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In this twist on the gangster movie, he's the psychotic gang boss Don Logan calling the happily retired Gary Dove Ray Winstone back to London from one last job. Creepily magnetic when he's still, absolutely bloody terrifying when he starts spitting out profanities and acting out, it's a performance that will convince you that this man could cow even the hulking Winstone into obedience.

Admittedly, the one-last-job hook has been done before, but the characterization is so fresh and surprising here — and the Costa del Sol setting such a nice change from the usual gloomy skies — that it feels very much like its own beast.

The problem with adapting Charles Dickens novels for the screen is that he was, essentially, paid by the word. The resulting sprawling epics don't make for the sort of lean, muscular narrative that lends itself naturally to film. But what's great about this version of his rags-to-riches fable is that Lean and his fellow scriptwriters managed to find a central story — Pip's Mills love of Estella Hobson — to hang the film around, while still leaving enough space for the more memorable supporting characters Hunt's Miss Havisham, Francis L.

The black-and-white photography is gorgeous, some of David Lean 's pre-colour best, and the story sufficiently engrossing that you'll be able to overlook the gigantic top hats. If you're a Bowie fan hunting for another film starring Ziggy Stardust, this is not the movie you're looking for. Whereas Jim Henderson's puppet-filled spectacular had entertainment at its heart, Nicolas Roeg's uber-thinky masterpiece seeks only to make your brain do several thinks at once.

Layers of references cover blankets of metaphor, making what might appear to be a simple "man out of time, man out of place" tale into a chin-scratching cult classic. But that's a very good thing.

100. 45 Years (2015)

Giving Bowie's acting ability one hell of a workout, Roeg takes him through periods of ecstasy, agony, and everywhere in-between before leaving him broken, alcoholic and lonely, a million miles from home. Practically the definition of the movie that demands repeat viewings, it's interesting to note that Bowie's seminal Low album contains music originally intended for the film's soundtrack, so next time you watch this, be sure to play it alongside.

Most independent movies wouldn't even attempt to match the big studio pics in terms of production value. And in most cases, they're right not to try. But British first-time director Gareth Edwards achieved something astonishing with Monsters. Not only did he direct, write, production-design and shoot the film himself on location in South and Central America , he also did the visual effects, creating towering alien creatures as convincing and impressive as those you'd find in any Hollywood blockbuster.

Not that anyone should expect the film to be a full-on creature-feature; in a bold stroke, Edwards places the aliens-on-Earth action mostly in the background, concentrating instead on the couple Whitney Able and Scoot McNairy forced to travel through the alien-infested 'Infected Zone'. A road movie love story with monsters? Why not? Turner is the performance of his illustrious career. His physical expression of the great painter's deep emotional hinterland does bring its share of snuffles, grunts and wheezes but they only add a strange roly-poly charm to his interactions, particularly with his dad Paul Jesson , his mistress and housekeeper Dorothy Atkinson , and painting wildcard Benjamin Haydon Martin Savage.

The first two he loves; the latter he tolerates benignly.

Ask most film lovers what they remember most about The Italian Job and the words 'Turin traffic jam', 'robbery', 'Mini' and 'getaway' will feature prominently — and rightly so. But a Boxing Day rewatch will remind any casual fan just what a camp comic triumph this movie is. Sure, it's also about the pride every Englishman feels when British pluck and derring-do win part of the day kind of , but with characters like Benny Hill's Professor Simon Peach, with his penchant for extra-large ladies, and Noel Coward's not-quite-royally appointed crime boss Mr. Bridger, there's no denying The Italian Job 's chuckles are firmly rooted in saucy seaside postcards and all that carry on.

But it's because of that untouchable team of comic talent - Caine in particular — as well as the pacy robbery antics and the "England! He howled onto the scene with surprise werewolf hit, Dog Soldiers , but Neil Marshall surpassed himself with this claustrophobic follow-up that sees six female potholers trapped in the dark, deep underground.

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Set in the US where these things more routinely seem to happen but shot at Pinewood and on location in Scotland, The Descent takes an inherently creepy location and then layers scares on top of that to an near-unbearable degree. So while you'll be wincing just at the everyday potholing scenes, you'll soon be nostalgic for those moments as you gibber in fright when it all goes wrong. Its achievement is unrelenting terror, not letting up until the final moments in the US edit or maybe not even then. Ultimately a simple concept, this is skillfully executed, with a well-balanced character dynamic underpinning Marshall's expert grasp of horror filmmaking.

Whether we're going to technically class it as a zombie movie or call them "infected", there's no question that Danny Boyle's film juiced up British horror in particular and the horror genre in general. Shot on a digital video that manages to look both gritty and gorgeous, combining moments of heart-stopping terror with stretches of quiet horror at the profoundly unnatural sight of an empty London, it's become the new benchmark, inspiring a wealth of imitators but few equals.

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Boyle's eye for talent pays off too: newcomers Cillian Murphy and Naomie Harris hold the attention even at the heart of the storm, however many of the monstrous horde pursue them, while Christopher Ecclestone's late appearance reminds us that people don't have to be infected to be seriously disturbing. Still, it bears repeating: those infected are really fast and seriously scary. Malcolm McDowell, whose knack for putting the proverbial boot into Britain's moral sensibilities was given full voice in A Clockwork Orange , found a kindred spirit in public school old boy and Brit New Wave-er Lindsay Anderson.

Three years before that Kubrick collaboration, Anderson had McDowell up on the roof of Cheltenham College equipped with a Bren gun and some serious issues with the gowned tyranny of boarding-school life. The title arguably suggests that the bullet-ridden finale — Another Country meets The Expendables — may be one giant cheese dream by McDowell's anarchic student, Mick Travis, but the film's impassioned cry of class rebellion was all in earnest.

