This week's new film releases

The matrimony-fixated thirtysomething who first appeared in Helen Fielding's 1996 book is back, with Renée Zellweger playing the scatty, Chardonnay guzzling publishing assistant in Bridget Jones' Diary.

Bridget's crush on her boss, caddish Daniel Cleaver (nicely portrayed by an obscenely charming Hugh Grant), isn't helped by her nutty mother shoving anything in trousers at her in excruciatingly public fashion.

There's little input from Bridget's mad gaggle of booze- and fag-crazy mates, which is a shame, but other alterations to the screenplay (by hot trio Fielding, Richard Curtis and Andrew Davies) are welcome: Bridget's calorie obsession is kept to a minimum while her entertaining gormlessness is played up. About as profound as Collin Firth's famous lake-dive in Pride And Prejudice, but great fun.

Once upon a time, a male and a female spy instructed to bump each other off ran off with each other instead and settled down to the infinitely more complex task of raising a family. Still, old habits die hard: when Gregorio (Antonio Banderas) and Ingrid (Carla Gugino) discover their former colleagues are disappearing and the characters on a Teletubbies-style TV show are looking oddly familiar, they return to work.

Spy Kids, directed by none other than Robert (El Mariachi) Rodriguez, has superb special effects and pokes innocent fun at the whole genre from James Bond to Charlie's Angels, but what really makes it is the utter uselessness of the central couple, leaving it to their kids, Carmen (Alexa Vega) and little Juni (Daryl Sabara), to save the day. And Banderas cheerily sending himself up as a Latino he-man who really ought to stick with the desk job these days.

Valentine's hook isn't bad: Valentine's Day equals love equals sex, and of course in slasher movies sex equals death. Unfortunately, nothing else in this derivative film demonstrates such acuity, the set-pieces burying the odd glimpse of invention under tired techniques and a crushing lack of tension.

Of the five female friends hunted by a cherub-masked killer, Denise Richards comes off best, her flirtatious, slightly bitchy character falling well within her limited range. And Marley Shelton's loyal, sensitive lead allows the viewer one protagonist to care for. Ultimately, though, this one is for genre buffs only.

But I'm A Cheerleader is the slight but cheerily garish story of Megan (Natasha Lyonne), who - despite extracurricular hobbies and beefy boyfriend - has inadvertently convinced her family she's a lesbian. Sent off to sexual redirection camp, she encounters beautiful Graham (Clea DuVall) and has to start considering whether she is so 'normal' after all. Utterly unsubtle but tremendously good-natured, the film says absolutely nothing new about homophobia but does offer an entertaining defence of sexual freedom.

This week's two re-releases were both worth the restorer's efforts. Joan Crawford is Mildred Pierce, a mother whose traditional virtues are magnified to monstrous proportions: too maternal, too indulgent; even her baking is excessive. The result is divorce, followed by remarriage and eventual tragedy. Directed by Michael (Casablanca) Curtiz in flashback form, this film resists feeling dated by marvellous performances, particularly from Oscar-winner Crawford and Ann Blyth as her dreadful daughter, and by virtue of dialogue so smart and light it positively tap-dances.

Richard Lester's seminal, lightly fictionalised pop documentary A Hard Day's Night offers The Beatles in all their fresh-faced 1964 glory. Paul's (fictional) troublemaking grandfather (Wilfrid Brambell) joins the boys on a trip to a TV studio, and causes havoc. The film is hilarious (Lennon in particular shows unexpected comic talent), but also fascinating: with no predecessors to imitate, the Beatles are at once very much themselves and entirely removed from contemporary confessional culture. Still, they remain a phenomenon and this is the closest a new generation of fans will get to seeing the Fab Four in concert.