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11 posts from May 2010

05/28/2010

'Prince' is a pauper compared to the masters

Audiences settle for so much less at the movies these days.

By today's milquetoast standards, "Prince of Persia:  The Sands of Time" provides adequate action-adventure swashbuckling in the sands of 6th century Persia.  It's the wink-at-the-audience comic tone that pales in comparison to previous rollicking adventures, though.

For anyone who remembers "Raiders of the Lost Ark," the first Indiana Jones action, comedy and romance frolic of 1981, or perhaps the fun-filled soldier-of-fortune saga "Romancing the Stone" in 1984, a weakly imitation grown out of a video game compares rather poorly.

This is an era when so-so is often hyped into super-duper.  At least in this gimmicky tale (Come on, a dagger that can reverse time?) popcorn munchers in the dark are treated to above average acting, decent special effects and lead actors easy on the eyes.

Jake Gyllenhaal, an Oscar-nominated actor looking a little self-conscious about playing a joystick-driven hero, takes the title role.  A street urchin taken in by the king (ho-hum), Dastan (Gyllenhaal) follows his heart to do the right thing after storming a castle in the fictional holy city of Alamut and, quite by accident, mind you, stumbling upon the aforementioned magic dagger handed down by the gods.

The screenplay, bearing more hand prints than a newborn kitty in an orphanage, may be pedestrian.  But at least versatile British director Mike Newell ("Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," "Mona Lisa Smile")  knows how to make the most out of what he's got.

And what he's got here is a one-dimensional, yet flashy yarn that moves fast.  In fact, it only slows down for alluring love/hate glances between Gyllenhaal and his ingénue, budding actress Gemma Arterton as "Come hither, no don't" princess Tamina.

To tell you the truth, I had more fun concentrating on the support players.  Oscar-winner Ben Kingsley (remember "Gandhi"?) looks like he's enjoying himself as sly, beloved Uncle Nizam.  And you can't help but like Alfred Molina ("An Education," "Spider-Man 2") as Sheik Amar, the devious, ostrich racing entrepreneur who'd probably be running Goldman Sachs if he could operate in today's market.

Gyllenhaal, on screen most recently in "Brothers," makes a better dashing sword-swinger than I thought he would.  That's because the rising star who drew his Oscar nomination opposite the late Heath Ledger in "Brokeback Mountain" ( 2005) makes the audience believe he is a prince with a heart of gold who'll use his back-to-the-future dagger for good, not evil.

Arterton, Agent Fields in the Bond adventure "Quantum of Solace," still has some work to do as the sometimes pouting woman hiding true grit until the right time to expose it.  It's an old formula that generally still works, though, and the two leads do stir up a little screen heat in the desert.

"Prince of Persia," no doubt the first in a sword-and-sandal franchise if it flexes muscles at the box-office, is adequate, if not extraordinary weekend movie entertainment.  It's got solid elements, just no spark to ignite something magical.

Since it comes from video game source material and doesn't thrill, amuse or tug the heartstrings like the previous masters, let's just call it a token effort and be done with it. 

05/27/2010

Sex, terrible twos, shoes and the blues

"Sex and the City" movies:

That's where grown women go to swoon like love-struck teenagers at romance, riches and designer shoes just like their daughters roll their eyes back in ecstasy for the brooding vampires and hunky werewolves of the "Twilight" franchise.

It's all slightly decadent fantasy-romance at a distance.  Dangerous?  Who knows?  But at least there's cinematic equality.  The men have their wealthy suave anti-heroes in iron super-suits, while the boys can visually play with "Transformers" and think of Megan Fox.

"Sex and the City 2," the sequel to the first feature in 2008 and, of course, the opulent flirty comic HBO series (1998-2004), is all about the terrible twos.  Or, to pinpoint the dilemma, the two-year itch.

Charlotte (Kristin Davis), with two kids (including a constantly crying toddler) at home, represents the usual definition of the term in this overlong sequel written, directed and produced once again by Michael Patrick King (a holdover from the TV series).

Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) grates the nerves of her law firm boss (an all-too-brief cameo by comedian Ron White) who can't stand strong women, and Samantha (Kim Cattrall), still single and on the prowl as usual, battles the onset of menopause.

The heart of the "Sex and the City" feline-like foursome, of course, is clever essayist Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker).  Carrie has her man, Mr. Big (Chris Noth), and her big -- make that gigantic -- walk-in closet.  What's missing after two years of co-inhabiting as a married couple is, says Carrie, "sparkle."

Carrie still wants to do the town.  Big, meanwhile, has grown so accustomed to the designer couch that he might sprout potatoes at any moment.  What to do, what to do?

In the vintage musicals of the '40s, someone would shout, "Hey, let's put on a show!" about this time.  But this film pays homage to Busby Berkeley musicals in the first reel with an extravagant gay wedding complete with swans, an all-male chorus in white and Liza Minnelli in black.

