Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 27/4/2012)

As always, programmer Marie Wright has cast the net wide in an attempt to show how an international line-up of film-makers seek to document their world. The emphasis in 2012 is firmly on music. But there is something for everyone here, with titles touching upon science, the environment, politics, the recession, human rights, art, sport, dance, food and celebrity. In addition to an impressive selection of features, the programme also includes several traditional and experimental shorts, including Justin Golby, Bloo Jarvis, Natalie Nolan and Meryl Wilford's Standing Room Only, which offers a snapshot of the daily routine in the famous Cowley Road barber shop, Giovanni's.

Among the other local film-makers featured are Rob Lemkin and Stephen Cleary, whose Nina Simone (1985) centres on a performance at Ronnie Scott's legenday jazz club in London, while Chet Baker (1986) includes an interview with Elvis Costello and the last performance footage of the great jazz trumpeter. Alongside these intimate studies, the pick of the musical selection has to be Marley, Kevin Macdonald's official biography of the Jamaican reggae icon. However, also well worth checking out are Bob and the Monster, Keirda Bahruth's profile of Bob Forrest, the front man of 80s cult band Thelonius Monster; Northern Sounds, Alain Boegner and Sébastien du Petit-Thouars's survey of the Scandinavian music scene; Vinylmania, Paolo Campana's homage to the record in its 16, 33⅓, 45 and 78rpm formats; and The Reach of Resonance, in which Steve Elkins explores how music can promote cultural understanding.

Renowned American dance film-maker Daniel Conrad is well represented at OxDox 2012, with his new short, A Cup of Wine, showing alongside his featurette dissertations on beauty and the value of art, Accident By Design and Seducing the Guard (both 1999). The changing face of a familiar form is also scrutinised by Graham Elliott in his history of motion graphics, New York in Motion, while Marcus Vetter reveals how Fakhri Hammad and Ismael Khateeb's sought to reopen a Palestinian movie theatre in Cinema Jenin.

Cinema was always one of the key facets of the Cuban Revolution and Goran Radovanovic chooses its 52nd anniversary to investigate past achievements and future aspirations in With Fidel Whatever Happens, while Simon Bright examines the legacy of another enduring leader in Robert Mugabe...What Happened? Striving to discover how a once lauded opponent of bigotry turned into a global pariah, this striking chronicle follows the Zimbabwean president's progress from being knighted by Queen Elizabeth II to being suspended from the Commonwealth.

Moving south, Julian Watson discusses the threats facing those enjoying the waters of South Africa's East Coast in Surfing and Sharks, while in Sushi: The Global Catch, Mark S. Hall contrasts the culinary skills and environmental consequences involved in keeping a traditional Japanese delicacy on the world's kaiten conveyor belts. And coming closer to home, Anne-Marie Sweeney strives in the hard-hitting and bound to be contentious essay, The Return of Fear, to show how Andrew Lansley's proposed reforms will affect the National Health Service established by Aneurin Bevan in 1945.

Pausing only to name check the remaining shorts on display - Sharon Woodward's Behind the Lyrics, Claude Duty's Civilisation, Naomi Morris's La Valse Macabre, Martyn Chalk's Letter to Jane, François Alaux, Herve de Crecy and Ludovic Houplain's Logorama, Patrick Jean's Pixels, Dariusz Dziala and Ana Barbour's The Puppet, Sergio Cruz's Wake up and Dream and Kim Brand's What the Cat Sees - allow us to point you in the direction of some choice features: .

ANYONE CAN PLAY GUITAR.

Following in the footsteps of Philip Hind (The Ultimate Survivor) and Tim Plested (The Way of the Morris), Jon Spira (who used to run the excellent Videosyncratic rental store in Cowley Road) has brought another aspect of Oxfordshire life to the big screen with Anyone Can Play Guitar. This survey of the heyday of the Oxford music scene is narrated by comedian Stewart Lee and will prove irresistible to anyone who stood in the audience at the Jericho Tavern, the Co-Op Dining Hall, The Venue or The Zodiac and watched local bands making good.

Opening with a flashback to Mr Big and Dee D. Jackson having hits in the 70s with `Romeo' and `Automatic Lover', Spira begins the story in earnest with Ian Nixon and Tim Turan remembering punk bands like The No playing the Oranges and Lemons on St Clements. By the mid-80s, however, a more tangible scene had begun to emerge with Richard Ramage leading Here Comes Everybody, Adam Franklin and Amelia Fletcher combining in Splatter Babies and Our Price employee Dave Newton realising that something momentous was about to happen.

The centre of activity was the Jericho Tavern, where the legendary promoter Mac (who, sadly, declined to appear in the film) used to insist on local acts like Shake Appeal sharing the bill with out-of-town combos. Jim Hartridge and Adam Franklin reveal that their music was partially a rebellion against the Brideshead image of Oxford then in vogue, while Richard Ramage's The Anyways began moving towards the sound that would eventually be classed as `indie'. The same is true of Talulah Gosh, the band formed by Amelia Fletcher and Peter Momtchiloff, who only lasted for a year, but blazed a trail that many other aspiring groups try to would follow.

The tale is then taken up by Ed O'Brien and Colin Greenwood (Radiohead), Andy Bell and Mark Gardener (Ride), Nigel Powell (Unbelievable Truth), Sam Williams (The Mystics), Tara Martin (The Nubiles), Gaz Coombes (Supergrass), Sam Batlle (Beaker), Jamie Stuart (Dustball) and Yannis Philippakis (Foals), as well as the likes of Ronan Munro, Dave Newton, Nick Moorbath and Richard Cotton, who ran the fanzines, venues and record labels that brought A&R men from Creation, Parlophone, Virgin and Geffen Records to Oxford's now jumping venues.

Those who were there will remember well what happened next, while those who have only heard the music will have to watch the film to find out. But one story merits retelling in some detail, as the misfortunes of The Candyskins merit a movie of their own.

