The future is here. Well, somehow it always is. And, as usual, it is both familiar and strange. Nothing seems to change, but one day you turn around, it is 1995, and you are cybersurfing on the internet, summer seems to last all winter, ambient-acid-techno is bubbling away on the radio, your fax machine shows up on the Antiques Roadshow and papa’s got a brand new drug.

In the following pages, Hot Press writers make their own predictions about the year to come and tell you what to expect from the world’s of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Me, I’m a movie man, and I have learned to take these predictions with a pinch of salt. We’re only six years away from 2001, yet a Jupiter mission seems as far off as it must have done when Stanley Kubrik’s film was made in 1968. We’re only 20 years away from building androids that are almost impossible to tell apart from human beings according to Blade Runner, yet Sex Shops are still trading in blow up rubber dolls that look about as life-like as a well stacked Mr Blobby. And if we placed any faith in the predictions of Star Trek, Earth would have barely survived the Third World War by now before banishing a fascist army of genetically improved supermen into deep space. Even 1984 is starting to seem like the good old days.

Still, for all its false predictions and misdiagnoses, the science fiction genre remains as popular as ever. We want the future, and we want it now. But maybe we wouldn’t be so eager if it really did look the way it does on the silver screen. In 1995, Judge Dredd, the quasi-fascist law enforcer of 200AD will stride from the comic book’s pages into your local multiplex. Last year, I went down to the set of Mega-City One at Shepperton, and it really did seem like I was walking into another time zone. Compact armoured cars patrolled decaying streets, where buildings leaned at improbable angles, and hi-tech met low in a nightmarish culture clash. A rabble of punks, mods, shell-suits and rubber clad S&M goths were rioting, bellowing their grievances and demanding blood. And all that stood between them and me, between order and anarchy, was the imposing figure of Judge Dredd, cop, judge, jury and sometimes executioner. Of course, he looked a hell of a lot like Sylvester Stallone, which kind of spoiled the effect.

When I drove back into London, I passed Hyde Park, recently the scene of the Justice Bill riots, I passed the cash till where I was mugged by a white man and a black man dressed like acid house clubbers, I passed policemen in bullet proof vests armed with automatic rifles and had to take a detour because Oxford Street had been closed down due to a bomb threat. When I got home, I turned on my computer, and started filing a report. I had my modem set up, so that when I was finished I could just send it down my telephone line to the magazine’s computer, where it would be laid out on screen, sent on disc to the printers and ultimately arrive in your local newsagent barely having been touched by human hands. But just as I finished my piece, an image of three bombs flashed up on the screen, and a computer virus ate my handiwork.

The future is here. Where’s Judge Dredd when you need him?

SEX

First, the good news. As every year passes, it becomes even more apparent that the apocalyptic predictions of a worldwide AIDS holocaust before the turn of the century were as wrong as they were chilling. Yes, the disease has wrought, and continues to wreak, a terrible toll of human carnage. However, for some time now, the HIV infection rate has been levelling off in many countries and is even showing signs of steady decrease in some.

The bad news, however, is that complacency about AIDS and HIV has begun to spread. Throughout the late ‘80s and very early ‘90s, much of Europe and the US saw a fall in the number of gay men contracting the virus, primarily as a result of that community’s widespread adherence to safer sex methods. Unfortunately, the numbers may be rising again in some areas now as younger, less battle-hardened individuals come onto the scene, flaunting their disregard for the behavioural advice offered by their older – and more often than not – wiser brethren. Fortunately, this doesn’t appear to be a problem among the Irish gay community as yet but the danger is there. Where sex is concerned, the opportunity to live fast and die young, very young, has never been greater.

Similarly, while the incidence of heterosexual HIV infection has been on the increase for the past decade, nothing like the figures predicted in the worst case scenarios have materialised. Among the straight community, however, the capacity for complacency and self-deception is even greater. Heterosexual AIDS is the same as any other kind of AIDS. The chance of contracting the virus heterosexually may appear to be relatively small, but it is certainly there. Safer sex therefore remains the only sane option.

In 1995 this is likely to mean a whole lot more than just keeping a packet of condoms about your person. Whereas there was an initial fear that AIDS might herald a new era of chastity, this clearly has not been the case. If anything, the more open discussion of sexual options necessary in the context of AIDS has broadened the palette. With a new emphasis on non-penetrative sex, previously underground sexual activities have crossed over into the mainstream, as people began to experiment more freely with the alternatives. It’ll be interesting to see whether the impact of fantasy sex, fetish, bondage and S&M in the States and the UK will be mirrored in clubland here over the coming twelve months. Certainly Mr Pussy’s Cafe De Luxe has established that the sexual twilight zone has established a foothold in Ireland, and it can only grow.

And then there’s the prospect of cybersex (don’t laugh). Visions of intertwining with compliant androids may be the stuff of infantile wet dreams but the indications are that the internet may become another arena in which sexual subversion flourishes. Already there are contacts established on the ’net for almost every sexual sub-group imaginable and as the technology develops, you can be certain that ingenious minds will turn to how it can best be used to expand the range of sexual highs available. There is too much moolah in the sex industry for it ever to be otherwise. The link to satellite porn channels is obvious, but so far at least the censor’s hand has been conspicuous by its absence on the internet, so that the possibilities may be all the more vast (and in some cases, doubtless stomach-churning). Whatever happens, come ’96, we’re likely to be a lot further than ever from Dev’s vision of comely maidens dancing at the crossroads.