So it's off to the new Middle East (with Morocco doubling for the United Arab Emirates).  Via a contrived plot twist, a filthy rich investor invites Samantha to check out his gaudy, extravagant hotel in Abu Dhabi.  She will if her gal pals can tag along on the sheik's Dirham.

From this aisle seat, it seems odd that writer-director King chooses to take his central characters so identified with the Big Apple on what is basically a Hope and Crosby road trip to the casbah.

Leave it to Carrie, though.  She finds designer shoes even in a crowded marketplace.  And when she's not trying on shoes more befitting a genie, old flame Aidan (John Corbett) sort-of magically appears to scratch (and possibly infect) the two-year itch.

I like the way King evens the score a little when it comes to opposite-sex ogling.  In "Sex and the City 2," the dirty old men of Hollywood (in control for decades) take a backseat to a woman who views male bodies as slabs of beefcake.

At two and a half hours, though, even Samantha's funny menopause rants become tiresome.  This is a frivolous, overly indulgent, two-Cosmos (at least) sequel.

05/21/2010

'MacGruber' is funny, outrageously raunchy

"Ninety minutes, MacGruber!"

That was my admittedly negative thought going into the screening of "MacGruber" Thursday night.  

My skepticism about turning yet another three-minute "Saturday Night Live" skit into a feature film soon segued into:

"Hey, this is around-the-bend goofball fun, but it's also -- how can I delicately put this -- NASTY!"

Raunchier than "The Hangover," which is no easy feat, "MacGruber" fills the screen with Will Forte as the seriously off-kilter, bull-headed action hero with a carry-over '80s mullet hairstyle and -- at least once -- a stalk of celery up his arse.

I told you it was raunchy.  Forte co-wrote the devilishly raucous script with "SNL" writers John Solomon and Jorma Taccone, who makes his feature film directing debut.

"MacGruber" offers no pretense of Academy Award campaigns to come, or even an attempt to be taken seriously.  The aim here is silly fun in the outrageous "Austin Powers" mode.   From this aisle seat, it's the most entertaining "SNL" skit supersize since the late John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd hit the big-screen road as "The Blues Brothers" 30 years ago.

Ten years after his wedding and his bride Casey (Maya Rudolph) blew up in his face, gadget special operative MacGruber is lured out of a South American monastery by his old commander, Col. Faith (Powers Boothe).  MacGruber agrees to leave behind his decade of peace for two reasons:

His old nemesis, black market arms dealer Dieter Von Cunth (Val Kilmer), has stolen a missile with a nuclear warhead and is up to no good.

Also, the kids of the South American village, whom he believed adored him, tell MacGruber to "go s%&)$ himself."

It's that kind of lovingly sarcastic movie, folks.  This kind of over-the-top silliness may not be your cup of cinematic cappuccino.  If it is, however, the trio of creative minds behind this nonsense spare no raunchy laugh, pratfall or nudie gag along the way.

Forte, a solid member of the current "Saturday Night Live" troupe, appears right at home in the shaggy MacGruber wig and the bumbling persona.  This special ops hero prefers gadgets to guns, but he's not above going for the throat to drive the humor home.  And you can take that throat reference literally.

Ryan Phillippe ("Flags of Our Fathers," "Crash") makes the most of his chance to flex comic muscles as Lt. Dixon Piper, MacGruber's reluctant comrade in arms.

Kristen Wiig, the finely tuned comic engine that makes "SNL" worth watching after 35 years, excels here as Vicki St. Elmo, MacGruber's assistant.  The writers are smart enough to allow Wiig enough screen time to explore hilarious nuance in a character that only sets up the time line in the TV skits.  By the way, the love scene in this film is the funniest I've seen since Woody Allen got horizontal with Diane Keaton in "Play It Again, Sam" in 1971.

"MacGruber" is far from a perfect film.  The dialogue is stilted at times.  And even though the actors appear to be acting in a skit from time to time, it never feels like the "MacGruber" skit from "SNL" stretched thin to an hour and a-half.

In fact, when Vicki calls out "Three minutes, MacGruber" to the anti-hero, you might just feel like you're sharing a dark room with an old familiar friend.

'Shrek's' 'A Wonderful Life,' lousy sequel

The new "Shrek" is a wreck, and not one that's interesting enough to slow down for.

What else should we possibly expect from a third sequel in a franchise that launched in 2001?

Let's face it ... again.  It's time to bid farewell to the lovable green ogre.

I know what you're thinking:  "Hey, it's Shrek.  My kids will love it."

Maybe.  Perhaps cinematic newbies born too late to enjoy "Shrek" in its prime will.  This one can be viewed from behind 3-D glasses, which only really matters for the opening sequence of white horses appearing to gallop off the screen and into the audience.

