The usual formula seems to be to add 40 minutes to an hour of extra footage, boring to tears everyone but ardent fans, and the whole thing can reek of overindulgence — witness Apocalypse Now Redux,

The one big thing in their favour though, is getting to watch classic movies on the big screen again. Having been a tad too young (about two months old) to catch Alien when it, literally, burst onto our screens in 1978, I was pretty excited about seeing it again.

And Alien: The Director’s Cut (15, seen at Dundee Odeon) didn’t disappoint. If you want a director’s cut done well, Ridley Scott’s your man.

Instead of being an hour longer than the original, Alien DC has trimmed nearly a minute and is leaner and meaner for it.

A snip here and a cut there has tightened the movie up for its 25th anniversary, and the effects and lighting have been beefed up a bit, although it’s not really noticeable. The only major addition is that of the ship’s captain, Dallas, cocooned and impregnated by the Alien. It’s an impressive one, but familiar to those who’ve seen the movie’s sequels.

Watching the movie on the big screen — especially if it’s a Press screening and you’re the only one in the cinema — heightens the experience in a way that television never can. I was jumping with every squeak, pop and shout, and peering into the dark recesses of the mining ship, looking for the Alien hiding in the shadows. Like Jaws, you hardly ever see the monster itself, so it’s all the more terrifying when you do. Although I have to confess to preferring the sequel, Aliens — call me cheap, but I like action more than suspense.

The other two films in the series, Alien 3 and Alien Resurrection, don’t even bear mentioning, and only serve to cheapen the first two classics. And classics they are. Which one is better really is a matter of personal preference, but scenes from both linger in the memory and have become part of movie culture.

Alien still grips you all the way through, and the chest- bursting scene still gives you a powerful shock. Although there are, for once, quite a lot of good new films out at the moment, fans shouldn’t miss a last chance to catch this.

The changes might be minor, but the movie is major

It is hardly surprising therefore that this hotly noir romance has already been welcomed as Campion’s best work since The Piano. However inevitable the comparisons may be, the differences are stark.

In the Cut may confront the same repressed sexual desires as Harvey Keitel and Holly Hunter’s musical liaison, but the feel is not so much investigation as it is interrogation.

Adopted from the novel by Susanna Moore, the plot centres on Frannie Avery (Meg Ryan) whose teaching of English is the 9 to 5 side of her love affair with words.

Her deeply romantic soul has her drifting over poetry on the New York underground in between avoiding what sobered up to be a deeply disappointing two-night stand.

However, when a young girl is brutally murdered in her Manhattan neighbourhood, she begins a relationship with the investigating homicide detective, James Malloy (Mark Ruffalo).

Frannie’s artistic imagination fuels the ensuing erotic fascination in which the line between sex and romance is drawn realistically thin.

All seems very enjoyable, until she begins to suspect Malloy of the murder.

The controversial allusion that Frannie gets a kick out of this possibility comes as no surprise, and regardless of whether it adds further realism or is just plain disturbing, it does add to the flow of thrill that rushes towards the film’s finale. Campion’s quite deliberate leaning towards character development assured that her choice of actors was always going to be vital and with Ryan she has made a laudable, if brave, choice.

Framed with understated brown hair, Ryan confronts her character’s wrestle with realism and fantasy amidst an ultra real New York, with fearless composure.

Mark Ruffalo complements her naturally dramatic style with his deft portrayal of a soft yet macho New York cop whose liberally frank sexuality is both intense and detached, calmly pinning down the exact ambiguity required.

In supporting roles Kevin Bacon is his usual creepy self while Jennifer Jason Leigh is as Campion herself put it, “so sexy”.

The visuals are often unsettling, only occasionally relenting, but they reflect the feel of the film and emphasise the gritty edge that the subject demands.

The sex scenes may be graphic to the point of shocking, but neither frequent nor gratuitous, they are an indispensable part of the film, sharpening both the violence and romance that runs either side.

And while the suspense is not electric and the ending flat, both of these simply reiterate that to Campion, how and why is always more interesting than who.

“I want to do with you what Spring does to the cherry trees,” may be one of Frannie’s favourite lines of poetry, but it also provides the perfect illustration for Campion’s objectives.

Whether she succeeds or not, she gets pretty close, with a film that is explicit in every way.

A compelling, eminently watchable and intelligent drama, Holes (PG, seen at UGC, Dundee) was directed by Andrew Davis, who is more at home helming Chuck Norris and Arnold Schwarzenegger action flicks.

Here Davis shows a previously hidden lightness of touch, with stylised photography rendering the desert setting a colourful, almost ethereal place.

Adapted by the bestselling book by Louis Sachar, the central character is the teenage Stanley Yelnats (Shia LaBeouf) who is wrongly accused of stealing a pair of trainers belonging to a black superstar in Texas. When the police see that the family's run-down apartment is cluttered with old trainers, they believe they have destroyed a criminal enterprise.

They are sadly wrong, in actual fact, his eccentric father (Henry Winkler) is attempting to invent a substance that will remove the smell from sports shoes.

Given the option of a spell behind bars or an outdoor rehabilitation camp, Stanley chooses the latter, only to find himself a cog in a brutal machine, spending long days digging holes.

This seemingly pointless activity is designed to build character and redeem the so-called bad boys.

The machine is run by Dr Pendanski (Tim Blake Nelson) and the Warden (Sigourney Weaver), who has her own secret agenda about the hole-digging, in that she is the only one who knows that there is a mysterious treasure buried somewhere within the camp.

The actors all seem to be having fun, pushing their characters to the brink of caricature but pulling back just in time. The camp inhabitants are neatly pigeon-holed while the adults ham it up for all its worth.

Jon Voight is superb as Mr Sir, giving an energetic portrayal of a man who’s a cross between a sheriff and a big-game hunter, he swaggers around the camp, twirling his thin moustache and shooting at lizards with a cowboy-style six-shooter.

A slightly formulaic ending lends more of a traditional kid-flick sensibility, but it’s a small negative as Holes succeeds by not treating younger viewers with the all-too common kid gloves.