Hello, and welcome to Films on Friday, which should really have gone to bed earlier on Wednesday night, instead of writing a stupid song about itself.

A good week for movies on TV, this one. There's not a vast amount of stuff on, but I've counted six nailed-on (5/5) films on terrestrial or Freeview, plus a screening of a little-known Christmas classic. As well as the usual tour of the week's films on TV, the ever-swelling guide gives you another 10 films from our all-time Top 100. We reach halfway this week.

***

The new theme tune

INT - A VEGAS NIGHTCLUB

It is the early 1990s. We're in a cool club in Vegas, the home of genteel sophistication. A dapper gent wearing not only a bow-tie, but also some trousers and socks, strolls onto the stage. He has the audience in the palm of his hand, because he is a giant. He is Rick Burin and he astrides the arena like an annoying colossus. Imagine Frank Sinatra, crossed with Bing Crosby, crossed with Sam Cooke. It looks weird, doesn't it? Now forget them and imagine a partially-dressed lounge lizard who keeps gurning. This is your host, and he's about to talk to you. I'm worried he's going to sing as well.

RICK BURIN
(speaking)
Regular readers are trying desperately to forget that we introduced a 'Films on TV' theme song a few months back, sung by a hideous fictional '80s pop combo who combined the humility of Duran Duran with the musical smarts of a failed Minipops contestant. Since the name change - sorry, re-branding exercise - we've struggled manfully to sing it by simply replacing 'Films on TV' with 'Films on Friday', but it's not happening. No-one pronounces Friday like that. So after considerable thought whilst I was brushing my teeth the other night, I've devised a new song for you to croon along to. Hit it, orchestra leader! No, not that underpaid lackey, the beat. Ooh yeah, now we're cooking. Yeah. Yeeaaaaah. Yes.

(singing)

And now the weekend's near,
And so I face a day of working,
My friends don't like my face,
My scrawny build or my net curtains,

I've got a nasal drawl,
And my wife keeps singing My Way,
But now my life is great,
It's Films on Friiiiii-daaaaay.

Beers, I've had a few,
But then again, too few to mention,
I supplement my wage,
With a paper round and a state pension,

My beard is filled with food,
I'm walking naked down a highway,
But now I feel dead cool,
It's Films on Friiiii-daaaaay.

Yes there were times, I'm sure you knew,
When I dressed entirely in light blue,
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I watched Kevin Costner's No Way Out,
Despite being warned most every week,
By Films on Friiiii-daaaay.

I've read the Top 100 list,
I've questioned Rick's review of Shawshank,
And now as Friday's here,
I'm nearing Cardale in a tank,

To think he gave it three,
The same mark he gave Down Argentine Way,
He is a cad and I hate him
And Films on Friiii-daaaay.

For what is a man, what has he got,
If not a hotel nor a yacht,
Nor a bank account,
Or any shoes,
And he resembles Rodney Bewes,
I'm full of life and chips and booze,
What's Films on Friii-daaaay?

What's Films on Friiiiiiiiiiiiidaaaaaaaaaay?

***

Films on TV - your guide to the week ahead
Nov 21 to 27

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 21

The in-no-way-confusingly-or-cumbersomely-titled Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope (1977, ITV1, 4.25pm) kicks us off this week, with ITV1 sure to keep up the usual good work by chopping most of the sides off the image so we can't really see what's going on. Perhaps they'd like to blank out some of the faces and hum over the dialogue too? The film, frequently cited by the terminally annoying as the greatest of all time, is nevertheless tremendously enjoyable, with a heart and a vigour lacking from the subsequent prequels. Mark Hamill is Luke Skywalker, the farm boy who allies with loveable rogue (TM) Harrison Ford and croissant-haired Carrie Fisher in his fight against the empire, epitomised by husky-voiced charmer Darth Vader (Dave Prowse/James Earl Jones). Any film that borrows so liberally, or so smartly, from The Searchers is pretty much OK in my book (witness the burning homestead, a direct steal from Ford's classic). Despite George Lucas' usual clunky dialogue and some unfortunate changes in this 1997 Special Edition, it's fine popcorn fodder for both kids and adults, with decent intergalactic dogfights and a heap of serial-esque thrills – like the trash compactor set-piece, where the walls begin to move in a somewhat ominous way. I think Lucas pinched that from The Raven – did he make any of this up himself? (4/5)

