10 years in the making but only 52 minutes long’which, alongside its 4:3 screen ratio, makes it particularly television-friendly’this documentary takes us on a journey into the life Sue Chuter, wrestling fan extraordinaire, with tales of her first marriage and the birth, ten-year estrangement, reunion, and re-estrangement or her daughter. Oh, there’s a little about wrestling too.

Through Sue’s encounters with professional (and mostly American) wrestlers, we see both her devotion to the sport and its stars, and the surprising warmth of the wrestlers. When Sue makes a ten-week Mecca to the United States, Ex-wrestler and television presenter Jerry Lawler is gracious to the extreme, even pointing her out in the crowd before one wrestling match. Lovestruck is astonishing for its portrayal of those in the wrestling community as real, caring human beings.

Lovestruck’s focus on Sue and Spencer’s empathetic hand quiet echoes of the acclaimed, although overrated, 1999 wrestling documentary Beyond the Mat.

Clips of Melbourne’s own original wrestlers, filmed mostly by the late Vern Sundfors in the 1960s at Festival Hall, give background to Sue’s obsession, but their content is of use only to fans of the sport.

Mostly though, Lovestruck is anything but esoteric. Perhaps more might have been developed on a metaphorical level. Spencer called wrestling a great analogy for life in a pre-screening introduction; however, evidence of this fails to arise in the film. But complaints of the film’s insularity aside, Chuter and Spencer combine to create a solid, enjoyable documentary that never crosses into sentimentality.

The warning ‘Contains scenes that may offend some viewers’ is true enough. Some of a more sensitive disposition filed out of the theatre, probably not foreseeing in the innocently titled Edmond the sex, violence and racism to come. For all the darkness and hatred, the laughs are continuous, due in large part to the absurdity of Macy’s character and the situations he puts himself in. Despite all Edmond goes through, it’s his own fault and he doesn’t elicit much sympathy, if any.

With savage beatings, murder, prostitution, sodomy and bigotry, this film could be bit of a downer, but comedy is a great mood alleviant. Watching this otherwise harrowing film, you can only laugh or else be outraged.

As you would expect from David Mamet’s adaptation of his own stage play, Edmond is dialogue heavy. The writing is clever and acerbic with ladles full of awkwardness and tension. Director Stuart Gordon (Re-Animator) has created a straightforward film, one with style and character, managing to wring the most humour out of a situation without it becoming a farce. The whole cast is great: from Macy as Edmond, to Julia Stiles as the waitress and aspiring actress. Even Denise Richards is good.

Reminiscent of the Coen brothers’ Fargo, last year’s French black comedy The Ax and with even a small touch of American Psycho, Edmond will have you laughing and stunned in equal proportions.

Yep, they’re nerds. The funny thing is that they seem to know it, and even funnier, they don’t really seem to care. For a group of social outcasts, the inhabitants of the imaginary world of ‘Darkon’ (a sort of Warhammer board game fraught real life) are for the most part incredibly articulate, thoughtful, and entirely self-aware.

The people documented in Darkon deliver some oddly affecting monologues. From the overweight and self-declared nerd who confesses that he really doesn’t know how to talk to a girl to the slightly hapless Skip, who seeks to redress his failure to follow in his father’s career footsteps by funnelling his energy into his family and the escapist fantasies of the Darkon world, these characters might begin with our pity but ultimately they earn our understanding and empathy.

Structurally and stylistically Darkon is relatively sound, but never threatens to amaze us. In fact, in seeking to convey the intensity of the game’s ‘battles’ by placing the camera right in the midst of the fight, the film becomes a confused blur, a hodgepodge of images and sound.

This attempt at flair points to a greater deficiency on the whole’Darkon is, as are a great many documentaries, absolutely uncinematic. But this is not a fatal blow. Darkon is a film about human beings, and that’s no small thing’style would be merely icing on the cake.

And, strangely enough, sometimes, yeah, it is. Slavoj Zizek (Think Barry Jones on speed with a cleft palate. ActuallyÔø?ƒ?no, don’t.) is something of a celebrity academic (possibly more for his personality than his teachings), specialising in sociology, philosophy and other topics I don’t pretend to understand. Regardless, he’s hysterically (and addictively) passionate about whatever he’s talking about. Not in a calm, wide-eyed David Attenborough-way either. He’s off the charts. Even his five-year-old son’s toys are not safe from analysis. Zisek explains that his son is ‘progressive’ because he has two ‘lesbian’ Lego women ruling the playroom.

