...THAT OLD BLACK MAGIC CALLED LOVE.

The trouble with a lot of the English is that they always feel gratitude is an essential element of London living. I'm not going to do a Desmond Morris gesture mapping here but have you noticed how many Londoners thank the motorist for stopping at the pedestrian (zebra) crossing? It's usually when they're half way across and not before. Deity forbid that I should sound like a misanthrope, but if the driver had half the chance..... If one doesn't adhere to these rituals you're deemed rude. Yet my misanthropy is clearly in evidence when commuters try to board crowded London trains. Letting people off a vehicular conduit before letting others on would seem to have more in common with physics and logic rather than politeness. Disregard for this science is so widespread though that recorded 'big brother' announcements are necessary. Years ago at the Royal Courts of Justice, people had queued for hours to witness Tony Blair give his evidence to the Hutton inquiry. One queue for journalists, another for the others. When the gates opened it was like a dam bursting and the initial security so laksadaisical that a library card would suffice for a journalists' NUJ card. Maybe that's democracy. If you trip on one loose footpath be thankful they're not all like that. Same with the trains, although the natives are getting a bit restless. Loads of closed tube lines this weekend due to essential engineering works. Ok, but were they prepared with their science diplomas? The Piccadilly line was running to a lot of the destinations denied by the closures but were the commuters told that? Of course not. At Turnham Green underground, the Piccadilly line usually only stops late at night as it's serviced by the District line. Was the public told that this weekend it would be stopping all day because of the other line closures? Of course not. This was probably the best and safest station to change at for those having to take onward bus routes instead. If you read the fine print I suppose it was perfectly clear. The indicator boards at three stations on the District line were totally confusing. Fair comment I think.

What we should be grateful for is the talent of filmmaker David Lynch. I'd just sat through his new 3 hour movie Inland Empire before my underground nightmare. The DVD of Mulholland Drive: Special Edition has also just been released. "Who wants to go and see movies where everything's spelt out to you?" says actress Naomi Watts in one of the many fab extras on the DVD. All who are part of Lynch's dreams speak of it as if being spiritually converted. After Inland Empire I'm still one of the congregation. I can't say it's the film chapter I'd go back to regularly but it looks amazing. It's shot on the same tiny Sony PD150 digital cameras Lars von Trier used for his Dancer in the Dark musical sequences. If you don't get held up on the Eurostar for one reason or another, Lynch also has an exhibition of his art at the ever-enterprising Fondation Cartier in Paris.

Lynch's Eraserhead was one of the classic Midnight(cult thereafter)Movies in America, and if you're unfamiliar with this era, see the documentary still playing at the ICA. There's also one midnight screening of John Waters' Pink Flamingos. More on Jodorowsky, including a great DVD set release,in a week or so. It was a surprise to see how Lynchian (or is it Lynchesque: you know you're doin' something right when you become an adjective) is Paolo Sorrentino's film The Family Friend (my esteemed colleague Jonathon Romney also noted this). Dub a Lynch like soundtrack to many of the scenes instead of Teho Teardo's and you'd be hard put to tell the difference. Teardo's is great, I hasten to add, and I had visions of thousands of Italians all transmogrified by his use of Elgar's Cello Concerto. How very EU.

Usury and desire are Sorrentino's themes, as they were in his brilliant debut The Consequences of Love. Geremia is a local loan shark and looks like the evil dwarf Loge out of a modern dress Wagner's Ring. His only friend Gino dreams of living in Tennessee. "You were given the world on loan," he wryly retorts to the big boys when he's overreached himself, "I lend the world to you when you happen to lose it." The same outré distributor Wild Bunch supported Satan released on DVD this week through Tartan Video. I reviewed its limited ICA cinema release. It's a shame some of the collective's music videos that won a Golden DVD aren't included as extras. But I guess these are available elsewhere and the interviews are good and an inspiration to young filmmakers. "Contrary to what you might think, you don't need experience to be good in film," says Vincent Cassel. "All that is required is to be receptive, fresh, creative and a little humble."

If there's one DVD you must get, and definitely skimp on buying booze for your significant other, it's Optimum's release of Peeping Tom. This is one of the most important DVD releases to date. The scandal over its 1960 release put an end to director Michael Powell's career in Britain forever. The only work he could find was in Australia. The film's been championed by Scorsese among many others, and in the words of Ian Christie's superlative audio commentary, "is a classic meditation on the filmed image". The character of Mark (KarlHeinz Böhm the son of legendary conductor Karl Böhm) is a product of his father's experiments in infantile 'behaviourism' psychology akin to Watson/Pavlov/Skinner et al. "I never knew a moment of privacy," he says. With his movie camera, Mark is trying to produce impossible pictures. Helen (Moira Shearer) is Brünnhilde to Mark's Siegfried and is writing a children’s story about a 'magic camera'. "Never confuse the improbable with the impossible," says Geremia from The Family Friend.

Also out on DVD, and following in Powell's brave footsteps, is one of the best British, or should I say Scottish, films in a long time, Andrea Arnold's Red Road. She has more in common with Lars von Trier’s films than the Danish new wave of Per Fly and Susanne Bier. It’s let down by its extras, though. A shame Wasp (2003) which won Arnold the Academy Award for Live Action Short 2005 isn’t included. The interviews are thin too. But for the visually impaired (I guess) there’s a purely descriptive commentary.

I gently smiled when I read Biteback: Richard Brooks (Sunday Times) about former BFI (British Film Institute) head Alan Parker not being invited to last Tuesday’s opening of the revamped National Film Theatre. I wasn’t invited either Alan. Some very interesting politics going on down there I could tell you. At least they do have space for a decent party now rather than cramming everyone into a Marx Brothers room as before. And while we’re still on the subject of movies that can get you in a whole lot of trouble, the DVD of Mary Harron’s The Notorious Bettie Page is just out. Haven’t seen this DVD, but I can recommend the film, and my old colleague Cara Seymour’s pretty good in it too. What’s conflict of interest when it’s not at home?

If none of those things interest you, Mr.Bean's Holiday will leave you smiling. Bean makes a Lynchesque appearance at the Cannes Film Festival (Fest 2001 winner Lynch’s press conference is included in the Mulholland Drive extras). My Cannes antics were Bambi compared to Mr.Bean. (The Paris police bully boys there for the Fest almost strangled me in front of a crowded late night train) Not kidding! One of my fave Rowan Atkinson skits is his virtuoso performance of Beethoven’s Pathetique sonata (or is it the Moonlight I keep forgetting) on invisible piano. In Mr.Bean's Holiday he does Mozart’s Ronda alla turka together with many Jacques Tatiesque capers (but on caffeine) that he documents on his mini-DV. Even the brass-necked 10-year olds in the cinema were enjoying this film. Maybe they’ll grow up to be the next Ricky Gervaises.

And if you’re totally bloody skint, you can learn to lip-read and stand outside the electronics shop to watch Bremner, Bird and Fortune on Channel Four tele. Ooops, you can’t have TV’s on standby etc nowadays what with energy conservation can you? It’s still the fun-ha-ist, best scripted programme since the days of That Was The Week That Was. I’m too young to remember those years, thank goodness.