ENDHIRAN (INDIA/2010/S. SHANKAR)

A modern twist on the Pygmalion story, Endhiran concerns the endeavours of Dr. Vaseegran who constructs a high-powered android named Chitti in his own image. Despite sharing the athletic ability of Bruce Lee and the dance moves of Michael Jackson, Chitti is not regarded by the relevant authorities as a valuable contribution to the field as it lacks rational ability or emotions. When Vaseegran transplants a positronic brain into Chitti to help him relate to humans better, he gets more than he bargained for as Chitti’s newfound emotions lead him to develop strong feelings towards Vaseegran’s fiancée Sana. Attempting to win Sana back, Vaseegran foolishly goes into competition with Chitti’s superhuman powers, underestimating the android’s ability to mimic his master’s behaviour.

A huge success at the box office, grossing more than any other Indian film ever, Endhiran covers many genres and feels as if it was designed to entertain the widest range of people conceivable, although whether it fulfilled this goal is another question. Lead actor Rajnikanth, playing both Vaseegran and his robot analogue Chitti, has some great comedic turns but is unable to sustain interest for the film’s 155-minute runtime. For the casual Western viewer, there are plenty of WTF moments – a scene where a naked girl runs into traffic is particularly baffling – as well as a plethora of tongue-in-cheek movie references, although the proviso of satire has not saved the film from accusations of plagiarism. But for all its various flaws, this Kollywood blockbuster has undeniable entertainment value.

THE APPLE (USA/1980/MENAHEM GOLAN)

It’s a futuristic 1994, and the Worldvision Song Festival is underway. Alphie and Bibi travel from their native Canada to participate for their country with a spirited ballad, only to be met with consternation from the sizeable audience, who have had their expectations raised by the glitzy stage histrionics of the BIM, a heartless music corporation which will stop at nothing to win. Alphie and Bibi soon find themselves subsumed by BIM’s record label, and for a while Bibi rides the crest of celebrity. Learning the sinister truth about BIM, Alphie tries his hardest to liberate Bibi from the clutches of BIM’s leader Mr. Boogalow.

With a central concept based on a Eurovision Song Contest of the future, one has to expect an overdose of camp from The Apple, and by golly it delivers. From the glittery triangle appliqués to the abundance of gold, The Apple appears to be picking up on the extravagances missed out on by previous musicals, even outkitsching Rocky Horror Picture Show in its caricatures of the entertainment business. The allegory of sin is obvious but restrained, the apple motif only whipped out for a particularly saucy number, although the film’s conclusion takes on an overtly religious angle which almost substracts from the fun. Regardless of one’s susceptibility to this sort of film, The Apple is very impressive for its sheer scale and design, and it’s a shame it still hasn’t quite had its day. Look out for blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameos from Miriam Margolyes and Yma Sumac.

20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA (FRANCE/1907/GEORGES MÉLIÈS)

Fantasy cinema will always trace its roots back to early special effects wizard Georges Méliès, whose works still have relevance in some circles today. His best known works often used Jules Verne’s adventure stories as a template, embellishing them with appropriately surreal visuals, and most if not all of these projects were shot in a customised warehouse. 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea is no exception, taking as its basis one of Verne’s most adapted works. The U.S. government sends a team of scientists to investigate a spate of sunken ships. The mission uncovers a world of underwater marvels, but as the men entertain themselves with their new environment, they fall prey to its unforeseen dangers.

Without the luxury of time, any retelling of a Verne tale is a bit abrupt and doesn’t have the draw that the books do. Accepting time as a limitation, Méliès uses his imagination to create a visually active backdrop evocative of a thriving submarine habitat. As in many of Méliès’ films, the fantastical aspects of the story are helped along by a bevy of dancing girls, and their constant movements against a psychedelic background make for a hypnotic effect. The film is bookended by scenes which explain the purpose and outcome of the characters as in the book, but one feels that Captain Nemo should have featured more. It might not measure up to later feature-length adaptations, but Méliès’ film is an entertaining, if slightly too brief jaunt. Look out for the menacing giant crab.

LIQUID SKY (USA/1982/SLAVA TSUKERMAN)

On the night of a New Wave fashion show, a small UFO lands in an apartment belonging to Margaret, a drug-addled supermodel, and her dealer girlfriend Adrian. Its occupant, a small, shapeshifting alien, hides in the apartment unbeknownst to the couple, seeking a very unusual source of nourishment. Meanwhile, Margaret is grappling with her cocaine addict rival Jimmy, with whom she has arranged a rooftop photo shoot. At the shoot, Margaret finds herself unwillingly seduced by former drama teacher Owen, who collapses after sex with a sharp crystal protruding from his head. Perturbed by the thought that it was her fault, Margaret falls into a downward spiral, pushing Adrian away for her and unwittingly attracting unwanted attention, but

Made for just $500,000 by Russian ex-pat Slava Tsukerman, Liquid Sky shares similar production values with other low-budget sci-fi or horror films, including a stilted screenplay and lazy acting. Anna Carlisle, in the roles of both Margaret and Jimmy, is more likely to be remembered for being a poster girl for androgyny than a great actress, as her performance is led almost entirely by contrived stiffness. But what the film loses in technicalities, it gains in managing to crystallise the zeitgeist of the eighties, in both its superficial aspects and its deeper sociological implications. In this way, Liquid Sky is ripe for rediscovery – its independent spirit and unique approach to sexuality harmonises well with modern attitudes to cinema, and the hilariously mechanistic, synth-dominated soundtrack is a clear influence on the electroclash genre.