Starting out in Islip as Badlands, Mark and Nick Cope, Nick `Nobby' Burton and John Halliday were first thrust into the spotlight when asked to support Wet Wet Wet on tour. However, as the Cope brothers and Burton recall, it was a 1989 name change and being signed four years later by the same US label that handled Sonic Youth and Nirvana that catapulted them into a different stratosphere. But the Stateside Brit bubble burst just as they were making their name and disputes with the Geffen suits over their second album proved to a sufficiently serious setback to see them return to Blighty and their faithful Oxford fans.

By 1997, the combo had freed itself from Geffen and Richard Cotton put out a single on his Rotator label. The Candyskins even got to play TFI Friday on the day that host Chris Evans quit Radio One. But their domestic success prompted Geffen to release their withheld Fun? album just as Ultimate put out Sunday Morning Fever. Moreover, their plans to release `Car Crash' as a 45 were scuppered by the death of Princess Diana.

The following year, the band was rediscovered in the States after `Feed It' was included on the soundtrack of the Adam Sandler comedy, The Waterboy (1998). But the bosses of both their US and UK record labels were almost simultaneously diagnosed with cancer and, amidst bankruptcies and legal squabbles, the rights to their new album reverted to the Receiver. Consequently, as the Copes and Burton remember with gallows humour and good grace, they concluded they must be cursed and decided to call it a day. Always troupers, however, they showed up for the last Zodiac gig on 17 May 2007, alongside Unbelievable Truth, The Nubiles and Dustball, who also all reformed especially for the occasion.

Packed with tracks that shook the dreaming spires, this is a fine tribute to the Town's bid to outdo the Gown. Stressing that this was a scene rather than a sound, Jon Spira cuts adroitly between archival footage, printed matter, memorabilia and talking heads to piece together his account with authority and precision. Doubtless, the odd band will be disappointed not to have made the cut and it might have been nice to temper the anecdotes with a little critical insight or some recollections by the fans without whom the scene could never have existed. But this is an affectionate and effective evocation of an era and its glorious soundtrack.

BEING ELMO: A PUPPETEER'S JOURNEY.

Kevin Clash's right hand controls one of the most recognisable puppets in the world. But few would know the man behind the Sesame Street legend, so Constance Marks seeks to put this right in Being Elmo: A Puppeteer's Journey. In truth, the verb in the title should really be `Becoming', as this is less about the perpetually three year-old, red-furred creature who has delighted children worldwide for over two decades than about how an African-American boy fulfilled his dream.

Growing up in a middle-class Baltimore neighbourhood, Clash was obsessed with TV shows like Captain Kangaroo and Sesame Street and began making his own puppets to give backyard shows to the local kids. Parents George and Gladys encouraged him to the point that his father overlooked him destroying an expensive coat to create a monkey puppet. But siblings George, Jr., Anita and Pam admit to being a touch resentful at his preferential treatment and he was teased at school by boys who thought he should have been playing sports instead of fooling around with dolls.

But Clash's talent caught the eye of a Baltimore TV producer and he worked with John Zieman on the WMAR show Caboose before getting to meet Kermit Love (who was Jim Henson's chief Muppet designer) on a school trip to New York that resulted in him handling the Cookie Monster on the Muppet Movie float in the 1979 Macy's Thanksgiving parade. Learning all he could about the making and manipulating of the characters who were about to become international superstars through The Muppet Show, Clash decided to take his chance in the big city and was soon working with childhood hero Bob Keeshan on Captain Kangaroo and with Kermit Love on The Great Space Coaster. Indeed, he was so busy that he turned down a chance to work on Henson's ambitious feature, The Dark Crystal (1982).

However, by the time Henson put Labyrinth (1986) into production, Clash was free and found himself entrusted with the `snake eyes' dance routine. He got on well with the Muppet Master and was hired for Sesame Street, where he created such characters as Hoots the Owl, Ferlinghetti Donizetti and Dr. Nobel Price before being given the chance to reinvent Elmo after veteran muppeteer Richard Hunt lost patience with him in 1984.

The rest is more the stuff of fairytales than history. The taciturn Clash suddenly found his voice. Moreover, by taking his inspiration for Elmo's loving personality from his parents, he won the hearts of children everywhere, who responded to eager furball's need to demonstrate and receive affection through hugging. The instantaneous transformation was little short of phenomenal, with Rosie O'Donnell and Whoopi Goldberg (who also narrates) recalling the panic buying of Hug Me Elmo toys and fellow operators Frank Oz, Fran Brill, Bill Barretta, Caroll Spinney and Martin P. Robinson generously saying how much Clash deserved his success.

Following the death of Jim Henson, Clash became part of the Sesame Street backroom furniture and a casual shot of the nine Emmys on his sideboard testify to the enduring popularity of his work as Elmo. But, despite having access to Clash for six years, Constance Marks provides disappointingly few insights into the show and, apart from footage of some school visits and a meeting with a dying Make a Wish child, she also fails to capture the appeal of this adorable puppet. Similarly, she struggles to discover what it is about puppetry that allows this taciturn man to express himself so easily, while she also skirts around the thornier issues of a private life that has clearly been compromised by workaholism. Clash wishes he had devoted more time to his daughter Shannon, but no real attempt is made to discuss why he seems to have always found it easier to give love through a puppet than through his own persona.

Criticising a film about Elmo and his re-creator feels like committing some kind of atrocity against humanity. But, while this is a breezily sincere profile that has unearthed some fascinating archive material and capably juxtaposes the joyous and the poignant, it always feels rather like the documentary equivalent of a puppet performance, as Clash has only really allowed us to see what he is prepared to show.

BILL CUNNINGHAM: NEW YORK.

