Wayne's World captures the last gasp of genuine pop culture irreverence before everything became commodified irony. It skewers selling out while being complicit in the act, a rare moment of genuine self-awareness from Hollywood.

It's 1992, and Britain is barely recovering from Thatcher’s hangover. John Major is on TV, his voice a droning reminder that politics can bore you to tears before breakfast. Loaded magazine is emerging, making irony fashionable again. Into this bland landscape of early-morning telly, dominated by the sober seriousness of GMTV and BBC Breakfast, bursts The Big Breakfast, irreverent, chaotic, and exactly what you didn't realise your mornings needed.

There is nothing glamorous about Reservoir Dogs. It doesn’t have the grand, operatic feel of The Godfather or the easy comedic timing of early 90s capers. Instead, it’s the feeling of being trapped in a crumbling warehouse with people who might shoot first and never bother asking questions.