El Dorado (1966, Five, 5.20pm) was Howard Hawks' first semi-remake of his seminal Rio Bravo, which he later turned into Rio Lobo, and which cult action director John Carpenter has since reworked several times, most memorably as Assault on Precinct 13. It's a rambling, shambling take on the familiar story, in which a gaggle of peace-keeping misfits face off against some very bad men. John Wayne effectively reprises his role from Bravo, but this time his drunk deputy is a man very much his physical – and dramatic – equal, Bob Mitchum. Also on the side of all that is decent is knife-throwing young buck James Caan (later of The Godfather), who is given an amusingly stupid gun. The film's tongue-in-cheek feel is characterised by a scene in which Mitchum, his character supposedly maimed by a bad guy's bullet, can't remember which leg is injured – provoking a great ad-lib by Wayne that made the final cut. While Rio Bravo was a great film, this is just great knockabout fun: tough and robustly entertaining, with top action scenes and the strong, macho friendships typical of Hawks' work. (4/5)

We're a little hamstrung here, as the perfect lead-in to this review is the film's potty-mouthed opening line; highly unsuitable for a family newspaper – or even a family newspaper's faintly irreverent website. To paraphrase, then: "Sugar, still in Saigon". Apocalypse Now (1979, Film4, 0.40am SUN) is, unbeknown to many, Francis Ford Coppola's finest film, a mesmerising journey to the heart of darkness, framed against the backdrop of the Vietnam War. Martin Sheen is Benjamin A. Willard, a taciturn soldier sent downriver to assassinate a rogue American colonel (Marlon Brando), who's playing God amongst the transfixed natives. Heavy on brooding voiceover and dreamlike imagery, it has more to say about war, American foreign policy and the blackness within man's soul than any other film of its type; the spellbinding finished product belying an unprecedentedly troubled production. The only sour note comes from Coppola's decision to genuinely slaughter a cow for the final sequences, which is hateful, pointless and really hard to watch. (5/5)


SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 22

The Wrong Arm of the Law (1962, Film4, 11am) is a very, very funny British comedy about a group of crooks who team up with the police when some Australian criminals muscle in on their patch – posing as coppers. The homegrown felons are led by Peter Sellers – that hugely gifted character comedian – and Bernard Cribbins, while the head policeman is the formidably bald Lionel Jeffries, in a notable, blustering performance that's just the right side of annoying. The promising premise is developed with numerous excellent twists and while there's a bit of a lull just after the hour mark, it quickly gets back on track, leading to a riotous chase finale. I was expecting a disposable, affable timewaster, but got a minor classic. (5/5)

Revisionism came late to Disney, in the shape of Pocahontas (1995, Five, 4.45pm), the studio's ode to rather indistinct noses. And the Native Americans. The story sees a group of English plunderers travel to the New World in search of vast wealth. That doesn't go down terribly well with the natives, with only Pocahontas, the daughter of an Indian chief, and English soldier John Smith (Mel Gibson) standing in the way of all-out war. There aren't many facts hanging around this colourful historical fantasy, and it has the usual patronising moralising of contemporary Disney product, but the tuneful MOR soundtrack and fast-moving plot make it reasonable entertainment for kids. It had me drawing two little nostrils in place of a nose for years. (2/5) This is quite funny.

The Railway Children (1970, ITV3, 4pm) is as good as it gets (not As Good As It Gets, just to clarify). It's also in our Top 100 countdown this week, so I've put the review in there (#52). (5/5)


MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23

I've plugged the "Ranown cycle" countless times in this column: seven mini-masterpieces from the Randolph Scott-Budd Boetticher team, in which the star's bereaved, greying gunslinger (a different character each time, but with certain recurring traits) tangles with a gallery of fascinating bad guys. The Tall T (1957, C4, 1.50pm) is regarded by some as the best of the lot, though I'd probably have it third, behind Ride Lonesome and Seven Men From Now. Here Scott has to come to the rescue of a newlywed who's heir to a copper mine. His adversary is Richard Boone, the dynamic, grizzled character actor, while the girl is played by '30s ingénue Maureen O'Sullivan – Jane in MGM's classic Tarzan series, and the mother of Mia Farrow. Like all entries in the series, it boasts stunning widescreen cinematography and a fine, small ensemble cast. And like the best of the bunch, it was scripted by the legendary Western screenwriter Burt Kennedy, this time from a short story by Elmore Leonard. The Tall T is simple, restrained and economical and as a result nigh-on unforgettable. (5/5)

Documentary The Yes Men (2003, C4, 1.20am TUE) sounds great, but never really delivers, as its anti-corporate pranksters tour conferences around the world, pretending to be from the World Trade Organisation. There are some funny moments, but the satire is pretty muted and the message largely incoherent. (2/5)


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