A self-effacing character takes centre stage in Richard Press's Bill Cunningham New York, a profile of the 82 year-old photographer who is as happy snapping ordinary folks on the streets as he is hobnobbing with celebrities at black-tie charity functions and glamorising fashion models on catwalks. Making for a compelling contrast with Smash His Camera, Leon Gast's portrait of paparazzo Ron Galella, this not only eulogises a consummate professional, but it also affords a fine showcase for Cunningham's near-anthropological obsession with the changing face and tastes of the Big Apple and if Press fails to uncover much about the reclusive shutterbug's private life, he nevertheless creates an urban love letter of which Woody Allen would be proud.

Chatty, opinionated, but rigorously discreet, Cunningham cycles around Manhattan with the energy and enthusiasm of a man half his age. Each week, he produces two columns for the Sunday Style section of the New York Times: `Evening Hours', which presents notables in their finery, and `On the Street', which captures the personal fashion statements of everyday residents that epitomise the spirit and vigour of the city that never sleeps. In reflecting how consumers appropriate and influence haute couture, Cunningham has set several trends and remains true to the ideals established while working with Annie Flanders on Details magazine. Indeed, integrity is crucial to Cunningham's credo and he famously quit Women's Wear Daily early in his career after they changed his copy to mock the women he had photographed on the street wearing runway outfits.

Despite focusing on the man and his camera, Press sketches in some background about the millinery business Cunningham ran with the help of socialist Rebekah Harkness before being drafted into the US Army in 1951. But, while he cajoles him into admitting that he goes to church every Sunday and hasn't had time for a serious relationship (gay, straight or otherwise), Press discovers little that Cunningham doesn't offer freely and is forced to make extensive use of a 1989 interview to present any aesthetic-intellectual insights.

Along with cameraman Tony Cenicola, Press is more successful at capturing Cunningham in action, however, whether he is negotiating the downtown traffic on his 29th bicycle (the others have all been stolen), loitering on corners to capture the next candid image or being ushered into Parisian fashion shows or chic soirées by organisers aware of the kudos that a Cunningham image can bring to their cause. Press also conveys the affection with which Cunningham is regarded by luminaries like Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, novelist Tom Wolfe, Paper magazine editor Kim Hastreiter and Metropolitan Museum of Art bigwigs Harold Koda and Annette de la Renta, as well as such frequent subjects as Patrick McDonald, Kenny Kenny, Iris Apfel, Shail Upadhya and Anna Piaggi.

Even regular collaborators like Lesley Vinson and John Kurdewan, who are fully aware what a prickly perfectionist he can be, have nothing but good things to say about him. And the same is true of such long-time friends as floral decorator Toni `Suzette' Cimino and 98 year-old photographer Editta Sherman (the so-called `Duchess of Carnegie Hall', who once danced for Andy Warhol's ever-eager movie camera), his neighbour in the Carnegie Hall studio complex that he is being forced to leave after several decades because the trustees can make more money by renting out the space to faceless corporations.

This latter episode might have made an interesting hook for the picture and allowed Press to examine Cunningham's achievement through the prism of the creeping philistinism that is enervating the New York art scene. But he prefers to watch the genial octogenarian repairing his rain cape with masking tape and discussing his preference for the durable blue jackets worn by Parisian street cleaners over any designer wear. More than anything, however, he is fascinated by the ascetic bohemian in his element and these fleeting moments of mundanity are very much in keeping with Cunningham's genius for locating the significant in the seemingly unremarkable and say much more about him than his charmingly awkward Franglais speech on receiving the officier rank of the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres.

BLANK CITY.

Celine Dahnier recalls the golden age of the New York No Wave and the Cinema of Transgression in this hectic documentary, which is packed with clips and stellar talking heads making ostentatious claims about both the quality of the nanobudget underground films produced during the late 1970s and early 80s and their impact on the visual arts. Ann Magnuson, Deborah Harry, Fab 5 Freddy, Glenn O'Brien, James Chance, J.G. Thirlwell, John Lurie, John Waters, Kembra Pfahler, Lydia Lunch, Maripol, Patti Astor, Steve Buscemi and Thurston Moore are among those with opinions and memories to share. But, with a little less postulating and a bit more cultural context, this could have been the seminal history of the Super 8 revolution.

A sense of punk communality was key to the period's astonishing prolificity, as painters, musicians, actors, performance artists and opportunists picked up cameras and began shooting with scarcely any preparation, even less cash and often little or no talent. Yet the evident amateurism of most projects was somewhat masked by an enthusiasm and conviction that gave the movement based in the Lower East Side neighbourhood of Alphabet City a momentum that gradually led to the acquisition of a cult following and, eventually, some serious critical attention.

Emerging at a time when New York was approaching bankruptcy and the Reagan presidency was in the throes of shifting the entire country to the free market right, the Cinema of Transgression reflected the mood of the social, political and economic opposition. However, the pictures became increasingly graphic and this exploration of sex and violence incurred the wrath of the censors just as the gentrification of the rundown brownstones, drug abuse, AIDS and the drift of the chosen few into the `indie' mainstream began to take their toll. Consequently, No Wave blew itself out almost as soon as it had flickered into flame.

In addition to the seemingly ubiquitous shots of The Ramones, Patti Smith, et al on stage at CBGBs, Dahnier also includes some priceless images like Steve Buscemi break dancing and Debbie Harry wandering desolate Gotham streets. But the laudable inclusivity of the project precludes a proper analysis of the motives and methods of the better film-makers, while the sheer volume of extracts makes it difficult for the uninitiated to distinguish between them, let alone reach any worthwhile value judgements about works that variously set out to espouse radical politics, offer wry insights into life on the margins or simply shock.