Meanwhile, back on planet earth, 1994 was to have been the year of the Femidom but, so far at least, this appears to have been a piece of apparatus more widely used as a cheap comic device by lazy stand-up comedians than as an actual contraceptive device. Developments in contraception due to arrive on the Irish and UK markets over the coming year include the long-awaited and much-vaunted alternative to the pill, Norplant. This innovative method entails the planting of six matchstick-sized capsules below the skin on the inside of a woman’s upper arm, where they release sufficient low doses of hormone to provide five years’ protection against pregnancy.

A male version of this slow-release procedure is said to be “just around the corner,” but then they’ve been saying that about the male pill for almost two decades now. On the condom front in ‘95, the shape of things to come in will include something for everybody, literally. Size will be important this year as several companies launch new ranges of both looser and snugger fitting sheaths. A musical condom has also been patented which plays a tune if it splits (I kid you not).

Towards the end of the year, we’ll see the introduction of the plastic condom. Made of biologically inert polyurethane, this “super” sheath won’t cause allergy, is twice as strong as rubber, resistant to oil-based lubricants and may even be “reusable.” It will also be significantly thinner and very much more sensitive.

All things considered, the Irish sexual climate for ‘95 looks brighter than it has done for many years. What with the decriminalisation of homosexuality, greater awareness of safe sex disciplines, wider availability of the wherewithal needed to practise them and, of course, the wholesale exposure of the hypocritical sham they call “Catholic values,” there has never been a better time to get laid in this country. Hell, we’ve even got our own sex shops now.

There are, of course, battles still to be won. The abortion and divorce debates, for instance, may be finally and sensibly resolved before too long more (well, we can but hope). The issue of legal marriage for gay and lesbian couples could also become a hot political potato. However, judging by the recent Hot Press/Classic Hits 98FM survey of the opinions and attitudes of young people in this country, there is already a high degree of acceptance (77%) for this idea, among this generation at least.

And finally, you’ve heard of Line Dancing. Well, prepare yourself for its carnal cousin, Lap Dancing. A flagrant excuse for a dry hump on the dancefloor, this is the Lambada for the safe sex nineties. All you and your partner have to do is rub your crotches together in time to the music. It’s exactly like sex, but for the fact that you keep all your clothes on, you’re surrounded by a dozen other couples doing the same thing and there’s a deejay in the room. The sad reality is that this is one of the biggest things to hit the US nightclub scene in several years. The even sadder reality is that it’s bound to make its way over here before long.

Bad Bobs will never be the same again.

• Liam Fay

DRUGS

The profusion of substandard, impure, and sometimes downright lethal Ecstasy (in many cases containing no traces of MDMA at all) which flooded into the Irish and British markets during the past year has already encouraged many formerly regular users to start searching for suitable substitutes.

GHB aka Gamma Hydroxy Butyrate aka Liquid Ecstasy exploded onto the UK gay scene with a vengeance in ‘94, but quickly won friends and admirers beyond that exclusive pale. Technically a sedative medicine, it remains legal. However, there have been a raft of disturbing stories suggesting that the potential side affects may be far more serious and life-threatening than any posed by good old fashioned E.

GHB also attained some unsavoury publicity when it was revealed to have been one of the substances in the narcotic cocktail that killed River Phoenix. Nevertheless, it looks like being a real contender here in ‘95.

Cocaine consumption is on the rise again in Ireland but is still largely a city-based phenomenon. Use of LSD and other forms of acid is also increasing. And, despite a large degree of dissatisfaction with quality, Ecstasy remains hugely popular. It is the re-emergence of heroin, however, that has overshadowed all else in 1994, and will almost certainly continue to do so in the coming year. Smack is now cheaper and easier to come by on the streets of Dublin than it has ever been before. The next twelve months will inevitably see more widespread use of the drug, both in the capital and beyond.

Another easily predicted trend for the year ahead will be the continued growth in popularity of prescription drugs. For years, the perceived ‘glamour’ and danger associated with high profile illicit substances has blinded many to the abundant selection of highs legally obtainable across the counter of their local chemist, or even from inside their parents’ medicine cabinet. A slew of cheap and cheerful alternatives to heroin and other barbiturates are readily accessible throughout the country, and the street ingenuity that goes into their mixing, matching and marketing genuinely appears to know no bounds.

The big legal drug story, however, will undoubtedly be Prozac. Since appearing on the US market in 1988, Prozac has become the best-selling anti-depressant in the world. Six million Americans (about 1 in 40) will use the drug today. Five million more have used it at one time or another. Annual sales worldwide have reached almost $1.20 billion.

Prozac, and the many Prozac-inspired drugs such as Paxil and Zoloft, are not yet even as remotely pervasive here as they are Stateside. But, given the massive profits already amassed by the manufacturers and the even more massive profits still waiting to be harvested, expect these companies to pull out all the public relations stops and to try and exploit every loophole in European law until they’ve turned each and every one of us into shiny happy Prozac people.

