This is what I wrote when I saw The Da Vinci Code back in 2005 on the big screen:
Structurally, with its fragmented opening, complex, double-crossing plot and a hero in over his head, this vaguely resembles Marathon Man, the kind of intelligent thriller not made these days. That is not to say, however, that Howard's adaptation of a bestselling novel rejuvenates the mystery or thriller genre; it is fairer to say that it is, perhaps disappointingly, though certainly expectedly, a novel translated to moving images.

Anyway, meanwhile...

On Hitchcock's Juno and the Paycock:
Interestingly dull film, an exemplary embodiment of "filmed theatre", with only hints of cinematic uniqueness in the form of tracking shots into the action onto the family's son, to infer an obvious psychological distress (regarding violence on the streets). Moments of comic levity won't make the ending any less sombre (it's a real downbeat affair), and Hitchcock brings into question his Catholicism in the form of a family forced to question their own faith when things go from bad to worse and then plummet even further. A forgettable oddity but for the director's credit.

On Hitchcock's Lifeboat:
A fine, tautly-handled piece in similar vein to (though not as powerful as) 12 Angry Men, in its single setting, dialogue-heavy characterisation, and the way in which its characters discuss their differences of opinion regarding the Nazi. It is the Nazi, too, who lends the film its complexity; leading the boat away from the safety of Bermuda in one moment but saving the crew in the next, he remains an enigma to us as much as he does to the characters - and all the better for that, because the climax and the twist in all of their narrative arcs makes for strong irony. The murder, two thirds through, is shot in such matter-of-fact fashion that, in its harrowing brutality, puts it up there with the oven scene in Torn Curtain.

On Buñuel's The Milky Way:
An ambiguous, complex and often very funny film, very abstract in tone and one of his most visually rich works too, exploring Catholic doctrine and the heresies which oppose or reject it. The director's fascination with Catholicism (and his sophisticated knowledge of it) recalls Godard's obsession with Marxism, though whereas Godard hammered political points home by lifting directly from various literary sources, Buñuel's ultimate ambivalence towards his subject lends a powerfully open tone to proceedings, lifting straight from the Bible and invoking quotes into conversations not to reject anything, really, but to draw up all kinds of hypocrisies and contradictions. Funniest part: when Jesus goes to shave, and His mother tells Him He suits a beard, and therefore keeps His facial hair, along with His would-be iconic visual representation. Most revealing part: the final scene, in which Jesus cures two blind men, only for them to continue (it is suggested) to use their sticks and ears as if sightless.

On Buñuel's Tristana:
Buñuel was capable of the most subtle of storytelling methods, narrating time, as he did in The Milky Way, in an elusively dream-like fashion (characters have dreams, but the dreams are actually happening as realities elsewhere) and with a casual disregard for convention - Tristana leaves her guardian/lover in one scene, and we cut immediately to two years later with her back on the scene, an otherwise risky technique (for means of credibility) but a rewarding one in this case. Deneuve and Rey are excellent. Emotionally complex (who do we side on and when and why?), and very rewarding; whether it requires more patience than the likes of the more surreal Discreet Charm is down to personal taste. But even this, one of his most accessible films, is not for everyone.

On Buñuel's The Exterminating Angel:
The reasons why the guests are unable or unwilling to leave - and indeed why outsiders are unable or unwilling to enter - are never given, and the entire narrative comprises these suit-clad guests becoming increasingly distraut, thirsty, ill and sexually frustrated, restricted to one room in an entire mansion, in the empty halls of which three sheep and one bear also lurk. Buñuel hated psychoanalytical readings of films and professed at the time of this that it didn't mean anything in particular, but even so, the inclusion of a similar escapade at a church in the final moments brings a knowing smile to familar fans' faces. Shot in harsh black and white, it is an absurd inviting allegory on the fall of Man if nothing else.