Land.

So in summary, the only good bits are from another film, and when you see the best action sequences compressed into a 30-second network promo, it makes Category 6 look quite good. My advice: rely on your network to do some good 30-second clips, watch them, and save yourself two nights.

This is one of those movies that are shown late at night on TV, because it doesn't quite deserve prime-time. It's really a wasted opportunity: both Mary Tyler Moore and Ed Asner can act wonderfully, and thanks to their performances, you do not think about the very famous sitcom on which they both were. (Not even when Mary is in Ed's office.) Fredric Lehne makes a menacing enough villain. In fact, the acting talent is strong but it's let down by a script that lacks verisimilitude, particularly the courtroom scenes. Near the end of the film, so much tension has been built up, so many leads prove fruitless, that you look at the clock and wonder how it's all going to end. Rather easily and dissatisfyingly, I'm afraid. If you see Payback in the TV listings, check if it's the Mel Gibson outing first.

Sitcoms seldom translate well across the Atlantic, and we had the misfortune of seeing both the original Who's the Boss? and The Upper Hand.

The same reasons Fawlty Towers works in the UK and Payne does not work in the US apply here, but in reverse.

The rehashed American scripts lack passion, the leads have no chemistry compared to their American counterparts (in fact, they seem to be asleep during the show), and it seems no one attempted to make this show funny. No one, apart from Honor Blackman, who showed she could be a great comedic actress.

Unsurprisingly, it was rewarded with a mid-afternoon slot here, while the original aired on prime time.

The premise would have worked, possibly with decent comedy scripts that we know the Brits can churn out.

We all know how sequels in Hollywood usually go, but I had high hopes for another Soderbergh-directed outing of George Clooney et al in Ocean's Twelve. It was shot in the same documentary style, but gone is the clever plot of the original in favour of dialogue and in-jokes. The central heist is not clever when compared to the original's, while most plot surprises fell flat. An attempt to revive the 1960s with fashion and simple typography failed to impress—it lacked the polish of that era. Catherine Zeta-Jones was a saving grace, for her acting ability and seemingly more screen presence than the returning actors, and it was a pity we saw Carl Reiner so little, given he did give the team more gravitas. It gets some marks for the presence of major actors in minor roles—Bruce Willis, Robbie Coltrane and Jeroen Krabbé (with no lines) among them—and the audience I was with certainly enjoyed the film's main in-joke, but otherwise this was a plot less movie. Wasted potential.

N.B.: Spoiler warning.

Despite the disclaimer that all events in this film are fictional, I'm told that it was inspired by a real-life case. What starts off with narration turns into an action film about four ordinary men who decide to kidnap to relieve their financial woes, then into a melodrama between each man and his loved ones.

Generally, Kidnap is disjointed as a movie and almost seems to have two or three different directors for each part of the film. It falters most toward the end, where it drags on unnecessarily, as it tries unsuccessfully to humanize each of the kidnappers. But the audience has not had a chance to warm to them: the four main characters range from stereotypical to hateful, and we really don't care if they are heading to the gallows.

It's hard to believe that this even made it to DVD. It doesn't deserve to be a classic. In comparison to other films coming out of Hong Kong at the time, it does not hold up well, with sub-standard scripting, editing, direction, lighting and sound. Even the score is grating. One scene between one of the kidnappers and his second victim, meeting at the police station, has no relevance to the plot whatsoever – but it is so minor to the story that it could not be regarded as gratuitous.

Kidnap has some saving graces, but they are curiosities at best: the period location shooting, the awful fashions of the 1973–4 season during which it would have been made, and an observation of the relative poverty some in Hong Kong had to live in, a stark contrast to the get-rich-quick society it is portrayed as in some films. As either entertainment or a study of the human condition, it fails.

** Spoiler warning **

I remember catching part of this late one evening on telly when I was much younger and recalled it being fairly good. Then the DVD came out and I was on to it quickly.

Save your Nelsons, lads.

What this film has going for it is the moody, grey 1970s cinematography giving it a dose of realism, the beauty of Diane Keen, and the groovy score, but there's little more. The sound on my DVD was awful. David Wickes' direction is not of his usual high standard and Ranald Graham seems to have inserted violence just because he could.

Even Regan and Carter seem to lack their usual panache from the TV series, and I could have done without the thought of the former exposing himself to Carter and his neighbours in one scene. As to Barry Foster, his "American" accent seems to derive from somewhere between Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins and the entire cast of Mind Your Language. It was that bad.