Another reasonably confident pharmaceutical tip for the top on the homefront in ‘95 is the widely available sleeping pill, Temazepam, known as “Wobbly Eggs” on the streets. A standard treatment for anxiety, stress and insomnia, Temazepam numbs the senses, both emotionally and physically. Perfectly safe when properly prescribed, these bright yellow pills can also induce a buzz said to be similar to a heroin high when heated, liquefied and injected.

While this method of use can lead to infection, gangrene, blood clots and, in rare cases, subsequent limb amputation, the peculiar sense of fearlessness and immunity to pain simultaneously incurred have made the drug especially popular with criminals in need of some Dutch courage. Over the past eighteen months or so, it has been adopted as a “choice drug” particularly in north east England and in parts of London. For instance, almost half of the petty criminals under age 30 arrested in certain parts of Northumbria during one recent six month period admitted to using Wobbly Eggs. Capsules sell for as little as £1 each.

1995 should see anabolic steroid use become as widespread on the dancefloor as it undoubtedly is in the locker room. A mania for body building and super fitness among the dance community which began on the Continent some years ago has spread quickly and has already made a major impact on the British scene. The quest for the hyper-muscular physique is also intensifying among some members of the Irish dance world so they too are likely to pumping up a lot more than the volume over the coming months.

A report expected later this year from the World Health Organisation will confirm a “startling” increase in the number of young people in developed countries taking steroids while not participating in sports. Doctors studying the spread of the drug believe that more than 100,000 young people in Britain are using steroids for no other purpose than to look good, despite warnings that the substance can provoke violent behaviour, stunted growth and the risk of heart failure.

Athletes and other sportspeople on steroid regimes operate under carefully regulated conditions. There are, of course, no such restraints on the more casual user, so the potential for recklessness is much greater. Most of the steroids currently used in Britain, and to a much lesser extent in this country, are manufactured in illicit and uncontrolled laboratories abroad, especially in Mexico. It is illegal to sell them, but not a criminal offence to possess them.

Politically, the agenda for the ongoing global debate on drugs will be increasingly set by the mounting arguments for decriminalisation. The so-called “war on drugs” cannot be won – that is now widely accepted both by governments and police forces. It is not at all unreasonable to expect more experiments with limited legal availability and regulation (á lá Holland) throughout mainland Europe in the year ahead.

There will be surprises too, of course. Who, for instance, could have predicted one year ago that a legal tropical plant called Khat that you chew on to get high would become quite possibly the hippest luxury item in London today, yet it has. Similarly, one of the more colourful compounds to grab Yuppie attention in the US is “The Executive Lunch,” a finely tuned hallucinogenic preparation that promises to supply a kaleidoscopic high lasting for precisely 90 minutes before completely snapping off, allowing the tripper to resume his or her desk for an afternoon of perfectly clear-headed work.

We’ll believe it when we see it.

• Liam Fay

ROCK ’n’ ROLL

THE TROUBLE with trying to do this Madame Zelda lark on the music business is that even if you’re the hippest, most in-tune sonofabitch to ever have walked through the Valley of Rock, you’ve got about a snowball’s chance in Lucifer’s backyard of getting things right.

In the old days, when you could buy the new Sex Pistols single and a ‘Destroy’ t-shirt for ten bob and still have change left over for half a gram of speed, trends developed at a pace which, if not snail-like, at least left room for a few vaguely intelligent predictions.

A couple of decades later and the streamlining of the recording process combined with the on-going media revolution means that you can be rehearsing your five-song repertoire in a garage one moment and agonising over what you’re going to wear on Top Of The Pops the next. Which is exactly what will be happening in a couple of weeks to Menswear, the missing link between Suede and Blur who’ve been given a six-figure advance by the London Records-financed Laurel label on the strength of four gigs and a solitary demo.

Other white-boys-with-cheekbones who might be able to circumnavigate the inevitable hype and produce some classic pop moments include new Rough Trade signings 60ft Dolls, the Clash-influenced Supergrass and Drugstore who have the songs to almost single-bandedly reclaim intelligent guitar music from the Americans.

Expect the U.S. to retaliate by flooding the market with cheap punk imports such as Offspring, Weezer and the thoroughly execrable Green Day. Believe me, two-and-a-half million Americans can be wrong!

Far more edifying and destined to go intercontinentalballistically huge are Veruca Salt, Midwesterners who take The Breeders as their starting-point and then meander off in all manner of wondrous directions. 1995 could also be the year that finds Courtney Love shrugging off her reputation as Yoko Ono, Nancy Spungen and the Wicked Witch of the West all rolled into one and Hole establishing themselves as the peerless renaissance-grunge talent that they undoubtedly are. Either that or we’ll be writing her obituary.

Finally, in this particular vein, beware of dodgy second-hand journalists trying to sell you equally dodgy second-hand rock movements. The British inkies obviously have no shame, trying to foist the ‘New Squad Of New Mod’ on us the same week that they unceremoniously buried the ‘New Wave Of New Wave’.

The prospect of Adam Ant and Steve Strange gracing us with their presence again means that everyone should brace themselves for lengthy New Romantic retrospectives and young hopefuls trotting out lines like, “Of course, there’s always been a Kajagoogoo element to our music.”

Where my crystal ball starts getting hazy is in trying to gauge precisely what effect this whole Internet malarkey will have on the events of the next 12 months. As a bozo who never learnt how to roller-skate, let alone surf the super-information highway, I can only surmise that the word ‘multimedia’ will crop up with increasing regularity and that record companies will invest outrageous sums to ensure that they’re at the coal face of this rich technological seam.

