Never before have I rooted for the Japanese in a Second World War flick. Never before have I so loathed the Allied forces.

If Pearl Harbor is anything to go by then the American Navy was wholly populated by loud, obnoxious morons who spent their days courting empty-headed cunts while drinking and whooping like some thief had come along in the night, scooped out their brains and trampled them under foot. The characters here are morons. Conversely, the Japanese come across as smart, resourceful and composed. They feel no need to hoot and holler, and they don't seem to be secretly ogling male bum cakes like the American characters do. They're entirely more likable. Oh, but what about the British? Well, they enjoy fellating beefy, horse-faced Americans – a British pilot tells Affleck that if the States has more men like him then their enemies should soil themselves. Like I say, the Allied forces in this film are wretched.

But I do have to say that even the glorious Japanese forces have their bad moments. In a politically correct effort to 'humanise' them there's one bit where a Japanese officer melodramatically says that a truly brilliant man would find a way not to fight a war. And there's another bit where a Japanese pilot leans out of his plane and apparently warns some children of the impending carnage. It's an incredibly sappy moment, one that doesn't ring true for a minute. Although I'll change my opinion of said pilot if he was actually taunting the children and saying something like, "I'm going to kill your daddy, Yankee scum."

Another piece of political correctness is the portrayal of Doris Miller (Cuba Gooding, Jr.). In one scene he even holds his white commanding officer while telling him how gosh darn great he his. But perhaps more insulting is the way he indulges in hooting and hollering as he shoots the Japanese down – every American character in this film behaves like they're in the audience for some ghastly sitcom. I mean, it's one thing to have a fictional character act idiotically, but it's something else to belittle the efforts of a real person. And really, the character is totally superfluous. Everyone else in the film has some sort of connection to the parts played by Affleck, Hartnett or Beckinsale, but Gooding exists separately. His inclusion is really just a sad concession to political correctness. His character exists only to prove to stupid right-wing Americans that there were actually black sailors who fought bravely. You know, just in case you're a Grade A moron and thought all the black sailors were hiding below decks eating fried chicken and watermelon.

But far more offensive than the political correctness is the 'romance'. Really, the film is about as romantic as drunken masturbation. There's just not one iota of genuine feeling in the whole movie. And of course the whole thing is completely unbelievable. Oh, some horse-face falls in love, goes to England, is presumed dead, then his girlfriend shacks up with his best friend before horse-face returns, then horse-face's ex-girlfriend finds out she's pregnant with his best friend's child on the day of his resurrection, and then the best friend dies in battle and horse-face and ex-girlfriend shack up again and bring the child up together. Yeah, that sounds plausible.

But although the sequence of events described above is ridiculous, the scenes themselves are far worse. One of the worst is the courtship between Affleck and Beckinsale. She's a nurse, he's a pilot, and she passes him to fly because she thinks he has a cute arse and because he begs her not to take his wings. Then he turns into Inspector Clouseau and smacks his head on things and fires a champagne cork into his face. Somehow this is meant to endear us to him. The only thing I can say in response is that it's a shame it wasn't a gun that equine-features accidentally shot himself with.

However, I wanted to turn the gun on myself when Affleck goes to England and we have to hear Beckinsale write her letters. "Every night I look at the sunset and try and draw the last ounce of heat from its long day and send it from my heart to yours." Somewhere Fabio is nodding his head in approval. But there must be about a million sunsets in this film – Michael Bay has never met a visual cliché he didn't like.

And Beckinsale writes her letters while sitting on a beach in a bikini (with a flower behind her ear) as waves crash on the rocks beyond. How old is Michael Bay exactly? It's like its been directed by a 13-year old girl. And just how white are Beckinsale's teeth? They kept on distracting me. Teeth shouldn't be that white. They shouldn't look like someone's painted gloss on them. But I also hated the way that every establishing shot was some sort of swooping crane shot. Is Bay really that short on ideas? Well…yeah, of course he is.