I have a problem with the script in general. Graham tries to politicize it, but one gets the feeling these elements are tacked on to the murders to make the film supposedly "intelligent". It fails on that score. If Graham had a one-hour format, he could have succeeded – his 'Blind Run' episode on The Professionals is a superior work.

He creates so many loose ends that it is tidily summarized by a civil servant 10 minutes before the close. Regan asks one or two questions and the whole conspiracy is explained in about 60 sec, while reminding him that he's still bound by the Official Secrets Act.

This is all done with the production budget of period television. Here's Regan in an old Ford Escort and Carter in a (then-) 10-year-old Vauxhall Viva. No prizes for guessing whether they'd wind up with a few dents.

The dissatisfying ending, as an earlier reviewer stated, is played up for controversy but is ultimately weak – having parallels with other Graham scripts. It tries to leave things up in the air as though we have to guess how Regan might get himself out of his pickle. What pickle? Come to think of it, what conspiracy?

It's one of those rare cases where the sequel is superior to the original. That could be, however, fond childhood memories coming through again.

Mind Your Language might not have been smart comedy, but it was good comedy – with the misunderstandings stemming from a valid observation of differing cultures. The idea was not dissimilar from other sitcoms of this time such as Robin's Nest: a small matter, concealed, becomes a major matter after 15 minutes. Throw in the xenophobia of Britain after it joined the EEC and what we had was a very fine comedy about the country's relationship with her former colonies and the new Johnny Foreigners across the channel.

If anything, the students got the last laugh – if it had not been the narrow-mindedness of characters such as stiff-upper-lip principal Miss Courtenay, or teacher Jeremy Brown finding himself out of his depth, then the joke wouldn't be on them.

It's a pity the political correctness brigade will probably prevent this show from being rerun. As a "minority", I never found the portrayal of my race offensive on this show when it aired in New Zealand. To the PC thugs, I say this: we minorities are OK without your defending us. The real insult is that you don't believe we are up to it.

The storyline sounds familiar: an Australian begins with a small newspaper and winds up taking over the world, acquiring newspapers and eventually creating a global media empire. It is fictional, even if there are parallels with one real-life media mogul that give the mini-series more verisimilitude than one might expect from turn-of-the-decade Australian dramas. John Bach's performance is unforgettable, even if the make-up artists have a bit of trouble making him younger in the 1962 sequences. The Paper Man distinguishes itself on strong performances from seasoned performers such as Bach and Oliver Tobias, exploring the relationships of and the effects of power on Bach's Philip Cromwell character – and the changes in his ideals – as he moves from Sydney to the world stage.

If one of the earlier reviewers is correct, then the Dimension release (which I saw) must have butchered a passable original, for I can't imagine Chan being in anything this poor. The Accidental Spy was beautifully photographed with some excellent fight and car-chase sequences, but whomever redid the dialogue for the English-language market had little idea of plot or continuity. The sound quality was additionally horrid, making the film even harder to follow.

Hopefully one of these days I'll get to see the Chinese original. In this form, The Accidental Spy fares very poorly in comparison with Police Story or Drunken Master II.

A passable Australian cop actioner brought to you by the Ford Motor Company, let down by limited funds and, in some episodes, direction. The stories were formulaic and enjoyable, while the location filming helped set it apart from American and British fare. The synthesized score is quite good for its time, especially considering the budget—but the sets were turn-of-the-decade horrid. The Aboriginal connection is given a passing nod but is included in each story in a "how odd" manner. Finally, Swiss actor Christian Kohlund aside, most of the cast—including the usually smooth Terence Cooper—gave relatively wooden performances, but it helped establish Cameron Daddo as an Aussie heart-throb. In summary, the earlier Special Squad had far higher production values; Bony pales by comparison in the genre of one-hour, self-contained cop shows.

One of Steve Coogan's funniest characters, Tony Ferrino gave the actor another chance to shine. Not only can he really sing - his duet with Mick Hucknall, whom he addresses as 'Simply' was nearly fairly matched - his spoof of 1970s and 1980s European variety entertainers was priceless. Taking itself seriously and pretending to be one of many episodes in a series (the opposite was true, since the BBC only made two), Ferrino gave the sense of an entertainer who was misplaced in time. His original songs, as the earlier reviewer noted, were hilarious but actually quite well composed, while Ferrino's lines - 'I sing, I dance, I chitty-chat: all in all, I have the big package' - were suitably cheesy and funny at once.

I, too, found it unfair that this show was panned at the time - if only reviewers allowed themselves to let go for an hour into the Tony Ferrino Universe and enjoyed this show for what it was: a great variety number taking place in an alternative universe where Tony Ferrino was once, and in his mind, still is, king.