In theaters

OPEN RANGE, directed by Kevin Costner, written by Craig Storper, based on the novel “The Open Range Men” by Lauran Paine, 135 minutes, rated R.

In the new Western “Open Range,” director, producer and star Kevin Costner offers two-plus hours of atonement for 11 years’ worth of critical and financial disappointments.

Working for no salary and raising much of the film’s $26 million budget himself, he’s exactly what the movies need right now: a talented yet much-maligned two-time Academy Award winner with something to prove.

Shaken by a string of high-profile failures, some of which were modest stinkers (“Dragonfly,” “Message in a Bottle”) and some of which have become the stuff of movie legend (“Waterworld,” “The Postman”), Costner has survived his decadelong reality check to reassess how his strengths as an actor and director best fit the canon.

This time out, perhaps more than any other time at bat, he knows that if he’s going to continue making movies, he needs to have a hit. And so, with “Open Range,” he ropes a worthy contender, one whose strengths far outweigh its weaknesses.

Playing it safe, he casts himself in a variation of the role that has defined so much of his career, that of a troubled loner whose reluctance to become romantically involved is exactly the quality that makes him so irresistible to strong-willed women.

He’s Charley Waite, a quiet, brooding man guiding cattle across the wild West with three other free rangers – the patriarch of the group, Boss Spearman (Robert Duvall), gentle giant Mose (Abraham Benrubi), and the immature Button (Diego Luna).

After a leisurely opening that drags in spite of the welcome diversion of cinematographer James Muro’s stunning, wide-open vistas (the film was shot in Alberta and its look is pure John Ford), the movie gets under your skin.

Indeed, working against the men as they move along the outskirts of Harmonville is a powerful, insidious rancher named Baxter (Michael Gambon) who detests free rangers so much that he employs several men to root out Charley, Boss and the others with the intent to kill them.

What ensues is a gathering storm, one that culminates in a vicious, beautifully conceived gunfight that matches anything in “High Noon” or “Unforgiven,” along with a stiff romantic undercurrent that pulls the film together as Charley falls for Sue Barlow (Annette Bening), the local doctor’s handsome, headstrong sister.

Time and failure have turned Costner into a generous actor and director.

Throughout, he literally hands his movie to Duvall, who runs with the film, doing some of his best work in years, walking a fine line between grounding the movie as Charley’s moral compass while offering several much-needed moments of comic relief. He’s terrific here, one of the best reasons to see the movie.

Some of the film’s dialogue is unfortunate (“I’ve been holdin’ my love a long time, Charley”; “Let’s go rustle up some grub”), and Costner remains the sort of cornball softy who can’t resist forcibly tugging at our hearts, such as in an unnecessary, heavy-handed scene with a dead dog. Still, for the most part, he’s more sure-footed than ever, mining a memorable posthumous performance from Michael Jeter, delivering a solid turn himself and finding in the Western something grand, familiar and new within a genre that clearly has some life in it yet.

Grade: B+

On video and DVD

THE KID STAYS IN THE PICTURE, directed by Brett Morgen and Nanette Burstein, written by Morgen, 93 minutes, rated R.

Brett Morgen and Nanette Burstein’s fantastic documentary “The Kid Stays in the Picture” is smashing, a beautifully conceived, stylish plunge into the tumultuous life of Robert Evans, the infamous Hollywood producer whose success in the late ’60s through the early ’80s soared with such films as “Rosemary’s Baby,” “The Godfather,” “Love Story” and “Chinatown” before it came crashing down around him.

Based on Evans’ 1994 memoirs, the film chronicles the man’s life from pretty-boy actor in the ’50s to the vilification of his acting career in 1958 to his position as head of production at Paramount Pictures, which he lifted to the top after spearheading a remarkable string of hits.

Narrated by the 72-year-old Evans with a tough, gangster-style sensibility that recalls the grittiness of Raymond Chandler, the film seethes with an element of noirish sleaze.

Indeed, with the exception of those scenes that follow Evans’ relationship with his former wife, Ali McGraw, a woman he genuinely loved yet lost to Steve McQueen, a cut-throat atmosphere slices through the film, giving it enormous power as it explores the business-end of moviemaking during the last golden age of Hollywood, the 1970s.

While there’s no denying the film is slanted in Evans’ favor, focusing more on his rise to power than on his several downfalls, it’s nevertheless riveting, one of last year’s best films.

Culled completely from old photographs, newsreels and clips from Evans’ best-known movies, the film is alive with mischief and often funny, charged with Evans’ eagerness to throw open his closet doors while shaking out the more noteworthy skeletons, such as his feuds with Francis Ford Coppola and Roman Polanski, and his withering impersonation of Mia Farrow.

Evans’ genius was in knowing that “if you own a property in Hollywood, you’re a king. If you don’t, you’re a peon. The property is the star. You can have stars up the …, but if it’s not on the page, it’s not on the screen.”

That philosophy no longer rules in today’s celebrity-obsessed Hollywood. This nostalgic look back should have been nominated for an Academy Award.

Grade: A

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear Mondays and Fridays in Style, Thursdays on WLBZ 2 and WCSH 6, and are archived on RottenTomatoes.com. He can be reached at BDNFilm1@aol.com.