Therapist is the dark debut film by Barry Adamson, who is better known for his haunting movie scores for Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers and David Lynch's Lost Highway than for getting behind the camera. The 40-minute film noir is a about an ethereal Polish immigrant, Monika, searching for her sister. Monika's story merges into that of a film-maker seeking solace on the therapist's couch.

Americana's most ripped and bleeding soul gets down with a Don Was co-production, which means presence and rough warmth in the ear.

It says "Americana" up there, but this is no sepia tint of Old America. Nor is it an exercise in artily countrified nostalgia.

The sad and relatively short life of John Paul Getty III, whose severed ear became a grisly symbol of the wave of kidnappings that swept Italy in the 1970s, was proof that being a grandson of the richest man in the world was no guarantee of happiness.

The scent of mythologisation pervades RB's airspace like some pongy Texan cactus.

Once upon a time Lovett rested his narrow eye on the wide world of Texan society, landscape and fauna, and coaxed out of those things surreal lament.

Sienna Miller’s new movie role may chime with her public image, but is she misunderstood? She talks to Gill Pringle about boyfriends, body issues and why she hates the paparazzi

Recorded as an offshoot of sessions for a Rilo Kiley album, Momofuku has an impromptu quality lacking in Elvis Costello's more considered recent work. Rattling from style to style as Costello aims at one target after another, there's a brusque impatience about the album, which in some cases transfers to the listener: frankly, it's hard to raise two hoots of interest in songs like the McCartneyesque trifle "Mr Feathers", the schematic "Stella Hurt" or the melodrama "Go Away".

It's soulless va va voom, this sex on a motorbike: A David Lynch film turned opera – heaven for fans, but what about everyone else?

The shiny blacktop of a road to nowhere bisects the Young Vic auditorium – at one end an automobile frozen in transit, at the other the Lost Highway to David Lynch's skewed imagination. Olga Neuwirth's amazing take on Lynch's cult movie pretty much achieves the impossible: it takes all the trappings of a great cinematic imagination – one built from the psychotic irrationalities of our dream state – and makes startling music theatre of them.

Lynch's noir classic takes a stunning turn

There's a perplexing paradox at the heart of The Straight Story. It's already been widely acclaimed by its many admirers as not just a new departure for David Lynch but - in its warmth and humanism, its readiness to embrace emotion and even sentimentality, its rejection, above all, of the director's trademark looniness - as a total volte face. Yet, when you think of it, what could be weirder than a David Lynch movie that isn't weird?

In his new film there's no weird stuff - no dead homecoming queens, no filicide. And he's even taken to wearing a tie. Has David Lynch gone soft?

Lost Highway (18) Polygram, rental, 16 Mar This bewitching picture stylistically straddles pornography, horror and classic film noir, though its story remains utterly intangible. Fred and Renee Madison (Bill Pullman and Patricia Arquette) find a black-and-white videotape containing footage of the outside of their house. A second tape arrives that watches the couple as they sleep and a close-up third observes Renee's brutal murder. Cut to Death Row where a dazed Fred languishes, terrorised by apocalyptic hallucinations. In the morning, the wardens check on him to find that he has been replaced by Peter, and so begins a seemingly different story. With all its Lynchian imprints - the crackling lightbulbs, pregnant silences, scorching colours and bruised sexuality - Lost Highway keeps you guessing for hours after the credits have rolled. HHHH