Search: Starring Robert Duvall

The plot is absurdly complicated and durr brain simple.

Undoubtedly, a masterpiece, this three-and-a-half hour version puts body on the flesh of what was already a great movie.

This is entirely Duvall's film. He gives himself a T-bone of a role, which he exploits with due diligence and compassion.

As a history and celebration of Brando's life and eccentricities, it's hard to beat.

The film is refreshingly cynical about a profession that, in cinematic terms, expects every lead actor to be Clarence Darrow.

Coppola may have made films of a more spectacular nature but here he makes a virtue of a introversion - so that the film's horror moment is all the more vibrantly terrible when set in relief.

Effective because it is so restrained.

The writers, Michael (The Player) Tolkin and Bruce Joel (Ghost) Rubin are award winners. Why have they churned out a run-of-the-mildew script that makes Volcano read like a tight human interest item?

Caine's presence makes the difference between entertaining nonsense and a rattling good yarn.

This is low-key, nervous, twisted stuff, hinting at anger so deeply ingrained it can only erupt in tight, controlled spurts of rage.

This is the time of year when I want buckets of forced sentiment with my overpriced cola, but this film felt cold despite the lack of snow

Although this is worth watching purely for Duvall's superb turn, he doesn't want for support.

In the end, the story twists itself stupid.

A masterpiece of restrained filmmaking

Gone In 60 Seconds provides you with all you need for a popcorn blockbuster.

Make no mistake: despite the big cast, this is the sort of thriller you can safely snooze through on a plane, connecting with ease the dots between the clichéd fights and chases.

Brought up a notch by a fine cast, some genuinely funny scenes and a curious darker streak that lies beneath the laughs.

The tendency to set up dramatic moments only to drown them in sentiment hurts the integrity of the film.

The film covers all the bases and yet fails to hit a home run

If this footy film was in a league it would be languishing at the bottom of the Vauxhall Conference.

Finch has great fun imagining his way into the kind of passionate, dogmatic and slightly unhinged character who has only latterly begun to succeed in the industry in real life.

For the second time, Costner has bet the farm and found his strength in cattle country.

The film is like a work of art that exists outside movements and influence, perfectly formed.

Pure, stripped-down bleakness, both in the desaturated drabness of its appearance and in the last-days essentialism of its themes.

Duvall is crippled by an accent that lurches from Partick to Dublin and back again. His body language speaks to Cincinnati, rather than Sauchihall Street.

None of it is remotely believable.

The debuting Reitman handles the film with inventive style and confident assurance.

Michael Radford's film version of Orwell's masterpiece offers a faithful interpretation, but it is THX 1138 that captures the very essence of its stark warning against totalitarianism.

The film is neither preachy, nor sentimental. It is about tolerance and truth and how the two cannot live together without hope.

This is a tale which rewards the intelligent viewer and, ultimately, has much more to say for itself than the average crime thriller.

Recent Hollywood heist films - typified by the Ocean's franchise - have been largely concerned with shiny surfaces, gloss and froth but British director Steve McQueen is much more interested in what lies beneath.