You have to admire seasoned campaigners like Todd Rundgren and Peter Gabriel for staking their claims early but whether by going hi-tech the cyberfortysomethings can woo the cyberpunks remains highly questionable. One thing’s certain – there are going to be casualties. Who in their right minds would want to get interactive with Chris De Burgh and how many thousands of megabytes of memory would it take to load-up Sting’s social conscience?

Personally, when I do learn how to ‘hang 10’ on the ‘Net, it’ll be Orbital, Future Sound Of London and the rest of their technocrat brethren that I’ll be looking to for genuine innovation.

FSOL have already used the trans-Atlantic web to download a live performance from their Home Counties studio into a New York nightclub and are now working on a 3-D virtual reality project that could completely negate the need for troublesome touring.

As for the dancefloor, God and Apple Macintosh knows where the bold, the brave and the bleepy are going to lead us this year. One thing is guaranteed: dance will continue to produce priceless one-off nuggets, the Clubland revolution will continue apace and Jungle and its myriad offshoots will, of course, be massive. It’ll be interesting too, to see what return Island get on their multi-million dollar investment in young Jamaican reggae talent.

There will also be more than a few money-men monitoring Nashville’s stormtrooperish attempts to crack open the British market. The Dunkirk-spirit and a healthy suspicion of men in cowboy hats has seen such invasions repelled before but with London getting its own 24-hour-a-day country & western radio station and major stars like Garth Brooks acquiescing to record company requests to make the UK a priority, the White Cliffs of Dover may finally crumble to the sound of twanging guitars.

When Kurt Cobain – with the darkest of ironies – was voted the Young Businessman of 1994 by an American magazine, it underlined the way in which the multinationals have grabbed rock ‘n’ roll by the testicles and squeezed to the point where as a meaningful form of youth rebellion it’s completely neutered. If you bought a copy of In Utero to piss your parents off, think again kids, because chances are they’ve got shares in the conglomerate that owns the record company.

In other words, never underestimate the power of the dollar, pound or punt in dictating what you hear on the radio, what you bop to down the disco or what you stick in your factory fresh CD-i player. Meanwhile, 1995 will see George Michael appeal to the European Court of Human Rights regarding his dispute with Sony and Metallica attempt to extricate themselves from their PolyGram contract under California’s restraint of trade laws. If either or both are successful, prepare yourself for the mother of all multi-faceted legal wrangles as artists and labels fight to the death over who owns what and – perhaps more to the point – who.

Add to that the string of court cases which could see Snoop Doggy Dogg, Flavor Flav and a half-dozen other rappers going to jail on a variety-pack of charges, and judges may have a bigger bearing on the musical events of 1995 than any band or record company M.D.

Happy New Year!

• Stuart Clark

CINEMA

Well, I was right about The Specialist. In the Christmas issue I was compelled to review the film without having actually seen it (which goes against my principles but is an effective labour-saving device nonetheless) but the disadvantage I was put at by the distribution company did not affect my critical abilities in the least. Having now been unfortunate enough to have actually seen Sly and Sharon compare the sizes of their chests (curiosity got the better of me, and besides it was the only movie opening over Christmas that I could attend with friends without boring them with my seen that, been there, ate the triangular sandwiches and gave it a bad review already attitude) I am in a position to assure any doubters amongst my readers that I did not put so much as a full stop out of place in my assessment of the film’s low brain cell/high testosterone appeal.

However I am not about to attempt to impress you with my Nostradamus-like ability to foretell the future. In my business you don’t need a crystal ball, an astrologer, a soothsayer, a clairvoyant, a seventh son of a seventh son or even a little bird to tell you what is on the agenda. I am inundated daily with press releases, calendars, posters, pictures and all manner of paraphernalia with which film companies attempt to make me look favourably upon their product (none of whom have the intuition to realise that a bottle of vodka would be a far better method of encouraging positive reviews).

So, without further ado, Madame Gypsy McCormick will gaze into the bottom of her empty glass, move the cocktail umbrella to one side and reveal what 1995 holds in store for cinema-goers. The following production list is alphabetical and not chronological, because frankly my powers of prophecy are limited. It must be the hangover.

ANDRE

Directed by George Miller. Starring Keith Carradine, Tina Majorino, Keith Szatabajka, Chelsea Field.

Free Willy with a seal. Can we just cancel the year right here?

AMATEUR

Directed by Hal Hartley. Starring Isabelle Huppert, Martin Donovan, Elina Lowenstein

A kind of Hal Hartley version of Quentin Tarantino, this is a tale of gangsters, pimps, hit-men, amnesiacs, nymphomaniacs and porn stars embroiled in blackmail, murder and torture, all relayed with (and effectively neutered by) Hartley’s customary off-beat, philosophical, deadpan wit.

APOLLO 13

Directed by Ron Howard. Starring Tom Hanks, Bill Paxton, Kevin Bacon, Gary Sinise.

Not the thirteenth episode in a long running series, this is the true story of a botched moon mission. Now bigger box office than Arnie, Tom Hanks goes into outer space in search of another Oscar nomination. You will believe a Gump can fly.

