We end the year with some classic arthouse fare, starting with Vittorio De Sica's Honorary Oscar-winning gem, Shoeshine (1946).

This unflinching and, initially, controversial portrait of postwar Italian society has none of the sentimentality that some felt undermined Bicycle Thieves (1948) and Umberto D (1952), which are also now available on DVD.

Co-scripted by the theoretical father of neo-realism, Cesare Zavattini, the fall from innocence of street scamps Rinaldo Smordoni and Franco Interlenghi is clearly allegorical.

But, even bearing in mind the prominence of their longed-for white horse, the symbolism is as unforced as the performances of the unknown leads, whose naturalism is complemented by the newsreel graininess of Anchise Brizzi's photography. Ingeniously simple and heartbreakingly truthful, this is utterly unforgettable.

Artificial Eye's collection of Eric Rohmer's Early Works is equally memorable. His debut feature, Le Sign du Lion (1956), is something of an atypical offering, as American in Paris Jess Hahn's lucky streak comes to a dramatic end when he discovers in the midst of a spending spree that he has not inherited a fortune from his aunt after all. But Rohmer brilliantly captures the mood of the City of Light in the midst of a heatwave, as Hahn becomes increasingly dishevelled on the streets.

A charming fable that instigated Rohmer's fascination with 'what people do rather than with what is going on in their mind while they are doing it', La Boulangère de Monceau (1962) launched the Six Moral Tales series that forged his international reputation. Making droll use of Bertrand Tavernier's narration, the story follows Barbet Schroeder, as he sets up dates with Michèle Girardon and Claudine Soubrier at exactly the same time. Its successor, La Carrière de Suzanne (1963), is a similarly witty, wise and wonderfully told story about the gulf in emotional maturity that exists between young men and women. The men behaving badly here are medical student Philippe Beuzen and his lothario buddy, Christian Charrière, whose worthless friendship not only costs him his meagre savings, but also his relationships with girlfriend Diane Wilkinson and the titular interpreter, Catherine Sée. No one films Paris better than Rohmer, and he coaxes such naturalistic performances from his young cast that you part from them only with the greatest reluctance.

Finally, there's the long overdue release of Béla Tarr's seven-and-a-half-hour masterpiece, Sátántangó (1994). Adapted in a sequence of long takes from a novel by László Krasznahorkai, this bleak allegorical satire is set on a Hungarian collective farm in the dying days of communism and delights in making everyday events appear epic, as the residents are tempted into treachery by the lure of ill-gotten wealth. The slow-moving, meticulously staged action requires patience and attention, but it will make an indelible impression.