Thankfully, there are some shallower offerings in here for the punters too, with plenty of catchy sound bites destined to plaster amateur reviews like this. Stuff like ‘Love is evil’ and ‘Vegetarians are degenerates.’ You believe him too. The film sometimes bogs itself down with its verbosity. But, hey, if you’re into that sort of stuff, you’ll probably be sweating with excitement.

Also, the short film Death of the Revolution, which would’ve been better had the lead child actor’s English accent not been so thick.

All right, I think I’ve suitably set up what we’re dealing with, as well as completely alienated my family, friends, potential employersÔø?ƒ?

Sarah Silverman: Jesus Is Magic is basically a concert film; 70-odd-minutes of stand-up with five short musical numbers peppered throughout. And after (or ‘if’Ôø?Ôø?there were a few walkouts) you get through all the rude words, it’s actually all pretty ordinary. Which is a shame because, well, she’s just so pretty.

Remember when you first saw Delirious or Raw? Go watch them again. Every line hits. Still. ‘Offensive’ or not. Then go see this. It’s really weak. Could it have the same (albeit cult) success as either of those? No chance. I hope not. Kids today aren’t that stupid, are they?

I like to think I can appreciate a good bad taste joke. But the writing’s just not there. Maybe something’s lost in translation. Australians are pretty un-PC anyway. And we hang shit on different minorities than the US. Maybe it’s become harder to become tasteless. Maybe it’s just me. People were laughing. All throughout. Maybe it is me.

However, having said all that, Silverman’s pretty fearless as a performer. Her delivery and execution are spot on. She’s totally committed (or should be), putting herself out there and playing it all absolutely straight for the sake of the joke. She does really well. She’s just not very funny.

While Roky’s journey from 13th Floor Elevators rock idol to recluse is the ostensible focus of the film, You’re Gonna Miss Me is not standard music doco fare. Closer to Capturing the Friedmans than ‘Behind the Music’, the film revolves around three dysfunctional Erickson family members’Roky, Sumner and Evelyn. Evelyn sees the film as a chance to tell her side of the story, and to prove for the record that she’s a good mother. Sumner, the youngest of five brothers, wants legal guardianship of Roky to ensure he gets medical help. Roky, oblivious, turns every radio and TV in the house up as loud as possible and goes to sleep.

As the film unfolds, it becomes clear that psychosis is only one way of retreating from the world. Evelyn lives in her own delusions, believing yoga can cure Roky’s schizophrenia. She even scrawls her life story in child-like crayon on cardboard sheets in her living room. It’s because of Evelyn that Roky goes unmedicated for so long’she uses ‘Frasier’s’ Crane brothers and their lack of spiritual life to justify her distrust of psychiatry.

Evelyn’s manipulations feed family tensions until a final intervention. Built up resentments come to the fore. Compiled from fly-on-the-wall footage, interviews, home movies and archival shots, You’re Gonna Miss Me is, more than anything, a portrait of decay. And watching Roky deteriorate, it becomes clear that sometimes, there really is something to leaving a good-looking corpse.

The Minutemen never sought commercial success, nor did they receive it; but they exerted their innovative sound’a synthesis of punk, funkadelic riffs, mexicali rhythms, and even a touch of jazz’on a variety of bands, including Black Flag, Dinosaur Jnr, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Members from these bands extol the virtues of the Minutemen, providing amusing anecdotes.

The film moves between interviews filmed in 1985 (prior to Boon’s death) and most recent ones. Bassist Mike Watt provides the bulk of the commentary while haphazardly steering his van around the streets of San Pedro, Southern California. His laconic wit is a hit, although many of the anecdotes provided by George Hurley (drummer) and other artists reveal a hilarious revelation about the band. Apparently, a significant amount of time passed before the band tuned their instruments together’they were under the impression that some preferred their instruments to have looser or tighter strings’undoubtedly causing numerous pitch problems. There was no such discord between the members of the Minutemen.

There’s concert footage aplenty, highlighting the on-stage exuberance of D.Boon, as he jumped up and down on stage vigorously, despite his heavy-set build. There are shots of the rabid audience, initially hostile, coating the band members in spit, before convulsing to the music in a frenzied mass.