BATMAN FOREVER

Directed by Joel Schumacher. Starring Val Kilmer, Nicole Kidman, Tommy Lee Jones, Jim Carrey.

Tim Burton hands over the reigns to the more pedestrian Schumacher. Michael Keaton surrenders the cape to Doors star Val Kilmer, leading to the sacking of Renne Russo as the love interest on the grounds that she was too old and, er, too tall. Yup, it’s another vertically challenged Dark Knight. Jim Carrey as The Riddler should ensure Biff! Bang! Boffo box office.

BLACK BEAUTY

Directed by Caroline Thompson. Starring Sean Bean, Peter Davison, David Thewlis

She’s big, she’s black and she’s back. Just a pity she’s a horse really. Where the hell is Lassie when you need him?

THE BRADY BUNCH

Directed by Betty Thomas. Starring Shelly Long, Gary Cole.

Jesus Christ! In Hollywood’s non-stop pillaging of old TV, even this naff sitcom is getting a big screen outing. Not even canned laughter can save this one.

BRAVEHEART

Directed by and starring Mel Gibson. With Sophie Marceau, Patrick McGoohan.

First of two Scottish medieval epics . . . how on earth do they keep coming up with these trends? It’ a braw bricht moonlicht nicht, as Mel rolls his R’s as William Wallace, 13th Century rebel who gives the sassenachs a good hiding. Shot, appropriately enough, in Ireland.

THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY

Directed by and starring Clint Eastwood, with Meryl Streep.

Clint falls in love! With Meryl Streep!?! High concept or what?

BULLETS OVER BROADWAY

Directed by Woody Allen. Starring John Cusack, Jennifer Tilly, Dianne Wiest, Chazz Palminteri

Woody, who has been on fine cinematic form since it was revealed he was not such a funny little guy after all, stays behind the cameras for a classic Allen comedy. But can Cusack carry the one liners?

CASINO

Directed by Martin Scorcese. Starring Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, Sharon Stone.

Marty and Bobby back in gangland. There is a God.

CITY HALL

Directed by Harold Becker. Starring Al Pacino, John Cusack, Bridget Fonda.

Al Pacino reunited with Sea Of Love director in hard hitting political drama. Maybe 1995 is going to be a good year after all.

CONGO

Directed by Frank Marshall. Starring Dylan Walsh, Laura Linney.

Adapted from Jurassic Park author Michael Crichton’s novel, we’re back in the jungle with mutant gorillas on our trail instead of dinosaurs, and Spielberg protege Marshall behind the cameras instead of the great man himself. You might as well start ordering the lunch boxes and t-shirts now.

CUTTHROAT ISLAND

Directed by Renny Harlin. Starring Geena Davis, Mathew Modine.

Buckles are swashed on the high seas, as pirate queen Geena Davis goes “yo-ho-ho, I’ll swap a bottle of rum for a new leading man.” Everybody from Harrison Ford to Michael Douglas was linked with the part of Geena’s love interest. So where the hell did Mathew Modine come from?

DEATH AND THE MAIDEN

Directed by Roman Polanski. Starring Sigourney Weaver, Ben Kingsley, Stuart Wilson

More torture scenes! Quentin has a lot to answer for. Sigourney, haunted by years of imprisonment and torture in South America, chances on her tormentor and decides to give him a taste of his own medicine. With Polanski at the helm, this is sure to be hard to stomach (but it’ll do yer good!)

DIE HARD 3: WITH A VENGEANCE

Directed by John McTiernan. Starring Bruce Willis, Jeremy Irons, Samuel L. Jackson.

Who says lightning never strikes thrice? I just wish it would strike Steven Seagal, who is back as the undercover cook in yet another Die Hard rip off, UNDER SIEGE 2: DARK TERRITORY, set on a train. But when are they gonna make Die Hard on a bicycle?

DISCLOSURE

Directed by Barry Levinson. Starring Michael Douglas, Demi Moore, Caroline Goodall, Donald Sutherland

A sexual harassment thriller from the pen of Michael Crichton, who proves he really is a dinosaur by making it a case of woman harassing man. At least, with the assertive Demi Moore in the role, it is easy to believe she likes to be on top. Harder perhaps to believe that Michael Douglas, fresh from his stint in a clinic recovering from self-confessed sex addiction, would refuse her.

DON JUAN DE MARCO AND THE CENTREFOLD

Directed by Jeremy Leven. Starring Johnny Depp, Marlon Brando.

The method king faces off against one of his quirky proteges in an quirky comedy, with Brando as analyst to womanising Depp. Marlon’s taste in recent films has not been promising, but Depp has hardly made a bad move in his career, so impossible to judge the form on this one.

DROP ZONE

Directed by John Badham. Starring Wesley Snipes, Gary Busey, Yancey Butler, Michael Jeter.

Wesley Snipes (what sort of name is that for an actor? It sounds more like a snide aristocrat in a PG Wodehouse story) continues to try and stake his place as a blacktion man in the first of two skydiving thrillers to be released this year. The other one, TERMINAL VELOCITY, stars Charlie Sheen, so Wes should polish the floor with him.

DUMB AND DUMBER

Director Peter Farelly. Starring Jim Carrey, Jeff Daniels, Lauren Holly.

The misadventures of two incredibly stupid friends. No points for guessing who plays Dumber.