But what really makes me laugh is the way that Bay has compared this tripe to a David Lean film. Lean made romantic films that didn't make you want to wretch; romantic films that were written and directed with taste and style; romantic films that were literate and intelligent. Bay's film is none of these things. It's an infantile disasterpiece. It's a film where simpletons have teary intercourse in a parachute hanger; a film where two whooping morons almost single-handedly make the Japanese air force retreat; a film where FDR heroically rises to his feet to show what the American heart is capable of; a film where a dying man says he's cold and then symbolically hands his children over to his best pal; and a film where a bimbo with shockingly white teeth says, "Now I'm going to give Danny my whole heart…but I don't think I'll ever look at another sunset without thinking of you." No film has done so much to dishonour the Allied forces. Bay may as well of pissed on their graves.

I guess whether you derive any enjoyment out of the film version of The Wall depends on whether you like the album. If you think the album is a bunch of pretentious whining nonsense, then you'll probably think the film is that tenfold. But if you like the record then you might well find something to enjoy.

Personally, liking the album a great deal, I think the film is passable enough. There are certainly some great moments. But there are also some dodgy ones. And as a whole the film is nothing more than a shallow exercise in visualising exactly what's happening in the music – the film doesn't interpret, it regurgitates. Therefore it's nothing more than an extended music video.

Part of the effect of this lack of imagination is that it makes the whole experience rather bland. It doesn't show you anything that you weren't able to think up for yourself while listening to the album. For instance, 'Comfortably Numb' features Pink (Bob Geldof) getting jabbed by doctors and shows him as a kid with a fever – the filmmakers slavishly follow the lyrics. And then with 'Young Lust' you have groupies getting their clothes off and with 'One of My Turns' you have Pink, well…having a turn. It doesn't build upon the album - it becomes its less coherent reflection.

But even though the examples given don't really add anything to the record, at least they don't detract, which unfortunately happens later on. The first half of the film, while often lacking in imagination, is at least well filmed (sometimes beautifully so). The second half, though, is tedious and rather dull – songs like 'In the Flesh', 'Run Like Hell' and 'Waiting For the Worms' are rendered almost laughable by singing and dancing Nazis, who are more camp than threatening. And then in 'Is There Anybody Out There?' you just have Geldof banging himself against a wall and in 'Nobody Home' you have a young Pink wandering about in some trenches. It doesn't make for inspiring viewing.

But despite this, the film does occasionally proffer a surprise, one that builds upon the basis of the album. For instance, 'The Thin Ice', rather than doing the blatantly obvious with the lyrics, instead juxtaposes them against dead, injured and dying soldiers. It adds a whole layer of emotion to lyrics like 'Momma loves her baby…' while this is played against soldiers dragging dead bodies from a beach. And I also like the way that halfway through the song you cut to Pink alone in a hotel swimming pool – the association is subtly conveyed; Pink's isolation can be traced all the way back to his father's death in the Second World War.

Another minor success in the film is 'In the Flesh?'. I like the way the battlefield of war is cut against the battlefield of teenage idolatry – the kids rushing to get a seat, trampling each other underfoot, is mirrored in the way soldiers try and attack the enemy. However, the song is spoiled somewhat when Geldof opens his mouth. He sings the song like an Irish Johnny Rotten – the words sound like someone scratching a blackboard.

Likewise, the second version of 'In the Flesh' is also spoiled by Geldof's singing – the insults he throws out to the audience are delivered like the camp policeman in Withnail and I whose only line was 'Get in the back of the van!!' But the song is also spoiled by a Nazi brass band playing the music. It lacks the aggression of the recorded song and instead makes it rather laughable and ridiculous.

Something else that doesn't always work are the animated sequences. As well made as they are, and as much as they appeal to potheads, they're not always well integrated into the film, making it even more painfully obvious that the film is only about style – don't watch The Wall for substance. But even though they make the film disjointed, they're worth it for the copulating flowers and the planes that turn into flying crucifixes – they're a couple of wonderful visual flourishes.

Other visuals that work are the children going to school in a cattle truck, the rather disturbing scenes where Pink shaves all his body hair off, the way that a slightly routine version of 'Comfortably Numb' turns into something of a horror film with Pink's rebirth and the scene in the swimming pool where Pink drowns in blood. But as is always the case with this film, amongst this you have to endure a lifeless version of 'Mother' (the song is one of the highlights on the live album), a goofy visualisation of 'Bring the Boys Back Home' and lots of failed attempts at profundity. Honestly, the best way to experience Roger Waters' story is to stick with the live album, Is There Anybody Out There. It's a million times better than this film and a lot fuller and richer than the slightly anti-septic studio version.

