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Ken Burns's film on "the closest thing to a National Temple" is a brief and vital history of the United States Congress--the building and the institution. While the executive wing receives most of history's ink, the legislative branch has a more varied and colorful story. Starting with golden-tongued orators Henry Clay and Daniel Webster, the representatives were an eccentric lot, often pushing the limits of democracy with the power they wielded. Burns's formula of interviews, actors' readings, and wonderful photographs continue in this production although it's more streamlined. Covering 200 years in 90 minutes (the video version is slightly longer than the TV airing) is a tough job and we only stay a minute or two with key characters, many of whom you've never heard of. Burns may have bitten off more then he could chew with the vast history--much of it dealing with the slavery issue--but that was solved with his next project: his 11-hour masterpiece, The Civil War. --Doug Thomas

Before The Avengers and the James Bond films, the pioneering 1960 British series Danger Man helped to usher in spy-mania in Great Britain. Patrick McGoohan stars as "Drake, John Drake," an agent of NATO's secret service branch. "A messy job," he informs us, "That's when they usually call on me." Most Americans only know Drake as the Secret Agent Man, the title of the hour-long series that debuted on these shores in 1964. This half-hour series never aired in the United States, making this five-disc set, containing all 39 first season episodes, essential for Brit-TV aficionados, not to mention that branch of Prisoner devotees who insist that the kidnapped "No. 6" is actually Drake himself. Like 007, the dapper and unflappable Drake possesses a keen wit and "animal sense of danger," and his assignments take him all over the world, from Rome and Paris to the Arabian desert. But Drake is old school. He very rarely uses a gun. He is not a womanizer. He does not possess an arsenal of cool gadgets. His missions are more gritty and realistic; classic "cloak and dagger" stuff. He foils not megalomaniacs trying to take over the world, but a rogue's gallery of embezzlers, assassins, slave traders, traitors, and the like. Also fun for Anglophiles are early glimpses of favorite British character actors, including Miss Moneypenny herself, Lois Maxwell ("Positions of Trust"); a pre-Avengers/Pussy Galore Honor Blackman ("Colonel Rodriguez"), Judy Carne, Laugh-In's Sock-It-to-Me girl ("Hired Assassin"; Charles Gray from the Bond films You Only Live Twice and Diamonds Are Forever ("The Key"); and Jean Marsh of Upstairs, Downstairs fame ("Name, Date and Place"). The jazzy score is also killer. --Donald Liebenson

As with every other program in The Directors series, this edition is best recommended for the generous interview segments with its subject. Steven Spielberg has always been an articulate and interesting speaker, so it's a pleasure to find him in peak form here, sharing his own perspective on his phenomenally successful career. His remarks about his early films are the most interesting, such as the frantic filming of Duel, which required six editors to meet a broadcast date merely three weeks after a two-week shoot. Later repeating his belief that Schindler's List is "the best film I've ever made," Spielberg also explains that he was originally developing Michael Crichton's popular TV series ER as a feature film, but switched to Jurassic Park when Crichton revealed the premise of his then-in-progress dinosaur thriller.

These tidbits will interest any Spielberg fan, but the remainder of the program is perfunctory at best. Of the other interview subjects, only Ben Kingsley has anything intelligent to say (in very brief clips Harrison Ford is boring by comparison), and the narration reveals an almost pathological focus on Spielberg's many awards and honors, no matter how obscure or conspicuous. For those who want to understand the astonishing success of Steven Spielberg, this program may prove frustrating. It's better to view it as a primer with an abundance of illuminating anecdotes, glossing over any Spielberg film (like 1941) that would be considered even marginally disappointing. --Jeff Shannon

At the close of this hour-long 1997 documentary from Robert J. Emery's American Film Institute-sponsored series of filmmaker profiles, Terry Gilliam is asked how he would like to be remembered. Gilliam replies that he hopes his films will continue to "surprise people, and allow them to view the world through different eyes." That's a worthy goal for any artist, and Gilliam has succeeded in reaching that goal many times over.

If you can forgive the pedestrian narration (which is salvaged only by quotes from Gilliam's irreverent, self-penned "official biography"), the documentary's highlights are the interview clips with Gilliam, whose observations about his life and work are far more interesting than Emery's cursory tour through Gilliam's career. Clips from Gilliam's films are well chosen, but the survey never probes beyond a superficial assessment; Gilliam provides the substance, and the stellar interviewees (including Shelley Duvall, Madeleine Stowe, Brad Pitt, Amanda Plummer, David Warner, and Mercedes Ruehl) offer additional depth with their insightful gratitude. This is must-see viewing for any Gilliam fan, but it's also a bit of a tease, leaving one wanting more. It's perhaps fortunate that the film was made before Gilliam's flawed, impersonal production of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but members of Monty Python are conspicuous in their absence, if only because the focus remains on Gilliam's solo career. On the other hand, it's nice to see time given to "The Crimson Permanent Assurance," the fantastic short film in Python's The Meaning of Life that liberated Gilliam from "the nightmare of animation" (his words), and set him on course for a glorious and visionary career. --Jeff Shannon

At the close of this hour-long 1997 documentary from Robert J. Emery's American Film Institute-sponsored series of filmmaker profiles, Terry Gilliam is asked how he would like to be remembered. Gilliam replies that he hopes his films will continue to "surprise people, and allow them to view the world through different eyes." That's a worthy goal for any artist, and Gilliam has succeeded in reaching that goal many times over.

If you can forgive the pedestrian narration (which is salvaged only by quotes from Gilliam's irreverent, self-penned "official biography"), the documentary's highlights are the interview clips with Gilliam, whose observations about his life and work are far more interesting than Emery's cursory tour through Gilliam's career. Clips from Gilliam's films are well chosen, but the survey never probes beyond a superficial assessment; Gilliam provides the substance, and the stellar interviewees (including Shelley Duvall, Madeleine Stowe, Brad Pitt, Amanda Plummer, David Warner, and Mercedes Ruehl) offer additional depth with their insightful gratitude. This is must-see viewing for any Gilliam fan, but it's also a bit of a tease, leaving one wanting more. It's perhaps fortunate that the film was made before Gilliam's flawed, impersonal production of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but members of Monty Python are conspicuous in their absence, if only because the focus remains on Gilliam's solo career. On the other hand, it's nice to see time given to "The Crimson Permanent Assurance," the fantastic short film in Python's The Meaning of Life that liberated Gilliam from "the nightmare of animation" (his words), and set him on course for a glorious and visionary career. --Jeff Shannon

Combining the effervescent Olsen twins with the sizzling popularity of a Survivor-style reality show, The Challenge is a seemingly perfect concoction for Mary Kate and Ashley fans. In this G-rated jaunt, the perky twins play Shane and Lizzie, two estranged sisters who are unwittingly cast together to compete as teammates in seven grueling contests. Residing on separate coasts after their parent's divorce, the girls are polar opposites: Lizzie is ambitious and high-strung, while Shane is a tree-hugging vegetarian. Now in Mexico, they will eat, sleep, and socialize as one while a ruthless producer hopes the ensuing sibling controversy will spike the show's ratings. Amid the daring feats and romantic entanglements, the twins realize that their greatest challenge will be to accept each other's differences. If viewers overlook the painfully contrived plot and deplorable acting, the result is a clean, family film that goes no deeper than a pretty face. (Ages 7 to 12) --Lynn Gibson