For completists, the clip list reads: John Waters (Multiple Maniacs, 1970); Amos Poe (Unmade Beds, The Blank Generation, both 1976), The Foreigner, 1978); James Nares (Block; Pendulum; Ramp; Steel Rod; Studio Pendulum, all 1976; Suicide? No, Murder, 1977; Rome ’78, 1978; Waiting for the Wind, 1981); Vivienne Dick (She Had Her Gun All Ready; Guerillere Talks, both 1978; Beauty Becomes the Beast, 1979; Liberty's Booty, 1980); Beth B. and Scott B. (G-Man, 1978); Black Box, 1979; The Offenders, The Trap Door, both 1980; Vortex, 1982); Eric Mitchell (Kidnapped, 1978; Underground USA, 1980; The Way It Is, 1985); John Lurie (Hell Is You; Men in Orbit, both 1979); Manuel Delanda (Ism Ism, 1979; Judgment Day, 1983); Michael McClard (Alien Portrait; Contortions, both 1979); Nick Zedd (They Eat Scum, 1979; The Bogus Man, 1980; The Wild World of Lydia Lunch; Geek Maggott Bingo, both 1983; Go to Hell; Kiss Me Goodbye, both 1986; Police State, 1987; War Is Menstrual Envy, 1992; Why Do You Exist?, 1998; Ecstasy in Entropy, 1999); Charlie Ahearn (The Deadly Art of Survival, 1979; Wild Style, 1983); Jim Jarmusch (Permanent Vacation, 1980; Stranger Than Paradise, 1984); Anders Grafstrom (The Long Island Four, 1980); Bette Gordon (Empty Suitcases, 1980; Variety, 1983); Becky Johnston (Sleepless Nights, 1981); Edo Bertoglio (Downtown 81, 1981); Michael Holman (Catch a Beat, 1981; Vincent Gallo As Flying Christ; Pesceador; Stilwend); Sarah Driver (You Are Not I, 1981; Sleepwalk, 1986); Susan Seidelman (Smithereens, 1982); Tessa Hughes-Freeland (Baby Doll, 1982; Nymphomania, 1994); Lizzie Borden (Born in Flames, 1983); Richard Kern (You Killed Me First; Stray Dogs; Submit to Me Now; The Right Side of My Brain; I Hate You Now, all 1985; Fingered; Death Valley 69; Goodbye 42nd Street, all 1986; The Evil Cameraman; X Is Y, both 1990; The Sewing Circle, 1992; My Nightmare, 1993); Kembra Pfahler (Cornella: The Story of a Burning Bush, 1985); Michael Oblowitz (King Blank, 1985); Cassandra Stark (Wrecked on Cannibal Island, 1986; We Are Not to Blame, 1989; Parades of Crazy; Death of an Arabian Woman) and Tommy Turner (Rat Trap, 1986, with Tessa Hughes-Freeland; Where Evil Dwells, 1986, with David Wojnarowicz).

FOUR HORSEMEN.

Hitting the right note is crucial in a proselytising documentary and director Ross Ashcroft and writer Dominic Frisby take a considerable risk in adopting a passive aggressive tone in Four Horsemen, as they warn viewers that the concepts they are going to discuss will be dismissed as left-wing propaganda by the inveterate disciples of capitalism about to come under attack for bringing the planet to the brink of disaster. It's an emotive gambit and one that rather sums up this interesting, but deeply flawed diatribe that seeks to explain the reasons for the current crisis and offer solutions that refine existing systems rather than overthrow them. But how audiences respond to these ideas will very much depend on their reaction to being lectured on fiscal, corporate and governmental malfeasance by those who once profited from it and now make a very decent living by denouncing it.

The basic premise of this laudably coherent and accessible picture is that a new variation on the biblical quartet of apocalyptic horsemen is stalking Earth. Instead of Conquest, War, Famine and Death, we should now be concerned about Empires, Banking, Terrorism and Resources. The nomenclature is hardly catchy and it somewhat betrays the difficulty Ashcroft and Frisby face in trying to match their thesis to the eponymous conceit. Yet, while the approach may be a little cumbersome and the scope is frustratingly limited to the United States and Britain, this represents a commendable effort to explain some complex issues and ideas using travelogue and archive footage, expert analysis and amusing animations.

According to Ashcroft and Frisby, humankind excels at adapting to circumstances. However, such is the power that the corporate elite exercises over our cognitive map that it has been possible to impose a collective delusion that correcting existing inequalities in global society would be disastrous for rich and poor alike. While the plutocrats controlled the media, people were content to trust the lines they were being fed. But the Internet has encouraged the free exchange of information and ideas and it is now the duty of the educated and the committed to find out about subjects the sinister powerbrokers would prefer to obfuscate and bring about change before the 21st-century horsemen begin to ride.

Empires have risen and fallen throughout history. On average, they tend to last for 250 years or 10 generations and pass through six distinct stages. All the signs seem to point to the fact that Western supremacy (admittedly a rather nebulous imperial construct) has already passed through its pioneering, conquering, trading, affluent and intellectual phases and is now manifesting such indicators of decadence as an over-large and ill-disciplined military, the conspicuous display of wealth, a gross disparity between rich and poor, a desire to live off a bloated state, an obsession with sex and the debasement of the currency.

In the opinion of the talking-heads assembled here, the current recession is a classic end of days symptom, as is our obsession with sport and celebrity chefs, which harks back to the bread and circuses' notion of Roman times. Silver investor David Morgan, Lawrence Wilkerson (the former chief of staff to Colin Powell) and MIT Professor of Linguistics Noam Chomsky lament the mistakes of the Baby Boom generation and despair of the defect in the human make-up that prompts seemingly decent individuals to recklessly pursue their own ambitions in the knowledge that they will damage the prospects of their own descendants.

