Okay, I admit that Return to the Batcave sat on my shelf for an inordinately long time. Something about old-show reunions and that naff cover, with creaky Adam West and Burt Ward camping it up foolishly, was enough to put me off, perhaps permanently. But Batman's cape is exceptionally long, and the late-'60s show-unlike so many series getting spinoffs these days-has a rather enduring allure. Something about a superhero with no special powers. Or, in the TV version's case, only the power of advanced irony.

Eventually, a little digging told me that this 2003 CBS movie, subtitled The Misadventures of Adam and Burt, was based on West's similarly named memoir from about 10 years ago. The flick is a pleasing compendium of old clips (all from the Batman pilot movie, as it happens, not from the actual series) and re-creations of events from the show's early days, with Jack Brewster and Jason Marsden as convincing stand-ins for West and Ward, and everything tied together, sort of, by a purposely cheesy plot with the aged stars chasing down clues left by a Riddler (Brett Rickaby, channelling Frank Gorshin) who looks to have escaped from 1968 unscathed.

"We put on tights to put on the world," explains the equally deadpan younger West, who seemingly had Shakespearean aspirations before he got the gig, to the teenage Ward. Among other tidbits, we learn that the show was attacked for the double-entendres that West slipped into it and for-holy codpiece, Batman!-the size of Robin's bulge.

Other small delights in the 90-minute film include original screen tests and early appearances of Lyle Waggoner, who tried out for the title role (and ended up being the announcer), and Lee Meriwether and Julie Newmar, who played Catwoman in different seasons. Newmar also shows up as her present-day self, and there are brief bits with TV veteran Betty White and some other familiar faces. Curtis Armstrong has a recurring role as West's young butler, whom he insists on calling Alfred, even while West is looking for something "Clooney-ish" to wear.

The chase-driven plot is as dumb as you might expect, and the early-days flashbacks have that canned formula we know from MOWs about the Monkees and Gilligan's Island. But the real star is Shepherd Frankel's art direction, which lovingly replicates the clothes, hairstyles, and, most importantly, set design of the period.

For TV camp of a more recent stripe, there's the Futurama Monster Robot Maniac Fun Collection, a self-explanatory package of four cyborg-related episodes, with commentary from creator Matt Groening and many of the lead actors. Presumably, the single Fox disc is aimed at people who don't want to buy whole seasons in an expensive box set-but who still want to go on a bender. While we're at it, The Simpsons: The Complete Sixth Season is now out.

You can also get Kung Fu: The Complete First Season, with David Carradine doing his grasshopper thing, 1970s-style. And back to the big screen, there's Kung Fu Hustle, Stephen Chow's strangely delightful amalgam of Hong Kong chop-socky, Hollywood musical, and Gangs of New York. The Columbia release offers lots of deleted scenes and bloopers.