EAT DRINK MAN WOMAN

Directed by Ang Lee. Starring Sihung Lung, Kuei-Mei Yang and a lot of other people you’ve never heard of with unpronounceable names.

A film festival crowd pleaser from the director of The Wedding Banquet. The Chinese food pic has got to be the strangest sub-genre of the movies to develop in recent years.

ED WOOD

Directed by Tim Burton. Starring Johnny Depp, Martin Landau, Bill Murray.

Burton’s labour of love, a smart and hilarious black and white biopic of the legendary cross-dressing worst film-maker ever made.

EVEN COWGIRLS GET THE BLUES

Directed by Gus Van Sant. Starring Uma Thurman, Rain Phoenix, Keanu Reeves, Roseanne Arnold

Van Sant has blown his critical reputation completely with this long delayed, oft re-edited adaptation of proto-hippy-feminist novel.

FIRST KNIGHT

Directed by Jerry Zucker. Starring Richard Gere, Sean Connery, Julia Ormond, John Gielgud.

Medieval menage a trois develops around the round table when Lancelot Gere runs off with King Connery’s Queen.

FLUKE

Directed by Carlos Carle. Starring Mathew Modine, Nancy Travis, Eric Stoltz.

The tale of a dog who discovers he was once a man. A kind of Bhuddist Lassie, by the sound of it.

GOLDENEYE

Directed by Martin Campbell. Starring Pierce Brosnan, Famke Janssen, Robbie Coltrane, Sean Bean.

Bond is back, after another face lift. This time it is up to Irishman Pierce Brosnan to save civilisation as we know it.

IMMORTAL BELOVED

Directed by Bernard Rose. Starring Gary Oldman, Isabella Rossellini

I had never before noticed the uncanny resemblance between Sid Vicious, Lee Harvey Oswald and Beethoven, but since Gary Oldman has now played them all I must assume it exists. An Amadeus-like retelling of the deaf git’s love for his muse. Oldman revealed a great deal about his thespian technique when he said that playing the great composer was a wig and costume job. Can it do for the Beet what Backbeat did for the Beatles?

IQ

Directed by Fred Schepisi. Starring Meg Ryan, Tim Robbins, Walter Matthau.

At last Hollywood makes a film about Albert Einstein. Mind you, it’s not exactly about the theory of relativity or anything else a 12 year old would have trouble understanding. Insignificance it ain’t, though it just might be insignificant. Walter Matthau plays the wacky boffin as he acts as matchmaker between his brainy assistant Meg and not-so-smart Tim. Call it popular science.

JEFFERSON IN PARIS

Directed by James Ivory. Starring Nick Nolte, Greta Scacchi, Thandie Newton.

Having exhausted English heritage, Merchant Ivory take tea in gay Paris, with the historical tale of how Thomas Jefferson learned to love slave girl Greta and wrote the American constitution. Expect elegant furnishings, lots of hats, and Greta getting the first chance in a long career to keep her nipples covered.

JOHNNY MNEMONIC

Directed by Robert Longo. Starring Keanu Reeves, Ice-T, Takeshi Kitano, Henry Rollins.

The snappiest title of the year, the hippest cast and a script by the godfather of cyberpunk William Gibson. An explosive micro-chip is planted in Keanu’s brain and he only has 24 hours to download the information before it blows. The only flaw in all of this, of course, is that it probably wouldn’t make any difference to Keanu even if a bomb did go off in his head.

JUDGE DREDD

Directed by Danny Cannon. Starring Sylvester Stallone, Armand Assante, Diane Lane.

Stallone slips into his high heels to play 2000AD’s fascist cop hero (initially modelled on Clint Eastwood).

LASSIE

Directed by Daniel Petrie. Starring Thomas Guiry, Helen Slater, Frederic Forrest

Hard to believe I know but, in a “good” year for animals, that faithful canine is back. Somebody fetch me my gun.

LEGENDS OF THE FALL

Directed by Edward Zwick. Starring Anthony Hopkins, Brad Pitt, Aidan Quinn, Julia Ormond, Henry Thomas

World War I and all that, a cast ready to do battle at the Oscars, the director of Glory . . . there’ll be mud on their boots and tears at the Academy Awards.

LEGENDS OF THE JUNGLE BOOK

Directed by Stephen Sommers, Starring Jason Scott Lee, Lena Hedley, Sam Neill, John Cleese.

Billed as ‘Legends of’ presumably to distinguish it from Walt Disney’s version, this is a live action romp through a classic tale, with Jason Scott Lee playing a role intended for someone at least ten years younger. You will believe animals can talk. Not too sure about John Cleese though.

LEON

Directed by Luc Besson. Starring Jean Reno, Gary Oldman, Natalie Portman.

Reno essentially reprises the character of the killer cleaner he created in Besson’s Nikita as a hit-man who adopts a little girl as his apprentice. Besson is the most pyrotechnically stylish director around, so expect the action sequence to pay off big time in his US debut, although his rampant sentimentality and inability to hold together a plot, combined with subject matter that verges on the paedophiliac, won’t do much for its box office chances Stateside.

LITTLE WOMEN

Directed by Gillian Armstrong. Starring Winona Ryder, Susan Sarandon, Kirsten Dunst.

