Jean-Claude Van Damme does a fine impression of Dolph Lundgren. He brilliantly captures the Swedes' oeuvre, that sparkle in the man's eyes that sends out mass frequencies of artistic credibility every time they are open. What was once suspected of being cataracts, was in fact glimmer. Not glimmer as in The Glimmer Man with Steven Seagal (that would just be stupid), but the glimmer of deluges of resplendent grandeur.

A microcosm of being lies in those vortexes, and often it stands up and walks around the cornea, sometimes even going to the vestigial eyelid to pick up a paper. It'll sit and read The Independent draped over the iris, its own limbs dangling down into the pupil. As it peruses the intricacies of South American politics (it regularly wears a badge with Hugo Chavez's face etched on it), it will intermittently sip from a nearby mug of steaming caffeine, bought first thing over by the ciliary. It knows little of what's going on in Big Brother, it cares not an ounce for the scandals erupting in the vicinity of those footballing chaps, those money joy-riders hopped up on blondes with exponential chest cavities, autobiographies shipped off to press before the morning of their 18th birthday.

"Give them the money," says the tabloids, "and while you're at it, here's the sort of attention that'd make De Sade blush." And blush he would, despite those prosodic adventures he was nevertheless one to turn a fluorescent crimson when the topic of male and female organs uniting in a vibrating blob of lust was raised. Sure he'd say, "aye, let me take a fine close and detailed inspection of what precisely is entering what here." But deep down his disgust was rife, his plasma cells were known to group together and have protest marches just south of his pancreas over the inherent filth being broadcast all over the show. Beanies, denims, and placards that read: "Less sex, more James Woods." Alas the flaws in this are overt, the ambiguities chucked their naked torsos all over those boards.

This is what Van Damme conjures in his famed impression of Lundgren. In many ways he creates something unique, something that wasn't there before, a new paradigm, a new perspective. In many ways his impression defines Lundgren, it straightforwardly decries Lundgren's lanky musk. It shoots him down in an explosion of muscle tinged with warm lemonade.

Van Damme is known for captivating his audience's attention in this way, whether he is cranking out the humour on set, or pulverising our glands on screen. In Hell is one of his more recent excursions into the straight to DVD world, an outing mysteriously receiving much rejoicing amongst those who like to sample the odd cinema every now and again.