Hear a sample of the soundtrack here

THE FABULOUS WORLD OF JULES VERNE (CZECH REPUBLIC/1958/KAREL ZEMAN)

Taking its cue primarily from Jules Verne’s Face au Drapeau, but also borrowing from his other novels, this energetic fantasy story follows inventor Thomas Roch as he attempts to get approval for his new invention, an intensely violent explosive called the Fulgarator. Lacking governmental support, he is suddenly kidnapped by the dastardly Artigas who helps him create a working model of the weapon. Of course, Artigas has an ulterior motive as he plans to use it in his conquest of the world, and Roch is brought into a crisis of conscience when Artigas reveals where he plans to use it next.

Karel Zeman’s multi-disciplinary, multi-dimensional animation never fails to impress, and here it is absolutely enthralling, even in the absence of colour. Sets are streaked with thick black lines in mimesis of the woodcut illustrations in Verne’s original books. Though the animation of the machinery and the weapons are superb considering the time, the film is at its best during the underwater scenes – jellyfish and seahorses dance alongside the ship, deep sea divers duel for treasure, a basking shark circles the water predatorily. The story is one of Verne’s lesser works, and if you’re not with the film at the beginning, it’s likely you’ll never get into it, as many of the characters are somewhat interchangeable. Nonetheless, there’s entertainment for all ages to be had from this adventure, and few viewers will go wanting. If Méliès were still alive in the fifties, this might just have been his swan song.

THE ASTRONOMER'S DREAM (FRANCE/1898/GEORGES MÉLIÈS)

Sat alone in his study, an astronomer falls into a deep sleep. In his dreams, he is paid an unwanted visit by the devil who summons an evil demon in the form of a large full moon with a grotesque face. The demon consumes the astronomer and his life’s work, before spitting him back out in a cloud of smoke. As the face retreats into the night sky, a crescent moon nears the astronomer’s window, atop of which is sat an ethereally beautiful woman. She is Phoebe, the benevolent goddess of the moon. As she pieces the astronomer back together, he tries to reach out to her, but before he can make contact, he is shaken out of his dream.

The film was one of a few early films Méliès produced that showed his keen interest in all things astrological, a fascination he would eventually become celebrated for, culminating in the all-time classic A Trip to the Moon. It might seem like a throwaway curiosity to a generation of people for whom Avatar is the apex of cinema, but The Astronomer’s Dream is a sophisticated piece of work that deserves to be remembered 112 years later. Though composed of three disparate shots, the film flows seamlessly, and Méliès employs various cinematic tricks, including some subtle animation on a chalkboard, to create a wonderfully phantasmagorical nightmare. At the risk of sounding flippant, this writer would be much more content to watch 160 minutes of Méliès’ sci-fi shorts than sit through Avatar.

THE MYSTERIOUS GEOGRAPHIC EXPLORATIONS OF JASPER MORELLO (AUSTRALIA/2005/ANTHONY LUCAS)

Mere seconds into Anthony Lucas’ Oscar-nominated short The Mysterious Geographic Explorations of Jasper Morello, and we are already deeply immersed in its moody steampunk visuals. Jasper Morello is a navigator who has been appointed to embark upon a mission distributing weather beacons to enable wireless communication. The journey is fraught with troubles though, as the airship’s captain bears a grudge against Jasper for causing the death of another navigator on a previous mission. Furthermore, the thick smog leads the team to crash into an abandoned aircraft named Hieronymous, but they manage to repair it for use in the rest of the journey. When Jasper gets word that his wife Amelia has caught the plague, the team restrain him from turning the ship back home, but their subsequent discoveries leave them wishing they hadn’t.

Sinister but intriguing, this miniature epic features an impeccable mix of different animation styles, recalling Czech artist Karel Zeman. Lucas’ inspired designs infuse the cityscape with exceptional attention to detail, the girders and wheel-spokes becoming more important than aesthetic addenda, while the humans by contrast are deceptively simple beings, their jointed bodies moving with the charming gaucherie of Lotte Reiniger’s silhouette animations eighty years earlier. Scenes are faintly tinted with primary colours, as if in rebuttal of the gaudy Hollywood animations we have grown accustomed to. It is a shame then, that the soundtrack isn’t nearly as exciting as the rest of the project, but the promise of a follow-up is enough to keep one’s attention fixed.

VELD (UZBEKISTAN/1987/NAZIM TULYAKHODZAYEV)

Taking its inspiration from the Ray Bradbury book of the same name, Veld concerns Linda and Mike, a couple living in a state-of-the-art house which has been designed to gratify their every need. The “nursery”, actually a large virtual reality booth, has the power to recreate any place on earth, and is a favourite hangout for the couple’s kids, Peter and Wendy. One night, Linda wakens to the sound of lions roaring loudly, a sound traced to the nursery which appears to be stuck in an African grassland setting. Convinced that this way of life has destroyed the family entirely, Linda and Mike become withdrawn and childish, leaving Peter and Wendy to usurp them at the top of the family unit in a bizarre role reversal. Speaking to a psychiatrist, Mike begins to decode the children’s obsession with the nursery and, before long, his fear of this self-aware house is realised.

Technology is the true enemy here, stealing power from the last generation and giving it to the next. This is wonderfully reflected in the intimidating set design: from the long, thin doors of the nursery to the engulfing electronic bed curtain, every part of the house appears designed to keep its inhabitants locked inside. Director Nazim Tulyakhodzayev builds up the suspense meticulously, deliberately reducing the children to secondary characters to ensure that the parents project their emotions realistically. Although many of the film’s thematic merits can be ascribed to Bradbury’s original story, Veld is a deftly inventive psychological horror.