Directed by Alan Parker
Written by Roger Waters
Produced by Alan Marshall
Original Music by Bob Ezrin, David Gilmour and Roger Waters
Cinematography by Peter Biziou
Starring Bob Geldof and Bob Hoskins

Running Time: 95 mins

Rated R for disturbing images, language and angst

I find it quite amusing that so many Americans were outraged that Lars von Trier had the temerity to criticise their country without having visited it. We do it all the time, don't we? Millions of us are quite content to sit on our sofas and criticise China, North Korea, Zimbabwe, Israel and countless other countries without having visited their shores. And we're perfectly justified in doing so. So why should von Trier be vilified for criticising America from a few thousand miles away?

Well, of course, I don't think he should. He's perfectly entitled to his opinion, and those that cry and moan are symptomatic of America's biggest problem – its inability to take criticism without getting its pants in a twist. Surely every great country should thrive on criticism. It should help it grow and develop. But instead America seems to resemble a child sometimes, spouting unhelpful phrases like, "America: love it or leave it" or, "You're either with us or against us." Therefore a film like Dogville, one that refuses to revel in the hollow American Dream, is vital, and it's a film that should be embraced, not shunned.

What the detractors seem to overlook is the fact that Dogville could really be a small town anywhere. It may be the first part in an American trilogy, but the small town values with their prejudices and hypocrisy are universal; they're not exclusive to any one country. Everyone can relate.

The film begins and ends with a God's eye view of the proceedings and it isn't hard to imagine that von Trier is looking down on the characters, judging them. In fact, as Tom (Paul Bettany) himself says, everything is a game, a test, and von Trier is the one pulling the strings.

The game begins when Grace enters the town. The townsfolk are frightened, but Tom thinks it's a gift. He wants to see if Dogville has a problem with acceptance. At the beginning, the citizens are understandably cautious, but they're eventually placated when Grace proves that she can help them out. And so at the beginning she develops a good relationship with the town and its citizens. But even at the beginning the relationship is far from equal. She may like everyone, but she's essential a slave. Yet the townsfolk like her best like this, when she's happily subservient.

As the film progresses, the town is tested further. The police post wanted posters and accuse Grace of crimes that she couldn't have committed (as she was in the town at the time of the reported incidents). But rather than bring everyone together, the town gets cold feet. It wants to help, but only as long as it doesn't put them at risk. Therefore they decide to doubly enslave Grace to make themselves feel better. It's an extraordinary move, but one that is anything but far-fetched. Individuals are brave, but people have a worrying habit of proving themselves to be spineless.

And seeing as Grace affects the status quo, the townsfolk decide to take their frustrations out on her. The men rape her physically and the women rape her psychologically. In fact, the most upsetting scene isn't one of the numerous rape scenes – although Chuck's rape scene does prove the brilliance of the set, what with it showing everyone going about their daily business and turning a blind eye to what is going on - it is instead the womens' abuse of Grace and the destruction of her figurines. It's more than just a physical violation. It's a violation of everything. Her dreams are being smashed right before her eyes.

But why do the people of Dogville react this way? Surely their behaviour is an exaggeration. Well, it is and it isn't. Of course the film paints a bleak portrait of human nature that you might not find down your street, but I think that the film proves that we all have darkness present in us. It only takes the right conditions and the right buttons to be pressed for it to emerge. In the case of Dogville, it emerges for many reasons, but I think the main reason is because Grace shows everyone what they are. Before her arrival, everyone is happily stuck in a rut, but once she arrives everything changes. Everyone is faced with their mediocrity and everyone's lies are exposed. In one scene, McKay (Ben Gazzara), after having finally admitted his blindness, indeed thanks Grace for "showing us who you are", but during her time in Dogville she also forces Bill to realise his stupidity (by playing checkers for him), Liz her unattractiveness (by catching Tom's eye), Ben his loneliness (by providing for him), Chuck and Vera their unhappy marriage (by catching Chuck's eye) and Tom his cowardice (through his refusal to kiss her even though she's admitted her love for him). Needless to say, not everyone likes being exposed. It's hard to face yourself when you don't like what you see. And therefore the person that you're going to punish is the one that made you gaze at your reflection.

The ending is certainly bleak, but I think it forces us to take a hard look at ourselves. How often have we taken advantage of other people when we should have helped? How often have our intentions been selfish? And Grace's final actions suggest one thing to me: if you treat someone like an animal, you shouldn't be surprised when they treat you like one too.

