Critics reviews

What holds the film together, irresistibly, is Newman, who was unmatched at creating characters who were at once romantic and cynical, hard-bitten and yearning, idealistic and self-destructive. No American actor has ever embodied wounded, confused masculinity with more skill or grace; you want to know Luke even as he pulls away from everyone and into himself, and his struggle to get wherever he's trying to go remains vivid and moving.

Luke is one of those movies that seemed almost irredeemably dated maybe thirty years after it came out, but then left period associations behind and became timeless. It has its absurd or regrettable touches—such as that moment where the sexy young farm wife washes a car, nearly fellating a hose and squashing her breasts up against a passenger side window; images quickly appropriated by TV ads and sketch comedy shows—but its vagueness has proved more a benefit than a liability.