The makers have, thus far, been more earnest than persuasive. So they move on to banking in the safe knowledge that most will share their disgust at the unregulated excesses of private banks that disrupt the economy and ruin the lives of those on the lower rungs by printing money on their own initiative and gambling on potential losses. Moreover, in order to bolster their complaint that duplicity, corruption and failure should disqualify bankers from earning colossal bonuses, Ashcroft and Frisby enlist a number of poachers turned gamekeeper, including ex-traders Tarek Al Diwany and Max Keiser, economic hit-man John Perkins, assistant editor of the Financial Times Gillian Tett, former World Bank economist Herman Daly and Joseph Stiglitz, onetime IMF chief economist Simon Johnson, Cambridge academic Ha-Joon Chang, ResPublica director Phillip Blond, GoldMoney Foundation director James Turk, Schumacher College founder Satish Kumar and Mexican Civic Association Pro Silver honco Hugo Salinas Price.

All speak with insight, eloquence and passion about Fiat currencies, the Classical and Neo-Classical schools of economic theory, the discredited legacy of Milton Friedman and the calamitous deregulation of both the banking business and the stock market and Bill Clinton's 1999 repeal of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's 1933 Glass Steagall Act, which once again, allowed banks to speculate with investor funds and facilitated the shocking statistic that 97% of the current money supply is bank-created credit. But it isn't easy to assuage the suspicion that several of the talking heads are whistleblowing to salve their consciences while continuing to enjoy the comforts that seemingly repented deeds have brought them.

One of the consequences of Wall Street becoming a vast casino with powerful lobbying and donation clout in Washington was the strengthening of ties between elected officials and unaccountable executives. Thus, the Bush administration was persuaded not to prosecute companies in Baltimore that had conspired to lend to African-Americans and Hispanics at higher rates than those offered to other sections of the community. Moreover, it was reluctant to intervene when the same institutions started foreclosing on sub-prime mortgages at the same time they were demanding bailout funds to stave off their own collapse.

Wells Fargo and Goldman Sachs come in for particular criticism here, with Chomsky claiming that the latter's `big short' policy of betting on the failure of mortgages they had sold and profiting from the ruin of their own customers was tantamount to bank robbery, while the Reverend Donald Reeves (the founder of The Soul of Europe) can barely hide his fury at the insistence of Goldman vice-chairman Lord Griffiths that inequality was a price worth paying for prosperity. But tangible proof that the so-called `trickle down' (or `horse and sparrow') theory of wealth dissemination is provided in the section on terrorism.

Britain's first Muslim life peer, Lord Ahmed of Rotherham (who has been having a tough time of things lately), economist Kaiser Bengali, journalist Najma Sadeque, Kids Company founder Camila Batmanghelidjh and US government policy adviser Michael Hudson join forces to castigate the manner in which foreign aid is distributed to benefit the already affluent and the outside contractors hired to undertake infrastructure projects at the expense of the impoverished, who are saddled with World Bank and/or International Monetary Fund debts. American foreign policy is condemned for being driven by the dictates of the military industrial complex and for peddling a brand of democracy that suits its aims rather than the need of the liberated.

Most agree that terrorists are driven to rebel by penury (although the omission of any reference at this juncture to religious or political ideology seems dubious in the extreme). However, Noam Chomsky reminds viewers that terrorism is simply a term used to describe what adversaries do to us and he recalls the first 9/11, when the CIA backed the overthrow of Salvador Allende in Chile in 1973 to show how crimes committed in our name are dressed up as acts of liberation.

Concluding with a plea for the Western democracies to put their own houses in order to prevent neo-colonialists from being able to perpetuate economic injustice, this is easily the weakest section of the film, with a fleeting discussion of the situation in Pakistan holding the fort in the absence of any mention of the world's other major trouble spots. Similarly, the decision to ignore the effect that developing nations like China, India and Brazil are having on the environment and the race for raw materials diminishes the effectiveness of the section on resources.

Echoing Herman Daly's concern that the world is at risk of being overrun by man-made capital at the very point in history that natural capital is being exhausted, social epidemiologist Richard Wilkinson claims that we are the first generation to experience economic growth without attendant social benefit. Indeed, rather than bringing happiness, rampant consumerism has simply speeded up the depletion of resources, with the result that the conflicts that would inevitably arise from shortages pose a greater threat to future well-being than global warming. No wonder Shell has prepared two scenarios for how things might pan out before 2075. The first is called Blueprint and envisages world leaders reaching an agreement on how to share resources and develop viable alternatives while the second is known self-explanatorily as Scramble. As Lawrence Wilkerson reveals, Shell predicts the latter as the most likely.

Yet there is still time to avoid such conflagration. In a brief coda that some may consider glib and others endearingly naive, Ashcroft and Frisby posit ways of waylaying the horsemen. The abandonment of neo-classical doctrine, the reform of the monetary system (based on a possible return to a gold standard) and the cancellation of national and personal debt (as happened in postwar Germany) would represent a good start. Then tax policy should be realigned to take account of consumption not labour, while a return to the Industrial Revolution concept of worker ownership would give people a stake in their future and overcome the apathy that the media (owned largely by the corporate big hitters) use to condition the masses into believing that change is impossible.

The conclusion that, while it may currently be ruinously debased, capitalism has worked in the past and can prove effective again is eminently reasonable. As is the suggestion that the elite need to be brought to account by those supporting them on the socio-economic pyramid. However, it will take much more than good intentions, moral outrage and some rather smug pronouncements to bring about the kind of revolution that these movie-makers have in mind. But, if this ambitious and undoubtedly intelligent treatise gets people thinking, talking and, just maybe, acting, then it will have more than served its noble purpose.

THE GREATEST MOVIE EVER SOLD.

The wit is incisive and gleefully contrived in Morgan Spurlock's The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, which amusingly seeks to expose the perniciousness and ubiquity of advertising and product placement by selling promotional spots within the film itself. Back on Super Size Me (2004) form after somewhat losing his way with Where in the World Is Osama Bin Laden? (2008), Spurlock again proves a much more genial on-screen presence than Michael Moore, although he is still prone to the intellectual superficiality and grandstanding lapses that have made Moore such a decreasingly effective critic of the contemporary American scene.