Bob Crane is always going on about what a likable guy he is. Well, he may be polite and he may have a bland charm that appeals to housewives and poindexters, but can a man who cheats on two wives and ruins two marriages really be classed as likable?

And Bob Crane also goes on about how normal he is. Well, yes, sex is normal and knocking about is hardly immoral, but this is a married man with children who is sleeping around. And not only that but he's a man who doesn't seem to see anything wrong with his behaviour. Apparently everyone else has the problem. But he's also a man who tapes his sex sessions (sometimes illicitly) and who watches them with his best buddy. Likable and normal he most certainly isn't.

What comes through strongest in Auto Focus is the strange homoerotic relationship that exists between Bob Crane (Greg Kinnear) and John Carpenter (Willem Dafoe). It's kind of a perverse love story. In the first scene they share, John almost serenades Bob. It's love at first sight. Then pretty soon afterwards they're scoring chicks, banging beaver and filming their exploits.

In fact, the two characters kind of complete one another. At the beginning Bob is curious but kind of naive – he has 'photography' magazines and is almost embarrassed when he goes to his first strip joint – while John is horny and self-assured, but, being a mere mortal, can hardly be guaranteed to score every time. So when the bumbling Bob and the confident John hook up, they make a pretty good partnership.

And at the beginning things go well. With Bob's celebrity and John's photographic equipment and electronic gadgets, they're bagging chicks and having fun. And at the start things are relatively tame – after years of dull marital sex, Bob is excited merely at the prospect of doing it with the lights on. But as things progress, the relationship between the two men gets more and more perverse. The first hint that this is more than mere macho tag-team screwing is the way they talk as they watch their tapes. John says to Bob, "Where have you been all my life?" While Bob says to John, "It's either him or me" (Bob doesn't like one of John's other customers - one of Bob's co-stars in 'Hogan's Heroes' - and wants John to choose between the two of them). This isn't a mere friendship.

Then there's the way that Bob gets outraged when he sees, via tape, that during an orgy, John has had his hand on his arse. When you're filming sex tapes with your best buddy and watching them together, it seems rather churlish to complain about getting your bum groped.

But although they have a bit of a lover's tiff over this, the pair soon hook back up again. And then, in an extraordinary scene, they watch another one of their tapes. At the time, Bob is saying how much he misses his wife and child. But immediately afterwards, he and his best buddy begin masturbating as they watch one of their recordings. And then as they're abusing themselves, they begin to debate who the woman is and where it was filmed. To them, this is completely normal. It's ordinary. No wonder neither is capable of maintaining a healthy relationship – they've chosen the surface (photography and sex tapes) over anything with real meaning. The focus truly is on themselves. To hell with the subtle pleasures of a loving relationship; everything here is focused on orgasm.

But that's one of the conundrums that Auto Focus presents. Where you're famous and when women are lining up to have sex with you (fame is the world's best lubricant), how can you be expected to exercise self-control? Surely that's every man's dream. Well, it probably is the dream of most men, and it can hardly be a surprise that Crane cheated on his wives, but what makes him so extraordinary is how completely lacking he is in self-awareness. He talks to priests, Christian magazines and his agent, seemingly sincere in the lies he spews ("I'm a one woman man." "Bob Crane is a good guy." "I'm normal."). He really does think that his wives are being unreasonable in expecting him to be true to them. He really does think that keeping an album of the women he's slept with, and showing it to other people, is okay. He really does think that there's nothing strange in watching sex tapes with his best buddy and wanking himself off as he contemplates the peculiar way that the female mind works. His life is evidence of what happens when a shallow man with little intelligence is given fame.

But although the character is shallow, Greg Kinnear's performance is complex. He really doesn't a put a foot wrong. He's got the easy charm and wide-eyed confusion down pat. He plays Bob as a man who is always sincere, who is always polite and charming, but who is constantly hurting those around him. And his performance is also incredibly seedy. I particularly like the way he leers at his son's girlfriend. The man has no self-control; no idea of social mores. And there's a great piece of acting when he gets a barman to put 'Hogan's Heroes' on so that he can pick up a couple of women. He feigns surprise so well when one of the women asks him whether he's the man off the show that I wouldn't be surprised if Crane fooled himself into thinking that he didn't in any way manipulate these women when he was picking them up.