Remake of Louisa May Alcott’s enduring classic of sibling rivalry and affection. Eric Stoltz, an actor rivalling Harvey Keitel for sheer cinematic volume these days, also stars, revealing in a recent interview that his job was to “Sorta stand around with facial hair to prove that the little women are, in fact, heterosexual.”

LOVE AFFAIR

Directed by Glenn Gordon Caron. Starring Warren Beatty, Annette Bening, Katherine Hepburn, Pierce Brosnan.

Do you really want to see Warren getting all smoochy with his wife in a remake of An Affair To Remember, which was recently the inspiration for Sleepless In Seattle? There’s something yukky about old, married couples getting it on onscreen, like the moment when you realise your parents have sex.

MARY REILLY

Directed by Stephen Frears. Starring Julia Roberts, John Malkovich.

The tale of Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde, as seen from the perspective of his eponymous maid. John Malkovich was born for parts like this, and Julia Roberts in a corset is just a bonus. The oft-told tale gets another outing in DR JECKYLL AND MS. HYDE, in which the mad scientist turns into Sean Young. Fair enough, really.

MILK MONEY

Directed by Richard Benjamin. Starring Melanie Griffiths.

Two 12-year-old boys save their pocket money to hire a hooker. They get Melanie Griffiths. Shoulda spent it on sweets, kids.

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

Directed by Brian De Palma. Starring Tom Cruise, Paula Wagner.

A big screen adaptation for the sixties TV series. Will it self destruct in ten seconds? Not bloody likely given that De Palma’s at the controls.

MRS PARKER AND THE VICIOUS CIRCLE

Directed by Alan Rudolph. Starring Jennifer Jason Leigh, Campbell Scott, Mathew Broderick.

Leigh plays twenties writer and wit Dorothy Parker, a kind of American Oscar Wilde, a part she virtually essayed in The Hudsucker Proxy. Two hours of smart conversation may not be many people’s idea of a classic movie, but with Alan Rudolph directing it is certain to be stimulating.

NELL

Directed by Michael Apted. Starring Jodie Foster, Liam Neeson, Natasha Richardson

Foster goes for Oscar glory as a wild woman discovered in a wood speaking her own language. Which means we get to hear her spout a lot of gibberish while Liam Neeson looks on soulfully. For all its sombre qualities, Nell’s biggest box office plus may be the sight of the much admired Foster parading around in the full frontal. Sorry to be such a philistine, but it’s about the only thing that kept me going through the screening.

OUTBREAK

Directed by Wolfgang Petersen. Starring Dustin Hoffman, Rene Russo.

Deadly virus escapes in California. Hopefully it’ll wipe out the entire Thespian community before Doctor Dustin Hoffman can find a cure.

PARIS MATCH

Directed by Lawrence Kasdan. Starring Meg Ryan, Kevin Kline, Jean Reno

Another romantic comedy with Meg, the nineties version of Doris Day.

POCAHANTAS

Directed by Mike Gabriel, Eric Goldberg.

You’ve read the poem, now see the cartoon. Disney do the folk tale of little Indian (sorry Native American) girl swept off her moccasins by an English explorer with Mel Gibson’s voice. What, no talking animals?

PRET-A-PORTER

Directed by Robert Altman.

Starring Lauren Bacall, Sophia Loren, Tim Robbins, Kim Basinger

. . . not to mention Julia Roberts, Stephen Rea, Marcello Mastroianni, Anouk Aimee, Tracey Ullman, Forest Whitaker and with walk-ons by a galaxy of stars and everybody who is anybody in the world of fashion. Shot on location in Paris during the 1994 fall shows, Altman bites the gloved hands that fed him with an anarchic and acerbic vision of the fashion business (a recurring image is of a variety of immaculately coutured personages stepping in dog shit).

THE QUICK AND THE DEAD

Directed by Sam Raimi. Starring Sharon Stone, Gene Hackman, Leonard De Caprio

Sharon keeps her knickers on and gets her guns out in Evil Dead director’s woman’s western. It’s got to be an improvement on Bad Girls.

QUIZ SHOW

Directed by Robert Redford. Starring Ralph Fiennes, Rob Morrow, John Turturro, David Paymer.

More excitement from the former dreamboat turned PC director Redford, following up his nailbiting fly fishing drama (if you were a fish with nails anyway) A River Runs Through It with a cleverly-scripted drama about, well, a quiz show. Apparently this true life story was a huge scandal in America in the 50s, when it was discovered that the long term series winner was being slipped the answers beforehand. Sounds, uh, thrilling. Questionofsportgate?

RESTORATION

Directed by Michael Hoffman. Starring Robert Downey Jnr., Meg Ryan, Hugh Grant, Sam Neill.

Romance and intrigue in the court of King Charles II. Can Robert Downey Jnr and Meg Ryan hold your love interest? I bet the film-makers are kicking themselves for not spotting the dreamboat potential of Hugh Grant, here doing another one of his English twit roles in the supporting cast.

RICHIE RICH

Directed by Donald Petrie. Starring Macaulay Culkin, John Larroquette, Jonathan Hyde.

Pukie puke. Culkin becomes richest child in known universe, which should be an easy part for him to play. Probably his last stab at cute appeal before those pimples break out all over.

THE RIVER WILD

Directed by Curtis Hanson. Starring Meryl Streep, David Strathairn, Kevin Bacon, Joseph Mazello.

