While watching An Evening with Kevin Smith 2 (let's skip over that stupid sub-title, shall we?), you may ask yourself, "Why should I give a **** about anything Kevin Smith has to say?"-and then you'll be laughing in agreement with a lot of what he says. For better or worse, the potty-mouthed creator of Clerks and Dogma is an expert at combining his own "View Askew" perspective with stand-up comedy and ribald Q&A with (mostly) appreciative audiences. The novelty here is that Smith (now looking richer and more custom-tailored than he did on the cover of An Evening with Kevin Smith) is equally at home with fans in Toronto and London, where his cross-cultural observations inform much of their humorous interaction. Whether he's discussing the X-Men movies as homosexual allegory, recalling how his wife caught him masturbating to pictures of her that he shot for Playboy, or making prescient observations about Mel Gibson's career me! ltdown (just a few of the many topics covered here), Smith remains admirably frank about his fan-base, his limited skills as a film-maker, and his counter-cultural status as a chubby fan-boy who made good in Hollywood. Even when he tests your tolerance with opinions best kept to himself, Smith is a focused observer of his own milieu, willing to expose his insecurities while refusing to suffer fools in his audience (and there are more than a few). As with his previous stand-up DVD, Smith welcomes frequent (and now drug-free) co-star Jason Mewes on-stage for some extreme (and extremely funny) sex-talk, including demonstrations of Mewes' "half-half-whole" technique (don't ask), and later (as a disc 2 bonus feature) approaching young London women with a the kind of pick-up lines (like "Let me get up in them guts") that only a guy like Mewes could get away with. Dropping F-bombs like there's no tomorrow, Smith is crude but intelligent (nobody makes it on luck alone), and this two-disc set will satisfy established fans and would-be converts alike. Likewise, Smith-haters will find nothing to change their minds, since Smith occasionally comes across as smug and self-satisfied, even when he's really not. What matters here is the humor of a self-effacing guy who's never quite sure if he deserves his own success. That puts Smith on even terms with his fans, and it's that dynamic, more than anything else, that makes these concer! ts a whole lot of fun. [+]

Only Joel and Ethan Coen, masters of quirky and ultra-stylish genre subversion, would dare nick the plotline of Homer's Odyssey for O Brother, Where Art Thou?, their comic picaresque saga about three cons on the run in 1930s Mississippi. Our wandering hero in this case is one Ulysses Everett McGill, a slick-tongued wise guy with a thing for hair pomade (George Clooney, blithely sending up his own dapper image) who talks his chain-gang buddies (Coen-movie regular John Turturro and newcomer Tim Blake Nelson) to light out after some buried loot he claims to know of. En route they come up against a prophetic blind man on a railroad truck, a burly one-eyed baddie (the ever-magnificent John Goodman), a trio of sexy singing ladies, a blues guitarist who's sold his soul to the devil, a brace of crooked politicos on the stump, a manic-depressive bank robber, and-well, you get the idea. Into this, their most relaxed film yet, the Coens have tossed a beguiling ragbag of inconsequential situations, a wealth of looping, left-field dialogue and a whole stash of gags both verbal and visual. O Brother (the title's lifted from Preston Sturges' classic 1941 comedy Sullivan's Travels) is furthermore graced with glowing, burnished photography from Roger Deakins and a masterly soundtrack from T-Bone Burnett that pays loving homage to American 30s folk-styles: blues, gospel, bluegrass, jazz and more. And just to prove that the brothers haven't lost their knack for bad-taste humour, we get a Ku Klux Klan rally choreographed like something between a Nuremberg rally and a Busby Berkeley musical. -Philip KempOn the DVD: This two-disc set duplicates the original single-disc release of the film which included a handful of cast and crew interviews, and adds an additional disc with more interviews, two brief behind-the-scenes featurettes about the production design and the post-production digital colouring of the film, a couple of storyboard-to-scene comparisons and a music video of "Man of Constant Sorrow". There's also a 16-minute documentary to promote the companion Down from the Mountain concert. Frankly there's not a lot here to justify spreading it across two discs: a more pleasing not to say generous offering would have been to cram all these extras onto Disc 1 and give us Down from the Mountain as the second disc. -Mark Walker.