This film is for the Minutemen fans and punk enthusiasts. As a former punk enthusiast, I found the film entertaining, but those looking for an innovative approach to punk history should look (and look hard) elsewhere.

The film is told in ‘real time’, recreating from the beginning the hijackers’ start to the day, arrival at the airport, the take off, the nervous take over of the plane, through to the final upheaval at the hands of the passengers.

Cut in between the scenes on United 93 are scenes from Boston, New York and US air traffic headquarters, and even NORAD (North American Aerospace Defence Command). These scenes are generally chaotic, and show bureaucracy at work; communication is scattered like Chinese whispers between the agencies.

The cast is free from any ‘name’ actors, which works to the film’s advantage. As an audience, we are drawn into believing that this is not a glamorous re-enactment of the events of September 11. Instead, the film chooses to present the material in a documentary-like manner.

Obviously there is a large part of the film based on the small pieces of information that is known about United 93. As the only plane that did not reach its target it has long been told that the passengers fought back.

United 93 creates the feeling of being on that plane so well that I even found myself beginning to get anxious as I always do when flying. It is ultimately a thought-provoking film. Writer and Director Paul Greengrass (Bourne Supremacy) has been incredibly careful with the sensitive material and created a film that aims to find some hope from the tragic events of September 11, by using the passengers of United 93 as a means of conveying bravery amidst a situation of terror.

This film is slow, painfully slow. A number of people left the theatre before the end and there was an audible sigh of relief when the film finished. The scenes are long and punctuated by lengthy silences. Camera shots are static and the lighting is dim, casting the actors in shadow. Often they are not even in shot. At one point we watch a closed door as Marie carries out a one-way conversation.

Although the couple try to trivialise the separation, to themselves and to their friends, their feelings and fears are evident. Much of the battle is waged internally and portrayed in body language. Marie seeks solace in a museum and Nicholas in a late night cafe. Both meet single people and get a glimpse into life after marriage, but these scenes do not develop.

Un Couple Parfait is not so much a story as a naturalistic observation of a couple’s failing relationship. We get the point early on and then it just becomes laboured. The couple don’t talk about their issues and problems or what led them to their decision to separate. In fact, they hardly talk at all. There is a sense of the emotion simmering beneath the initial veneer of normality, but it lacks the substance and layers of The Squid and the Whale or Hidden. Ultimately, you feel nothing for the characters.

Todeschini and Bruni-Tedeschi give convincing performances. Most of the focus is on Marie, whose pain generates anger, regret and sadness and she goads Nicholas, looking for answers. From him we mostly get a sullen silence’that’s when you can see him at all.

When Kirkham was given his first video camera at 14, he began to record everything. From his role as dancer on ‘American Bandstand’ to national reporter for ‘Inside Edition’, Kirkham’s obsessive desire to remain centre screen, both in public and private, saw him film over three-thousand-hours of footage. Co-directed by Michael Cain and Matt Redecki, TV Junkie is the condensed result.

All Kirkham wants is ‘the perfect life’: he marries a nice girl from Texas, buys a gaudy house and fathers two sons. Yet despite his wealth, celebrity and all-American veneer, Kirkham’s bizarre home movie footage and video diaries reveal his descent into substance abuse and depression.

Like Tarnation (2003) and Capturing the Friedmans (2003), TV Junkie is the self-documented tale of a family’s implosion. Yet while the previous two films offer insight into the reasons behind these families’ dysfunction, even Kirkham’s confession’like diaries seem performative and guarded. They follow a familiar cycle of avowal, self-loathing and hollow promises. By halfway through the film, the audience began laughing at the repetition and clich‚àöÔø? of Kirkham’s proclamations.

Unlike Tarnation, in which self-documentation becomes a cathartic process for both the film-maker and the audience, TV Junkie is strangely devoid of hope or redemption. Kirkham is essentially an unsympathetic and egotistical character, whose need to record everything appears not as an attempt to capture reality, but rather a desire to shape it according to his own requirements.

Despite the film’s positive, somewhat forced conclusion, I left the theatre feeling the only insight I got into Kirkham was his insincerity. TV Junkie reflects the falsity and self-obsession of an era and culture besotted with celebrity and wealth, in which DIY implosion may become the closest thing to ‘reality’.