FASTEN your safety pins. Julien Temple (The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle and The Filth And The Fury) goes back to punk for this poignant study of The Clash frontman Joe Strummer, who died of a congenital heart condition in 2002. But it's more explorative than explosive. The soundtrack bristles with fiery classics, but the documentary is concerned more with Strummer's guarded personality. Temple assembled friends and family, documentary footage, early 8mm family clips, and voiceovers from Strummer himself to explore his transformation from public schoolboy to long-haired hippy, squatter, punk rocker and leader of a generation. But most effective is the way it deals with Strummer's post-Clash depression and his middle-age battles. Temple is a natural with this kind of material, but there is a presumption that the viewer knows who is doing the talking:

from the vast array of talking heads (which include Bono and many lesser-known figures), there is not a single name credit that tells you who they are.

Black Snake Moan (Craig Brewer): Samuel L Jackson, Christina Ricci, Justin Timberlake.
Running time: 115 minutes.
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CRAIG BREWER'S Hustle & Flow explored the relationship between a black pimp and his white trash hookers. Now he does his best Russ Meyer impression, turning Christina Ricci's white trash nymphomaniac loose on the US deep south. Her cuckolded US Guardsman boyfriend (Justin Timberlake) is hardly gone to boot camp five minutes when she's laying into someone else. But then she is beaten and left for dead in the driveway of a retired bluesman (Samuel L Jackson). He vows to cure her of brazen ways by chaining her to a radiator. As you do. Jackson is at his Biblethumping best. Ricci slithers about in her underwear like a serpent of sin. She seems to enjoy seducing half the cast. The plot, full of raunchy and provocative surprises at first, becomes thin formula and gravitates towards redemption. It seems the poor girl couldn't help herself. But the soundtrack is finger pickin' good . . . who needs therapy when you got the blues?

Magicians (Andrew O'Connor): Robert Webb, David Mitchell, Juliet Stevenson, Peter Capaldi.
Running time: 90 minutes.
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Robert Webb and David Mitchell, stars of TV's Peepshow, fail to make the cinematic leap in this hit and miss comedy. It's penned by Peepshow writers Jesse Armstrong and Sam Bain. But their ambition is matched by the low self-esteem of their characters. Karl (Webb) and Harry (Mitchell) are small-time magicians who fall apart when Karl nabs Harry's wife; their double act ends horribly too when Harry accidentally decapitates her. Years later, they're pitted against each other at a shonky magic tournament. Karl thinks he is Derren Brown and calls himself 'the Mindmonger'. Harry's weak magic is in tune with his emotional retardation. It's the kind of personality humour that comes in under the radar, best acclimatised over a number of episodes. But director Andrew O'Connor, a former trickster himself, produces no magic, only the feeling that it should be made to disappear and reappear on your TV set.

(Hans Canosa): Aaron Eckhart, Helen Bonham Carter.
Running time: 84 minutes.
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Converstaions with Other Women Aaron Eckhart and Helena Bonham Carter meet at a wedding, flirt, and go to bed: and bit by bit we learn that they've been here before. Though the dialogue is too smart, the excellent stars . . . Bonham Carter in particular . . . give it credibility.

The gimmick is that it is shot entirely in split screen: a distracting mannerism at first, and the symbolism grates; but it pays off when they finally make love, and the two of them are juxtaposed with remembered and anticipated versions of themselves. Robert Hanks