Frost

If you've seen Frost on a big screen, you might expect it to suffer on a mall one, those vast snowy vistas snatched way, but in fact what it loses in grandeur it makes up for with the increased intensity of its claustrophobic close-ups, whether inside the tents and huts or when the weather closes in. It's a very effective small screen film whose atmosphere is further enhanced by watching it alone - preferably when there's a storm outside.

There's only one extra here and, like the film, it's likely to prove divisive. If you like the film, you may find it highly enjoyable. In my 22 years as a critic I've never seen anyone take quite this approach to a making-of documentary, just bumbling around in the snow and watching what happens; some may consider it worthless but, like Herzog's observational work, it offers a great deal of insight to those willing to look. It has a streak of absurdist humour and, at times, an otherworldly beauty. Clustered together in their bright winter jackets in the middle of a blizzard, the cast and crew look like cartoon characters drawn on a blank page. Lines are rehearsed, scenes are set up, colleagues are playfully cut down to size. Somebody goes to get lunch but it's difficult to open the fridge because of the weight of snow piled up against it. Walking away, the team fades quickly from sight, but it seems unlikely that we've heard the last of them.