The venerable monthly film magazine Sight & Sound have published a list of the 'best films ever made' every ten years since their twentieth anniversary issue in 1952 (yes, they've been going since the thirties).  The problem with lists is that they are always divisive, no matter the extent of survey, and the Sight & Sound survey is extensive, stretching internationally, from critics to leading film personnel (including filmmakers such as Francis Ford Coppola, Woody Allen and Quentin Tarantino).  This year there was a great surprise on the list.

Removed from the top spot, its home for every list since 1952, Citizen Kane was replaced by Vertigo, which plays all weekend at BFI Southbank.  It's a film that has not had too much general appreciation in the past decade, and has only been recovered for theatrical screening in the past few months, with the BFI's retrospective of Alfred Hitchcock.  It's certainly not Hitchcock's most famous (Psycho, m'lud), nor is it everyone's favourite, but it seems to be generally agreed that it is probably the creative pinnacle of his long career - his directorial career lasted forty-four years.

Scottie Ferguson is a private detective, laying low in his San Francisco office after a particularly heavy job.  Scottie is called on by an old friend who asks him to follow his wife Madeleine.  The detective takes the job and soon finds himself in pursuit of Madeleine, a gorgeous, sultry and exotic blonde - a stereotypical Hitchcock heroine.  Suddenly, something here is not right, but that might just be all in Scottie's head.  Is Madeleine who she says she is?  Or worse, is Madeleine someone else altogether, and is Scottie even chasing the right woman?  This film is the darkest of love stories.  It's a thriller about self-torment, erotic fantasy, unconditional love and the guilt that follows it.  Exploitation and manipulation, both physical and emotional are rife.  Hollywood royalty James Stewart and Kim Novak are the stars who, if placed together in a film at any other time, would be our lovestruck hero and heroine finding romance against the odds.  In Hitchcock's hands, they become ensconced in a psychoanalytical nightmare.

Vertigo plays at BFI Southbank all weekend.

The first in a double bill today (the second in a week!  Summer, and the Olympics, is definitely coming to an end when all of a sudden art and culture steal back your attentions from the sport and the sun); a double bill of masterpieces.  Your dear old Culture section does not use that word lightly.

The triumph and the tragedy of Orson Welles is that he will be primarily remembered for Citizen Kane, his first film, despite the fact that he continued to make films until his death over forty years later.  Everyone has their favourite 'other' Welles film, and each has a significant claim to brilliance.  One, however, can be generally regarded as the best: the feature documentary, re-released into cinemas this week, F for Fake.

The film begins by focussing on Elmyr de Hory, the Hungarian-born artist and art forger.  Slowly, it unravels into a wider discussion around art, authorship and authenticity.  Other characters are brought, each as funny and as clever and as glamorous as the Aga Khan.  We meet Welles' female friend, actress and model Oja Kodar, disgraced writer Clifford Irving, and Welles himself becomes a part of the story.  This is where it gets really interesting.

In questioning the nature of the 'hoax' (de Hory was an art forger, Irving served a jail term for publishing a bogus biography of Howard Hughes, Kodar also worked as a confidence trickster, and Welles - well, Orson Welles makes films), the film goes on a massively entertaining ride from across the French Riviera and ends up with Picasso, where Welles begins to pick through all of the potential tricks that each of his companions may have at one time perpetrated.  Suddenly, the film goes into overdrive.  Cuts occur by the second (Welles reportedly had three editors working on the film simultaneously) as the filmmaker attempts to decode what may have truly occurred, and the last third of the film is a thrill ride of investigation for both filmmaker and audiences.

It's a documentary, about art and artists, and origin, and production.  Very literally, it is precursor to a contemporary film like Banksy's Exit Through the Gift Shop (the two share very similar traits and themes).  Because Magazine were huge fans of that film, and are even bigger fans of this one.  It's a work of art that is made of genius.

F for Fake is at BFI Southbank all weekend.

The name Eames is synonymous with luxurious, cutting edge design, but these artists (two of the most influential of the twentieth century) are more than just the sum of the parts of their slinky chairs, as this new documentary demonstrates.

Directed by Jason Cohn and the Peabody Award-winning Bill Jersey, the film looks at the many diverse facets of the Eames' conjoined careers.  Not content with working simply in interior design, the film spans the decades between the 1940s and the 1970s, where the couple created film, design, art and architecture for organisations including IBM and Polaroid.  There are good personal accounts from friends and family, and the more controversial element are handled softly, but are nevertheless handled.

For a little intro the more varied aspects of the Eames' creative works, look back to this post from December 2010 in your dear Culture section.  Powers of Ten is a film by Charles and Ray Eames - a celebrated work that explores scale with an unparalleled and idiosyncratic vision.  The couple were masterpieces in their own lifetime, and that is a rare compliment.

Eames: The Architect and The Painter is on general release.