It's been quite a year for Oxfordshire on film. Philip Hind got the ball rolling with his chronicle of cinema on Jeune Street, The Ultimate Survivor, and Tim Plested followed with his profile of the Adderbury Village Morris Men in The Way of the Morris. Now, Jon Spira (who used to run the excellent Videosyncratic rental store in Cowley Road) has entered the fray with Anyone Can Play Guitar, a survey of the heyday of the Oxford music scene that 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 and those who missed its Oxford premiere this week can purchase the film on DVD via the film website.

Prompted by Stan Brakhage's Dog Star Man (1964) and filmed between 1989 and 2010 with Super8 and a cheap digital stills camera, Andrew Kötting's sublime home movie Louyre - This Our Still Life captures the intimacy of the life he shares with partner Leila McMillan and their daughter Eden, who was first seen on our screens as an excited eight year-old touring the country with her nonagenarian great-grandmother Gladys in Gallivant (1997). But while this new picture is clearly a celebration of the now 22 year-old, who continues to defy the rare neurological disorder Joubert Syndrome to sing, paint and live with boundless enthusiasm and considerable skill, Kötting is also fascinated by the creativity of the natural world and the animism of the forest surrounding their ramshackle Pyrenean retreat.

Following a style that is becoming increasingly common in experimental documentaries, Kötting enhances his deeply personal, but always cunningly composed images with a moody score by Scanner (aka Robin Rimbaud) and soundbites gleaned from the family archive and record collection. In so doing, he succeeds in chronicling the passing seasons and questioning the purpose of existence with a mischievous insistence that makes this accessible exercise in avant-gardism endlessly engaging and irresistibly inspiring. Moreover, he conveys the sheer joy of living with Eden and how her indefatigability helps her parents overcome more trying moments and cope with the unremitting passage of time.

A fairytale aura pervades Louyre and, even though Kötting adheres to a seasonal linearity, his editing strategy reinforces the feeling that anything could happen in this enchanted place and he revels in the fact that it is inevitably Eden or Nature who provide the surprises. Thus, each painting she produces is extolled for its innocence, simplicity and perception against an audio backdrop of voices discussing such weighty issues as politics, religion, art, memory, isolation and the purpose of existence. In other words, while the rest of the world contemplates life and all its mysteries, Eden just gets on with living hers and her commitment to the here and now alleviates audience fears aroused by the dire portents droning in the ether.

The close-ups of flower, trees, insects, reptiles and the bric-a-brac cluttering the sprawling cottage provide a privileged insight into a rarefied domesticity. But, while so many recent actualities seem to have exploited familiar skeletons to snatch their makers a few seconds in the spotlight, this 57-minute featurette seeks only to reflect a father's devotion to his daughter and she more than handsomely repays him by joining musicians John Roseveare and Matt Hulse in a heartfelt rendition of the Elvis Presley hit `Love Me Tender'.

A very different take on family life is provided by Jake Scott in his sophomore outing, Welcome to the Rileys. Executive produced by the his father, Sir Ridley, and his Uncle Tony, this overdue follow-up to Plunkett and Macleane (1999) suggests that Scott has spent too long directing commercials and pop promos, as he seems to have lost any sense of how to pace a story. Consequently, while this looks good - thanks to Christopher Soos's sombre photography - and the performances are surprisingly strong considering the surfeit of clichés and clunky lines in Ken Hixon's hackneyed script, this never convinces for a second, as either a slice of life or a recessional parable.

Despite being married for some three decades, James Gandolfini and Melissa Leo have been drifting apart since the death of their daughter eight years ago. She has developed agoraphobia and refuses to leave their home in the Mid-Western city of Indianapolis, while he divides his time between playing poker with his chums and sleeping with black waitress Eisa Davis. However, when she is killed, something in Gandolfini snaps and, while on a plumbing supplies trip to New Orleans, he ventures into a strip club.

Much to his astonishment, dancer Kristen Stewart bears more than a passing resemblance to his much-missed daughter. So, he decides to protect her and moves into her seedy residence and sets about tidying the place and trying to persuade her to follow a more suitable line of work for a pretty 16 year-old. This odd platonic liaison scarcely runs smoothly. But when Gandolfini refuses Leo's demand that he returns home, she plucks up the courage to leave the house and drive south to retrieve him.

On arriving in the Big Easy, Leo realises immediately why Gandolfini had strayed and, rather than chastising him, tries to insinuate herself into their relationship as a surrogate mother. However, the frank and foul-mouthed Stewart is not prepared for cosy domesticity and the arrangement soon begins to implode.