Meryl Streep, still searching for a way to maximise her box office appeal, takes up aerobics lessons for a violent Die Hard on a . . . raft? That’s what it says here. Sounds like she’s the wrong woman in the wrong film at the wrong time.

ROB ROY

Directed by Michael Caton Jones. Starring Liam Neeson, Jessica Lange, Tim Roth and that man Eric Stoltz again.

The second Scottish medieval epic of ’95. Liam Neeson has another go at the accent that caused him so much trouble in The Big Man. And Bono dons a kilt for his acting debut.

SABRINA

Directed by Sydney Pollack. Starring Harrison Ford, Julia Ormond.

Harrison takes on the Humphrey Bogart role in remake of Billy Wilder’s romantic triangle. At least he’s got the scar in the right place.

THE SANTA CLAUSE

Directed by John Pasquin. Starring Tim Allen, Judge Reinhold.

Home Improvements star Tim Allen is drafted in to replace Santa. The big Xmas movie of ’94 in the US, this is set to repeat it’s success here next December. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

THE SECRET OF ROAN INISH

Directed by John Sayles. Starring Jeni Courtney, Eileen Colgan, Mick Lally, Richard Sheridan, John Lynch.

US indy writer-director Sayle’s gets a touch of the Begorrahs in this tale of Sprites who look after a little boy lost at sea. Shot on location in Donegal. And not an English character actor in sight.

S.F.W.

Directed by Jeffrey Levy. Starring Stephen Dorff.

Or So Fucking What? Dorff (Stu Sutcliffe from Backbeat, without the cod Liverpool accent) is kept hostage before becoming a celebrity in a media-smart little thriller. NBK without the hype.

SHALLOW GRAVE

Directed by Danny Boyle. Starring Christopher Eccleston, Kerry Fox, Ewan McGregor.

Hailed as a British Reservoir Dogs, this sharply-plotted little thriller has far more in common with Blood Simple. But since either comparison guarantees edge of the seat viewing, it may be wise to grow your fingernails to excessive length before watching.

THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION

Directed by Frank Darabont. Starring Tim Robbins, Morgan Freeman, Bob Gunton, William Sadler.

Two highly regarded actors compete for Oscar nomination honours as prisoners surviving harsh regime in highly regarded drama. Nicholas Cage and Charlie Sheen fought for the parts. Thank God they failed.

SPEECHLESS

Directed by Ron Underwood. Starring Geena Davis, Michael Keaton.

Opposing Republican and Democratic speechwriters fall in love. Which is fair enough really, since its hard to tell two political parties apart. Now if they supported rival football teams, that could have been really interesting.

STAR TREK: GENERATIONS

Director: David Carson. Starring: William Shatner, Patrick Stewart, Whoopi Goldberg

The New Generation graduate from small to big screen via an astrological phenomenon that allows the two captains to meet. But will Kirk be passing on his faithful wig and corset?

TANK GIRL

Directed by Rachel Talalay. Starring Lori Petty, Malcolm McDowell, Ice-T.

Another British comic gets the American big screen treatment. Mad Max with tits, attitude and a horny, talking, mutant kangaroo. Sounds like my kind of movie.

TO WONG FOO THANKS FOR EVERYTHING JULIE NEWMAR

Directed by Beeban Kidron, Starring Patrick Swayze, Wesley Snipes, John Leguizamo.

How’s that for a snappy title? I can see them running out of letters on cinema hoardings around the country. It’ll be 2 W F THNKS 4 EVTHIN J N. In the wake of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, some of Hollywood’s most macho icons slip into something more comfortable for this tale of travelling drag queens. Is this another trend?

WATERWORLD

Directed by Kevin Reynolds. Starring Kevin Costner, Dennis Hopper, Jeanne Tripplehorn.

Kev’s career has been slipping of late (Imperfect World, Wyatt Twerp). Can this Mad Max in the water sci-fi adventure put it back on track? It is rumoured to be the most expensive movie ever made ($135 million) so it had better. But then again, in it Kev has a bald head and webbed feet. He’d better start thinking about going into politics.

WES CRAVEN’S NEW NIGHTMARE

Directed by Wes Craven. Starring Heather Langenkamp, Robert Englund, John Saxon. They finally killed off the Nightmare on Elm Street series. But what the hell is this? Freddie’s back again, proving you can’t keep a good moneyspinner down.

WILD BILL

Directed by Walter Hill. Starring Jeff Bridges, Ellen Barkin, John Hurt.

After Wyatt Earp, you’d think Hollywood would give up on those dodgy, historically accurate western moustaches, but here’s Jeff Bridges complete with facial hair as Wild Bill Hickock and Ellen Barkin making Doris Day blush as the gun toting Calamity Jane.

ZZZZZZZZ

Directed by Maurice Hack. Starring Tom No Hanks, Arnold Schwarzennigginagginogger, Jim Carrey On Up The Box Office and Michelle Pfffffeifffffer as the token woman.

The film that cost three hundred million dollars to make, none of which was spent on the script. The stars jostle for Oscars in a heart-rending cyberpunk action drama about a cross-dressing hit-man eating dinner in a Chinese restaurant in Medieval Glasgow. Based on the comic strip. And featuring a guest appearance by Meryl Streep as Lassie. Roll on 1996.