Intrigued by the extent to which commercials and sponsorship have impinged upon most aspects of modern living, Spurlock decided to buy in rather than sell out and make a film about the process of funding the very picture he was shooting. Consequently, he hit the phones in a bid to attract potential investors and gets the action off to a rousing start with a montage of pitches and rejections that finally results in Ban deodorant agreeing to come on board for $50,000. Other companies eventually follow suit and Spurlock is seen meeting with founders and executives as he contracts to drink nothing but Pom Wonderful pomegranate juice on screen, as well as exclusively fly with Jet Blue airlines, drive Mini Cooper cars, stay in Hyatt hotels, eat Amy's Kitchen pizza and conduct as many interviews as possible in Sheetz gas stations and convenience restaurants.

He also consents to shoot an ad for Mane`n'Tail shampoo, as he is so taken with a product that can be used on both humans and horses. In so doing, Spurlock fulfils his promise of total transparency. Moreover, he also succeeds in discussing such issues as brand perception, marketing strategies and consumer suggestibility with a satirical insight that would be all the more trenchant if he could resist mugging to the camera whenever he hits a target. Yet Spurlock manages to finance his `docbuster' entirely with other people's money without relinquishing artistic control.

Indeed, he finds time for a couple of digressions, as he buys ad space on the perimeter fence of a cash-strapped school in Broward County, Florida and visits São Paulo to discover how mayor Gilberto Kassab and co-ordinator Regina Monteiro removed all outdoor advertising in a campaign to end visual pollution. Moreover, he also gets to learn some tricks of the trade from PR gurus like Tony Seiniger, Britt Jonson, David Whales, Richard Kirshenbaum, Martin Lindstrom and Peter Bemis, as well as debating the phenomenon of product placement in mainstream movies with directors JJ Abrams, Brett Ratner, Peter Berg and Quentin Tarantino and the ethics of advertising with such academics and activists as Noam Chomsky, Susan Linn, Robert Weissman and Ralph Nader. He even commissions an official film song from the rock combo OK Go.

The majority of these encounters are knowingly droll, with Spurlock never missing the opportunity to winkingly emphasise ironies and reassure the audience that they are not being as manipulated as ordinary punters in being sold the benefits of the tie-in products because they are in on the postmodernist joke. But he struggles to answer such questions as whether having his film sponsored will raise its profile before opening weekend or how much the average consumer is actually influenced by advertising in an era when TiVo and the internet allow them to eliminate sponsors messages at the press of a button.

One thing Spurlock triumphantly succeeds in promoting throughout the film is himself. But the suit he wears on the Jimmy Kimmel Live chat show represents a splendid lampoon of corporatism and logo fixation, which also demonstrates a laudable strain of self-deprecation that goes a long way to restoring Spurlock's credibility after the Osama fiasco.

HOW MUCH DOES YOUR BUILDING WEIGH, MR FOSTER?.

The visuals are impossibly polished in Norberto López Amado and Carlos Carcas's hagiographic documentary, How Much Does Your Building Weigh, Mr Foster? Indeed, Valentín Álvarez's sweeping, swooping, swooning images are textbook examples of the kind of architectural porn that has become customary in profiles of those behind the world's most iconic structures. But they seem positively modest compared to biographer Deyan Sudjic's effusive narration and Norman Foster's quiet confidence in his own ability and the value of his artistic, social and technological legacy.

Foster clearly enjoys returning to his roots in Manchester and reminiscing about his time in the City Treasurer's office and the RAF. But the directors are keen to concentrate on his professional career and he recalls studying at Yale with Richard Rogers and forming the Team 4 partnership with sisters Georgie and Wendy Cheesman. However, it was his and wife Wendy's collaboration with Richard Buckminster Fuller that shaped Foster's destiny, as the American's 1978 inquiry about the weight of the Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts in Norwich that caused him to rethink both his use of materials and the architect's duty to the community and the environment.

At this stage, Foster's crowning achievement was the Willis Faber & Dumas building in Ipswich, which established his penchant for glass façades and open-plan spaces, while also including a roof garden and leisure facilities for the employees. But his reputation as the `Mozart of Modernism' began to grow with projects like the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, Stansted Airport, the new Reichstage in Berlin, the Hearst Tower in New York, the majestic Millau Viaduct in France, the Great Court at the British Museum and the `Gherkin' in London and Terminal 3 at Beijing Airport, which is now the largest edifice on the planet.

Sudjic very vaguely intimates that some critics accused Foster of repeating himself with these designs. But such misgivings are drowned out by talking heads including Anish Kapoor, Richard Serra, Anthony Caro, Alain de Botton and (for some reason) Bono, who extol Foster's virtues with an unquestioning enthusiasm that can robs the picture of any semblance of objectivity. Moreover, any insights into the life peer's private life are excluded in favour of discussions of his passion for sketching, cycling, flying and cross-country skiing.

Yet this isn't an entirely an airbrush job, as Foster proves most engaging in his musings to camera and there is a genuine zeal about his proposals for the first carbon neutral, zero-waste city at Masdar in Abu Dhabi. But, as with Sydney Pollack's Sketches of Frank Gehry (2005), the reverence shown towards the subject and the fetishising of line, light and material in presenting their achievement - in this case all done to Joan Valent's almost parodically earnest classical score - this always feels more like a corporate video than a serious critical study.

INTO THE ABYSS.

Confinement of a deadly kind comes under scrutiny in Into the Abyss: A Tale of Death, A Tale of Life, a typically acute and challenging documentary by Werner Herzog, in which the ever-inquisitive German investigates the manner in which lawful executions are carried out in a Texan jail. Making no bones about his position on capital punishment, Herzog eschews facts and figures and avoids proselytising to concentrate on those left to face the consequences and deal with the heartache of the callous murder of 50 year-old nurse Sandra Stotler, her 17 year-old son Adam and his friend Jeremy Richardson by Michael Perry and Jason Burkett in order to steal a red Chevrolet Camaro from a gated Montgomery community within the town of Conroe in October 2001.