This would be a pretty far-fetched scenario in a low-budget TV-movie or a dime novelette. But Scott takes such an earnest approach to his maudlin material that it often comes close to being risibly unwatchable. This is a shame, considering the talent on either side of the camera and the sincerity with which everyone approaches the story. But while it might just be plausible for a woman who has lost her child to conquer her demons in a bid to salvage her marriage, the interdependence that arises between Stewart and Gandolfini is wretchedly contrived and the entire picture collapses around its soap operatic triteness.

Nicole Kidman just about convinced as a grieving mother who enters into an unlikely friendship in John Cameron Mitchell's Rabbit Hole. But neither Leo nor Gandolfini seems as bereft, while the latter's moral indignation at the way in which Stewart is treated by her customers (and, to a large extent, by herself) lacks the trenchant fury of George C. Scott's bid to rescue Ilah Davis from some Californian pornographers in Paul Schrader's Hardcore (1979). Moreover, too little use is made of what should have been atmospheric locations suffused in sin and squalor. Thus, while this could not be any more well intentioned and isolated moments come close to genuine poignancy, it is too sluggish and strained to overcome its copious shortcomings.

Finally, another stray in need of a steadying influence finds anything but in Justin Kurzel's debut feature, Snowtown, which recalls the life and crimes of Australia's worst serial killer, John Bunting. Played by Daniel Henshall with a casual charm that belies the ferocity of the slayings that took place in the northern suburbs of Adelaide between 1992-99, this is as much a social-realist horror story as a barbaric biopic. However, this gruesome, if never slavishly imitative recreation of the `bodies in the barrels' case suffers from a few clarity issues in its later stages and invests too little in character psychology, with the consequence that most will even feel revulsion towards the accomplice who is himself initially portrayed as a victim.

Fourteen year-old Jamie Vlassakis (Lucas Pittaway) lives with his mother, Elizabeth Harvey (Louise Harris) and his younger brothers Nicholas and Alex (Matthew and Marcus Howard) in a borderline poverty that is made all the more pitiful by the fact that Elizabeth's most recent boyfriend, Jeffrey (Frank Cwertniak) is a paedophile, whose activities reawaken in Jamie the horror of being raped by his half-brother, Troy Youde (Anthony Groves). Thus, when Elizabeth begins seeing John Bunting, Jamie is reassured by his open detestation of child molesters and soon comes to regard him as a father figure.

However, Bunting is also rabidly homophobic and he begins teaching Jamie and two other local blokes, Robert Wagner (Aaron Viergever) and Mark Haydon (David Walker), how to butcher dogs and kangaroos and generally groom with a view to them becoming his assistants in a twisted bid to rid the neighbourhood of what Bunting believes to be its deviant detritus. He starts haunting bars to elicit information about potential targets and persuade Jamie that he will be helping make the world a better place by removing the very people who have harmed him in the past.

Kurzel refuses to shy away from the pitilessness of the torture meted out by Bunting's crew before they finally dispatched victims who ranged from complete strangers like Ray Davies (Craig Coyne), Gary O'Dwyer (Robert Deeble) and Thomas Trevilyan (Keiran Schwerdt) to Wagner's cross-dressing ex-flatmate Barry Lane (Richard Green), Haydon's wife and Youde. But he resists the temptation to be forensically graphic and avoids depiction the dismemberment that allowed the killers to stuff the remains into barrels and store them in a disused bank in Snowtown, some 90 miles north of Adelaide.

Nevertheless, this often makes for chilling viewing, with the most terrifying sequences involving the calculating manner in which Bunting converts his sidekicks from frustrated loners with a grudge against an uncaring world into psychopaths who not only took pleasure in their slaughter, but also derived a grotesque sense of moral superiority for ridding the streets of supposedly lesser mortals. Fiona Crombie's production design and Adam Arkapaw's bleached out photography reinforce the hopelessness that made Bunting's hate-filled message sound so enticing, while Jed Jurzel's menacing score will give many nightmares.

Considering Henshall is the only professional in the cast, the performances are exceptional. Pittaway particularly impresses, as he transforms from gangling youth to dangerous predator. But it's Henshall's insidious villainy that most disturbs and there is every chance his atrocious amorality could have the same impact on his career as Eric Bana's portrayal of Mark Read in Andrew Dominik's Chopper (2000). What is even more certain is that Snowtown will attract negative notices because of its grim content. But its the stark representation of a community that's devoid of dignity, rectitude and hope that is perhaps the most sickening.