A charming but problematic romantic comedy, Three to Tango wobbles between sublime farce and ridiculous contrivance in its detailing of the romantic triangle between an architect (Matthew Perry), a rich businessman (Dylan McDermott), and the businessman's mistress (Neve Campbell). What's the catch? Well, after an absurd misunderstanding, McDermott believes Perry to be gay when in actuality it's Perry's architectural partner (Oliver Platt) who is. Thinking Perry is "safe" material, the jealous McDermott enlists him to watch over Campbell so she doesn't flirt with any other guys, the tacit understanding being that if Perry keeps her out of anyone's arms, a lucrative job will be his. Of course, Perry is instantly smitten, and Campbell takes to him immediately. Both are flummoxed when McDermott reveals Perry's orientation, in one of the film's many subtly rich and funny scenes; Campbell is confused but accommodating, and Perry freaks out inside when he understands that if he wants to keep his job and stay out of debt he has to pretend to have no romantic feelings whatsoever for the woman he loves-and be her constant companion and closest friend. When it sticks to farce-screwball mixed with drawing-room comedy, Three to Tango closely resembles Tootsie, in which another man pretended to be something he wasn't in order to keep his job and his proximity to the woman he loves. However, it's the "gay issue"-and that's exactly how it's dealt with, quotation marks and all-that sadly sabotages the film. Where in Tootsie Dustin Hoffman's cross-dressing was taken in stride, the issue of Perry's supposed homosexuality is treated as an oppressive burden; it's not only borderline offensive, it badly bungles the film's delicate dynamics, weighing down a feather-light romance with excess baggage. It's too bad, because Perry and Campbell are better than you would ever have any reason to believe; their courtship is genuinely funny and touching, and after a while you will find emotional investment in these two ending up together. Despite the film's problems, they manage to pull it over the finish line. [+]

Michael Caine and the knockout Julie Walters deliver a pair of wonderful performances in this endearingly bittersweet tale of a boozily burnt-out professor's tutoring of (and subsequent tutoring by) a free-spirited hairdresser determined to improve her lot in life. The basic plot won't exactly surprise anyone who's ever seen a movie before but the ace cast (particularly Caine, who's rarely this subtle) continually finds new directions to spin off from the rather rote path. Although the end result is perhaps just a little too convinced of its own adorability to attain classic status, this remains a rarity in the genre-a feel-good film that earns its emotions honestly. A nice change of pace for director Lewis Gilbert, who is perhaps better known for his contributions to the James Bond series. -Andrew Wright.

Often hailed as the greatest ever British sitcom, Fawlty Towers is closer to the more elaborate tradition of farce. Comprising two series made in 1975 and 1979, the total of just 12 episodes were painstakingly constructed by writers John Cleese and Connie Booth. Unlike most British farce, however, Fawlty Towers deals with the big themes-death, psychology, xenophobia and even sex-o-phobia (Basil's marriage to Sybil is the most sterile ever depicted in a sitcom). Basil's contempt for his guests is, of course, legendary. It takes little from patrons to unleash his sledgehammer sarcasm: "Rosewood, mahogany, teak? Sorry, I was wondering what you'd like your breakfast tray made out of," he sneers at a guest who dares request breakfast in bed. Like every Englishman, he wants to be king of his own castle and resents having to take in lodgers to maintain the place, especially the open-necked younger generation, whom he regards as sub-human. Mostly, though, Fawlty Towers is comedy of exasperation-who can forget the "damn good thrashing" Basil gives his clapped-out car, or the nervous breakdowns he almost suffers trying to make himself understood to Manuel? It's also comedy of embarrassment. The very fear of losing his dignity generally leads Basil into the most spectacularly undignified of predicaments. His inevitable misery is our sheer delight. -David StubbsSeries 2: Communication Problems The Psychiatrist Waldorf Salad The Kipper and the Corpse The Anniversary Basil the Rat.

The Abominable Dr Phibes is an unusually beautiful horror classic in which Vincent Price stars as the titular genius who specialises in organ music, theology and concocting bizarre deaths for anyone who wrongs him. Discovering why is half the fun, so for now let's just say that Phibes is a little mad and very, very angry. Aided by his assistant, the lovely, silent Vulnavia, Phibes begins cutting a gory swathe through London's medical community, with the dogged Inspector Trout hot on his tail. The film contains many pleasures-exquisite art direction and a dark sense of humour among them-but the real treat is in watching an old pro such as Price at work. Whether he's playing his organ, staring down a victim or drinking through his neck, Price is at the top of his game. He mixes dark menace with wry comic touches, revealing both Phibes' maniacal obsession and offhanded confidence in his own genius. Settle in for an evening of elegant gore-and if an attractive, mute deliverywoman comes to the door, whatever you do, don't answer! -Ali Davis.