I also like scene when he receives a call from Disney. They want him for a film called 'Superdad'. The way that he juggles sleaze and respectability is impeccable – right before the call he talks to John about making a sex movie, and then he shows John his penis. Yep, that's 'Superdad'.

But ultimately it's quite a sad film. Crane's death, being beaten while asleep, is both brutal and pathetic. Yes Crane wasn't a good man, nor was he a normal one, but you can't truly call him a bad man either. He certainly wasn't vindictive. He was just a sad, seedy little man who died a sad, seedy little death. His crime was being clueless, stupid and far too horny.

I can't help but like Klaus Kinski. Sure that's easy for me to say, having only encountered him on film, but despite (or probably because of) the madness, the anger and the raving, there's something magnetic about the man. He's like no other actor out there. No one else was so crazy, so passionate and so captivating. He was certainly one of a kind.

However, despite my regard for him as an actor, I can't say that I envy those who had to work with him. Raving fits, shootings and murder plots aren't par for the course when it comes to the majority of movie shoots. Hell, they're not normal by any standards. But then again, Klaus Kinski and Werner Herzog are far from ordinary people. Both had their madness – one explicit and one masked – and both went to extraordinary lengths to get what they wanted.

I think the piece in the film that best illustrated their shared madness was the story behind Kinski's 'autobiography'. Now to have biography that is largely fictional is nothing new, as people always rewrite their lives, but to have the person that you're insulting have you help insult them is rather extraordinary. It suggests a sadomasochism and a perversity in their relationship. But it also suggests a twisted affection. They hated each other and yet loved each other. No matter how hard they tried they couldn't stop gravitating towards one another.

And it seems that this strange attraction was there from the beginning. After the amazing 'Jesus' footage, the film opens with Herzog reliving his early childhood experiences with Kinski. Just listening to the stuff is amazing. Apparently, before he moved into the halfway house that Herzog used to live in, Kinski used to live naked in an apartment that was filled with leaves. But then once he did move, he proceeded to ruin bathrooms, knock doors down, assault theatre critics ("I was not excellent! I was not extraordinary! I was monumental! I was epochal!"), and my favourite thing of all, rave at the woman who gave him free board, free food, and who did his laundry, for not ironing his shirts neatly enough. The man was a maniac. Yet I can imagine the young Herzog watching these displays in awe. If only someone could harness this energy.

Well, as Herzog's films prove, he certainly harnessed it. But as you'd expect, it was never smooth sailing. Kinski continually caused havoc on set and the bizarre incidents piled up higher and higher. But although listening to Herzog recount these incidents is fascinating enough, the footage itself is amazing. We only get to see snippets of the Fitzcarraldo documentary, but the 'mild' raving fit that is shown illustrates what Herzog was dealing with every day. Sheer madness! In the footage that is shown it's an argument over food, but it really could be anything. Indeed, Herzog often says that Kinski would erupt for the smallest of reasons. But to see Kinski in action is amazing. He's like an animal.

Yet despite the madness, the film also manages to convey Kinski's warmth. There's some wonderful footage at a film festival in America where Herzog and Kinski embrace and joke with one another. In light of what comes before it's really surprising, as it seems impossible to imagine such moments between the two. But when you see it you can't help but come to the conclusion that the two men really did have a deep affection for one another. As well as the hate, there was a lot of love between the two. I also loved the Pongo footage from the Fitzcarraldo documentary. Again you get to see the kindness that Kinski possessed, as he bandages the cameraman's hand.

But although the film reveals a lot about Kinski, Herzog still remains something of an enigma. It's clear that he loved and hated Kinski – there's one scene where Herzog is talking to a photographer and he suddenly looks overwhelmingly sad, almost like a widower – but we're never really allowed to get into his head. In fact, there's one bit where he says that Kinski thought that he was mad but he assures us that he's 'clinically sane'. But as he stands there, holding onto a tree, he does look quite mad. And for all we know he may well be, or may well have had his madness, as what sane person could tolerate Kinski's pestilence?

But mad or not, it doesn't matter. The films that Herzog and Kinski made together are amongst the best in the world, and Herzog's documentary is a captivating, amusing, disturbing, and ultimately, moving tribute to his colleague and friend. The final minutes, in particular, I loved.