I always think of Species as the horror genre’s equivalent of Showgirls. The central character is a sexually voracious blonde who rampages her way through urban America using (and in her case killing) a lot of men. Taste and probability never stand in the way of a thundering good plot, and there are some really good set pieces, including the obligatory sex-in-a-swimming-pool scene. I really like the basic idea of Sil, the gorgeous alien chick, being the result of a laboratory experiment gone wrong, and I envy her ability to seduce every single man she meets, even if one of those men is the unappetising Alfred Molina. She can leap tall buildings with a single bound, and when she gets horny (which she does, frequently) she can kill with a clench of her honeyed thighs. There are many reasons why I should hate the film, not least because it gives work to my least favourite actor of all time, Forest Whitaker, who mumbles sensitively in a little wool hat. Sadly he doesn’t get brutally murdered, but Ben Kingsley does, which is some consolation.