The only question: how on Earth did Anderson persuade his alma mater to let him film there? If there's a worse advertisement for boarding school - corporal punishment, fagging, VD clinic and all - we definitely haven't seen it. Awards and box office haul aside, the fact remains: it's bloody hilarious. Coady's unfortunate death by heart attack and, of course, the steamroller to end all steamrollers, but it's the unified, bizarre, crazy whole that makes it a must-own for any British comedy fan. What's more, it made possible Richard Curtis's later Brit-com oeuvre by establishing that British eccentricism can sell, revived the world's interest in Ealing comedies, and allowed a character with Cary Grant's real name — Cleese's bumbling lawyer Archie Leach — to live again on the big screen.

Not bad for one film, eh? Recent slanders in Hilary Martell's Wolf Hall notwithstanding, the Thomas More presented here by director Fred Zinneman, playwright and screenwriter Robert Bolt and actor Paul Scofield is the sort of bloke we can all get behind.



More is on top of the world, a friend and confidant to King Henry VIII, poised for power and riches - but he can't compromise his own conscience in pursuit of self-interest, so when the King pursues a divorce and breaks from the Church, More puts himself in harm's way.

The structure, building so inevitably from the personalities involved and their intransigences, is the stuff of classic tragedy, and it's beautifully — and wittily — brought to life here.

99. The Ipcress File (1965)

Even after the heavily CG-assisted likes of or The Two Towers , Zulu remains the ultimate outnumbered, under-siege battle story. Following the real-life incident where odd Welsh infantrymen defended their isolated outpost against plus warriors during the Anglo-Zulu conflict, its impact depends directly on the scale of your viewing experience — so nothing less than a Juggernaut-sized flatscreen will do. For sure, the first hour or so requires patience, but when the swarming Zulus start attacking in endless waves, it's stirring stuff, despite the fact that director Cy Endfield is evidently more comfortable handling the character drama inbetween attacks.

Though deceptively known more as the breakthrough for a young Michael Caine who plays against type and goes — gasp! In September , the BBC's now legendary six-episode adaptation of Pride And Prejudice began, firmly tattooing the image of a near-shirtless and utterly drenched Mr. Darcy Colin Firth on the underside of every British woman's eyelids. Moviegoers were helpless in the face of this glitzkreig of Jane Austen mania, queuing up in their droves to experience the one-two punch Hugh Grant and Alan Rickman donning breeches and heading a-wooing.

Much of the praise should be sent in Thompson's direction, with her Oscar-winning script and gently perfect performance carrying the film wonderfully, but Lee's outsider's eye brought Austen to life with a verve and understanding that most English filmmakers could only marvel at. Austen would be proud. As well as one of Britain's greatest directors, Nic Roeg has a Simon Cowell-like gift for spotting acting ability in rock stars.

This was no small feat in Jagger's case: his Ned Kelly was more wooden than a koala's living room, but the Rolling Stone stepped up a gear in Roeg's debut feature. Okay, he's playing a rock star — there's that — but his gaunt, rubber-lipped cool lends a seriously subversive quality to Roeg's lysergic gangster flick. His sex scenes with Anita Pallenberg, the femme fatale holed up in Turner's London bolt hole, didn't go down brilliantly with his band mate, her then-boyfriend Keith Richards, but their on and off- screen chemistry brought electricity to an alt-gangster flick that's not exactly short of it to begin with.

James Fox's fraying hood, meanwhile, is a walking case-study of sexual repression and pent-up violence, while Roeg's visual flourishes lures us into a seedy late '60s world of hipsters and heroin that feels like an X-rated episode of Through The Keyhole. The film that raised the bar for little old ladies everywhere, The Ladykillers is one of the blackest comedies in Ealing's repertoire of delights keep reading. It's not hard to see why, for all their version's flaws, the Coen brothers tried to hand at remaking it.

How could they not be tickled by a comedy with a higher body count than Psycho? In retrospect, Tom Hanks, J. Simmons et al could never hope to match the gleeful hamming of Sellers, Guinness, Lom and their gang, an identity parade of vaudeville villainy with enough spot-on comic timing to reset the atomic clock. Chuck in Katie Johnson's old dear — and at one point they try to do exactly that — and you've got a hilariously cynical skew on human nature. Still Ken Loach's best film, this beautifully etches the relationship between 15 year-old Barnsley school boy Billy Casper David Bradley , bullied and beaten at home, ignored at school and the baby kestrel he nurtures and loves.

It's a fantastic mixture of the poetic — cinematographer Chris Menges beautifully lenses sequences of Billy with his bird on the moors — and the everyday — the boredom and rhythms of school life have rarely been captured. Everyone remembers Brian Glover as the sadistic sports teacher who runs away with a farcical football match, but this is a film full of great performances, especially Bradley as a vulnerable, believable hero. After all, what major studio would produce a film about a racist, sexist, perverted pseudo-Kazakhstan journalist who runs around the US looking for his new wife — Pamela Anderson, of course — all the while embarrassing nearby Americans and generally being an arsehole?

The mankini alone would be reason enough to shun him, never mind the anti-Semitism and naked wrestling our eyes! Our eyes! Take that Ali G, you big corporate sell-out, you.



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Most films on this list are here primarily because of the person behind the camera. In this case, and with no disrespect to Shane Meadows' assured direction, it's the stunning turn by its star and co-writer, Paddy Considine, that's won it a place. He's the spine of the film, an ex-soldier who returns to his hometown and brings down a world of pain on the men who bullied his younger brother.

The result is a sort of Sympathy For Mr Derbyshire, a brutal but strangely compassionate look at a ruthless and violent figure, a sort of slasher movie in reverse.