Once the horses and the carriage they're pulling have passed, however, the kids will be "enjoying" a blatant rehash of "It's a Wonderful Life," of all things.

In the fourth installment of the once creatively vibrant fairy tale set in a twisted land titled Far Far Away, our rotund hero is fighting the marital/parental blahs; a midlife crisis.  His triplet little ogres are annoying him more with every burp or other gas passing (sure to draw a shock laugh from the kiddies).

Soon after Shrek blows his top at the kids' first birthday party, Rumpelstiltskin (Walt Dohrn, a feature voice newcomer who's also in charge of the story) offers the big, green, disenchanted guy the same deal Clarence the angel-in-training sold to Jimmy Stewart in "It's a Wonderful Life."  

The details vary slightly, but suddenly Shrek never existed (just like Stewart's George Bailey).  Far Far Away is ravaged like Bedford Falls gone to hell.  Donkey (voiced vibrantly by Eddie Murphy as usual) has no idea who Shrek is.

What of Fiona (Cameron Diaz)?  A human damsel without her Shrek savior by day and ogre by night,  Fiona's leading the ogre resistance against the king (Rumpelstiltskin, of course) and the witches who protect him.

"Shrek Forever After," directed with lots of bluster but little spirit by Mike Mitchell ("Sky High," "Surviving Christmas"), is a sequel with such minuscule oomph that one of its main characters provides the tired metaphor.

Puss In Boots, the Zorro-like kitty voiced by Antonio Banderas, has grown fat and lazy (just like the franchise itself).  When Puss, which can barely right himself, begs Donkey to lend him a tongue to groom fur he can no longer reach, it's almost as if screenwriters Josh Klausner ("Date Night") and Darren Lemke (a feature film first-timer) are signaling us that they're throwing in the adventure towel.

That brings us to Mike Myers ("Austin Powers"), the former "Saturday Night Live" standout who has been at the microphone as Shrek for almost a dozen years now.

For whatever reason -- personal challenges (the death of his mentor father, a divorce) or maybe just due to the fact that there's nowhere left to go with the green ogre who would rather be having a mud bath than tending the kids -- Myers has lost his joy of performance.  

And he took "Shrek Forever After" with him.

The year's finest relationship drama so far

Every year, it seems, a quality film packing an emotional wallop no one expected comes along to knock film-goers for a loop.

Last year it was "Precious," the gritty drama of a teenager ravaged by relatives and her environment.  Before that, "Slumdog Millionaire" took us to India and the dichotomy of back alley slums and a crooked, but glitzy TV game show.

There may be other well-conceived gems coming along in 2010.  For now, though, my money is on "Mother and Child," an edgy drama with the emotional juice of "Precious" served with a wry, cruelly comic "Six Feet Under" kicker.

Writer-director Rodrigo Garcia, who directed a half dozen "Six Feet Under" episodes (as well as "The Sopranos"), began, he has said, with a notion of  two strangers who longed for each other.  He lights up his screen with a kick-in-the-gut drama about three women all deeply affected with adoption.

In the most creative opening credits I've seen in a while, a 14-year-old girl shyly kisses a boy.  Before the credits conclude, she has gotten pregnant, given birth and given up her child by adoption.  

Without any fanfare whatsoever, Garcia cuts to a 50-year-old woman startled out of her sleep.  Karen (Annette Bening) has spent 37 years regretting the choice to give her baby away.  Irritable and difficult to reach, even when it comes to her elderly mother (Eileen Ryan), Karen writes vigorous letters that will never be mailed to the daughter she has never known.

Garcia, born in Colombia but who grew up in Mexico, is no slouch when it comes to writing strong scenes about women.  "Nine Lives" featured nine women at crossroads of their lives in 2005.  "Mother and Child" hones in on three.

In addition to Bening, a three-time Oscar nominee ("Being Julia," "American Beauty," "The Grifters") and one of the finest actresses of her generation, Naomi Watts heats up the screen with calculating sexual exploits.  She also chills it with moments of cold, playful devious emotional maneuvering.

Watts, an Academy Award nominee for "21 Grams" in 2003, takes on Elizabeth, a sharp lawyer who glides through life like a ravenous shark.  No one in Elizabeth's path is safe, and that includes her decidedly older, widowed law firm boss (Samuel L. Jackson) and two overly nosy neighbors.  

Elizabeth has a festering hole in her soul.  She was given up at birth and has spent her life taking it out on those around her.

The third central woman character, Lucy (Kerry Washington, good two years ago in "Lakeview Terrace"), is looking to adopt a baby.  She's eager and her husband  (David Ramsey) says he's keen on the idea.  But trouble is festering there as well.

There's one tiny hiccup in Garcia's script.  And it's a minor one.  Unless the various elements in this Los Angeles-set heart-breaking (at times) drama don't exactly follow the same time line, two key dates are slightly out of sync.