Meeting Perry for the first time just eight days before he was due to face a lethal injection at the Texas State Penitentiary at Huntsville, Herzog explains that they don't have to like each other to conduct their interview and the 28 year-old grins back more like a goofy schoolboy than a cold-blooded killer. But, as Herzog reveals from crime scene footage, there was nothing accidental about the way in which Stotler was shot and her body deposited in the nearby Crater Lake. Yet, while Perry was condemned to death, Burkett received only a life sentence after his father Delbert delivered an emotional plea for clemency that he reprises for Peter Zeitlinger's camera.

Herzog concedes that Conroe is a tough place to grow up, especially on the wrong side of the tracks. But he refuses to make excuses for Perry and Burkett, just as he declines to pass judgement on them. Yet his the insistence of his off-screen questioning ensures that he denies perpetrators and victims alike a place to hide and some of the most powerful contributions come from Lisa Stotler-Balloun (the daughter, sister and aunt of the deceased, who feels a palpable sense of release after Perry dies), veteran Death Room captain Fred Allen (who suddenly saw the barbarity of capital vengeance after overseeing over 125 executions) and chaplain Richard Lopez, who has administered the last rites to countless inmates in various states of penitence and defiance.

Perry protested his innocence to the last. But, even though there is no doubt about guilt that Herzog establishes in much the same forensic manner that Truman Capote employed in delving into the case of Perry Smith and Richard Hickock for the 1966 non-fiction novel In Cold Blood, he remains fiercely opposed to the maxim of an eye for an eye. Once again demonstrating the affinity for environment that has long been the cornerstone of his factual and fictional cinema, Herzog exposes the chasm where the American soul once resided and yet still retains a weary compassion for both those seemingly incapable of avoiding wrong and those convinced they have right on their side.

THE LAST WALTZ.

Opinion is naturally divided over the greatest concert movie ever made. Some make claims for DA Pennebaker's Monterey Pop (1968), Albert and David Maysles and Charlotte Zwerin's Gimme Shelter (1970) and Saul Swimmer's The Concert for Bangladesh (1972). But informed observers have invariably had Michael Wadleigh's epochal Woodstock (1970) pip Martin Scorsese's The Last Waltz (1978) and Jonathan Demme's Stop Making Sense (1984) for the title. However, the reissue of The Last Waltz may well see a few doubts being raised about its status, along with several reminders that this was the documentary that inspired Rob Reiner's masterly rock satire, This Is Spinal Tap (1984).

Designed to mark the end of 16 years on the road for Robbie Robertson, Rick Danko, Levon Helm, Richard Manuel and Garth Hudson, the concert held at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco squared a circle, as this is where The Band first played together live. All bar Hudson had started out in the late 1950s as The Hawks, backing rockabilly legend Ronnie Hawkins, and they had contemplated names like The Honkies and The Crackers before settling on The Band and accompanying Bob Dylan in the late 1960s. But the toll of constant touring soon began to tell and, while Robertson hoped the combo could continue recording in the studio, it was decided to call it a day on 25 November 1976.

Originally, The Band were scheduled to run through their greatest hits with Hawkins and Dylan putting in special appearances. But the guest list began to grow and Martin Scorsese was brought in to record the event for posterity. He replaced the 16mm portables that Robertson had envisaged with 35mm cameras and storyboarded every track to ensure the visuals complemented the lyrics of the songs. Moreover, he hired cinematographers of the calibre of Michael Chapman, Vilmos Zsigmond and László Kovács to capture the action unfolding on a stage designed by Boris Leven, who had worked on West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1965).

On the night, however, a combination of cocaine and caprice prevented Scorsese from covering each song as he had intended. Indeed, several were missed altogether and Muddy Waters's rendition of `Mannish Boy' was only caught because Kovács had removed his headphones to avoid listening to Scorsese's incessant instructions and had missed hearing him suggest a camera reload. A couple of tracks - `The Weight' with The Staple Singers and `Evangeline' with Emmylou Harris - were filmed days later on an MGM soundstage, while Scorsese recorded the infamous `Marty DiBergi' interviews in the Shangri-La Studio in Malibu, where Danko was already working on a solo album. Rumours even abound that the majority of the tracks were overdubbed to improve their quality.

Thus, The Last Waltz has more in common with Michael Lindsay-Hogg's Let It Be (1970), as a record of a group in its joyless death throes than a celebration of five friends going their separate ways with no hard feelings or regrets. No one seems to be enjoying himself and precious little emotion is displayed at playing trademark songs like `Don't Do It', `Up On Cripple Creek', `Shape I'm In', `It Makes No Difference', `Stagefright', `Old Time Religion', `The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down'', `Genetic Method/Chest Fever' and `Ophelia' for the final time. The performances are never less than slick and never descend into the abject drudgery with which poets Michael McClure and Lawrence Ferlinghetti respectively recite the Introduction to The Canterbury Tales and `Loud Prayer'. But this is hardly a valedictory gig to treasure.

The standard improves during some of the guest slots, with Eric Clapton's `Further On Up the Road', Dr. John's `Such a Night', Neil Young's `Helpless' and Paul Butterfield's `Mystery Train' standing out over Ronnie Hawkins's `Who Do You Love', Joni Mitchell's `Coyote', Van Morrison's typically shouty `Caravan' and Neil Diamond's horribly out of place `Dry Your Eyes'. But the biggest disappointment is Dylan, who seems distracted during `Forever Young' and `Baby Let Me Follow You Down' and utterly detached during the all-star version of `I Shall Be Released', which boasted Beatle Ringo Starr on drums and Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood on guitar.

It later emerged that Levon Helm (who died last week after a long battle with cancer) objected to Scorsese's excessive focus on Robbie Robertson both on and off the stage. But he does seem more animated and his anecdotes about playing in a shabby club owned by Lee Harvey Oswald's killer Jack Ruby is topped only by the classically trained Hudson's revelation that he insisted on being paid $10 a month by his bandmates so he could tell his parents that he was working as a music teacher.

Clearly Scorsese had a masterpiece in his head when he embarked upon this project, but he was thwarted by the chaos on the night, the lacklustre performances and the problems surrounding the production of New York, New York. But, rather than being a failure as a film, this proves a compelling study in physical and psychological exhaustion and the extent to which playing music can become just another job when the magic has gone and how even a glamorous milieu like the rock`n'roll circus can seem superficial and imprisoning.

THIS IS NOT A FILM.

The quality of This Is Not a Film is almost irrelevant. What is important is that Jafar Panahi defied the sentence of an Iranian court to tell the world that, while his movements may be limited, he remains unbowed in his determination to express himself both politically and artistically. In so doing, he has demonstrated a level of courage that few directors have been forced to exhibit in the 117-year history of the projected moving image and his audacity merits the respect of audiences everywhere.

Panahi may be coerced into remaining within the confines of his Tehran apartment in This Is Not a Film. But, by even appearing before Mojtaba Mirtahmasb's camera, he was risking much more than he did in making such humanist gems of The Circle, White Balloon (both 2000), Crimson Gold (2003) and Offside (2006).

Arrested on 1 March 2010 for supposedly producing `propaganda against the Islamic Republic', Panahi was banned from filming under the terms of his appeal, while awaiting the verdict in a case that could see him jailed for six years and prohibited from writing or directing a motion picture for two decades. But born subversives will always find a way and this record of his activities on 15 March 2011 demonstrates a self-deprecating wit to match Panahi's fierce intelligence and undaunted courage.

With his wife and children away visiting grandparents, Panahi invites Mirtahmasb over to discuss some ideas before listening to his answer-phone messages, one of which features his son explaining that he set up the camera currently shooting, so his father could not have contravened any bail conditions. Somewhat amused by their subterfuge, but obviously aware of the potential peril in which they're placing themselves, the pair embark upon `an effort' that initially involves Panahi playing all the characters in a reading from a screenplay about a young woman who has been prevented from attending university by her father locking her in her room.

Striding between pieces of masking tape laid Dogville-like on the floor to delineate the scenario setting, Panahi circumvents the proscription on giving interviews by expressing himself through the dialogue. But, even though he is careful not to depict anyone other than himself so they cannot get into trouble for collaborating with him, this isn't quite a one-man show. Igi the iguana makes a guest appearance, as does the yapping dog of downstairs neighbour Shima. However, Panahi eventually shares the frame with the unnamed student who comes to collect his rubbish in the absence of the building manager and Panahi chats amiably with him about the day he was arrested as they take the elevator to the ground floor to the increasingly cacophonous sound of the Fireworks Wednesday celebrations marking the Iranian new year.

Even this seemingly throwaway sequence is loaded with significance, however, as Panahi had earlier watched a news bulletin in which Mahmoud Ahmadinejad called for fireworks to be made illegal Indeed, he seems to take comfort from the skyline beyond his balcony that he is not alone in disagreeing with the president and his ideas.

Panahi's plight is clear from the phone conversation he has with his lawyer while waiting for Mirtahmasb to arrive. But his bullish good spirits are equally evident throughout this audacious video diary and the eschewal of self-pity or self-justification reveals just how aware this master film-maker is of the bigger picture.

TURKSIB.

Historians have long referred to the inspiration that the British Documentary Movement drew from montage masterpieces like Victor Turin's majestic featurette Turksib. Photographed by Boris Frantsisson and Yevgeni Slavinsky with the customary Constructivist fascination with machinery, this account of the building of the 1445km railroad between Turkestan and Siberia is a patriotic paean that not only promotes Stalin's Five Year Plan, but also emphasises the vital role that ordinary people will have to play in its realisation. Thus, Turin and screenwriters Yakov Aron and Viktor Shklovsky reinforce the notion of a mass hero and use typage close-ups to encourage every watching citizen to think that they could make a similar contribution to banishing the backwardness of Tsarist times and hauling their vast nation into the 20th century.

Crucial to this modernisation process was the optimal use of land and Turin explains how Turkestan could concentrate its limited water resources on producing cotton if Siberian grain could be transported by rail to feed the workers. But the laying of track is not the sole focus of this often bucolic picture, as Turin shows that even in an age of progress there is still a place for trusted farming methods - although the scenes of soil tilling and sheep shearing are contrasted with a sequence depicting a camel caravan's struggle through a sandstorm, which subtly stresses the need for the railway to carry the precious cotton cargo with greater efficiency and safety.

This digital restoration boasts a new score by Guy Bartell of the electronica unit Bronnt Industries Kapital, but Grierson's original captions have been retained and it's amusing to learn that HG Wells considered their gushing enthusiasm to be `epileptic'. But it's difficult not to be exhilarated by scenes like the horseback pursuit of the locomotive steaming along the newly laid tracks, as they not only convey the great leap being taken by the Soviet peasantry, but they also have a cinematic vibrancy to match the sagebrush chases and cavalry charges that were becoming an increasingly familiar aspect of the Hollywood Western.

It's no surprise to learn, therefore, that the 34 year-old Turin had spent the period 1912-22 in the United States and had been employed as an actor and scenario writer at Vitagraph before returning home to be accused of abstraction and formalism in his study of the capitalist class system, Battle of Giants (1926). He learned his lesson well, however, as the rhythmic lyricism in Turksib was tempered by a realism, clarity and wit that brought a rare humanity to what was still essentially a propagandist exercise. Yet Turin was prevented from making another film until 1938, when he abandoned his executive desk to travel to the Baku studios in Azerbaijan make the 1905 Revolution drama, Bakintsy.