Otherwise, "Mother and Child" dazzles not only as a tale of women in crisis, but as the gripping story of modern-day relationships in an ever-changing society.

Film critics learn early on that false moments, those deviations of the parameters set by the story or characters, will take them out of a movie.  

"Mother and Child," one of the finest movies of the year so far, has none.

05/14/2010

Roaming Tuscany and 'Juliet'

"Letters to Juliet" has more to offer romantic souls than some cynical film critics may be willing to admit.

This I know.  When it comes to wine country romantic yarns in quaint Tuscan regions of Italy, I'll take this somewhat contrived yarn over the laughably cheesy  "Under the Tuscan Sun" (2003) starring Diane Lane.

Oh, I know this as well.  Some guys, especially the ones oozing testosterone, will be quick to label "Letters to Juliet" a "chick flick."  Although I generally despise that term, it fits.  Guys who can't handle a little romance in their movie evening might need to boot-scoot down the multiplex hall to "Robin Hood" or "Iron Man 2."

Set primarily in and around Verona, Romeo and Juliet's sacred home turf of old, this warm-hearted romantic comic-drama features two leading ladies.  Amanda Seyfried ("Dear John"), who played Meryl Streep's daughter Sophie in "Mamma Mia!," plays a different Sophie here.  This Sophie is a New Yorker who works as a New Yorker magazine fact checker.

She dreams of writing herself some day.  But first a pre-wedding vacation to Italy with her workaholic chef and fiancé Victor (Gael García Bernal).  

Victor has better things to do than hang around with his beautiful bride-to-be.  That allows Sophie the time to join ladies who answer letters written to Juliet (Yeah, that Juliet) and taped to a rock wall.  Sophie, prone to pulling loose stones out of famous shrines, perhaps, discovers a forlorn letter written a half-century earlier about walking away from true love.

That brings us to the second leading lady.  Veteran British actress Vanessa Redgrave, an Oscar winner for "Julia" in 1978, literally radiates subtle superb acting and senior grace as Claire.  Once the two hook up, "Letters to Juliet" becomes a Tuscany postcard come to life as the ladies, along with Claire's grumpy grandson Charlie (Christopher Egan), scour the countryside in search of Claire's long-lost Lorenzo.

This is all slightly more entertaining than I expected.  The scenery, of course, is spectacular and often bathed in the romantic light of sunset.

Director Gary Winick ("Bride Wars"), who called the shots on a spirited tale of a spider ("Charlotte's Web") in 2006, works his way through a predictable, sometimes silly romantic script (by José Rivera) with a decent tempo and tone.

And, if you want to dazzle your friends when the lights come up, say something like:

"Hey, wasn't that Franco Nero, Vanessa Redgrave's real-life husband, playing Lorenzo?"

You'd be right.  

Slightly off the robust entertainment target

 
When Russell Crowe and Ridley Scott re-team for the umpteenth adaptation of the Robin Hood legend, we get a fair dose of "Gladiator," a little "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner," major sword-clanking battles in Sherwood Forest and, by Scott and Crowe dark standards, Merry Men merriment.

"Robin Hood," which co-stars Cate Blanchett, William Hurt, Max Von Sydow and other fine actors, is the fifth collaboration for the New Zealand born movie star and his prolific British cohort in the director's chair.

Move often than not, the modus operandi has been tough guys in seriously dangerous situations.  "Gladiator" earned an Oscar nomination for Scott and a Best Actor golden statuette for his leading man.   Crowe and Scott reunited for "American Gangster" in 2007 and the thriller "Body of Lies" a year later.

In between, the duo took a little wine and cheesy movie break in France.  With Scott calling the shots, Crowe drank a little wine, wooed a pretty damsel and fell into an empty swimming pool.  That was "A Good Year." (2006)

"Robin Hood" begins in France as well, but there's little time to sit around sipping Chardonnay.  It's 1199 and archer Robin Longstride (Crowe) is among King Richard the Lionheart's (Danny Huston) troops laying siege to a French castle.  

Here we go again.  It's obvious from the spectacular opening sequence that the tag-team of Scott and Crowe are ready to rumble on a very large scale again.  If you were awake in high school history class, you may recall that the king doesn't walk away from the battle (despite winning).

It's nothing new for legends that loom large on our movie screens to be kneaded more than a little for mass market consumption.  "Robin Hood" screenwriter Brian Helgeland, who shared an Academy Award with director Curtis Hanson for "L.A. Confidential" in 1997, has no restraints when it comes to a legend that began in 9th century medieval oral history.

So forget what you know about Douglas Fairbanks as the hooded crusader in 1922 ("Robin Hood"), Errol Flynn in 1938 ("The Adventures of Robin Hood") and Sean Connery in 1976 ("Robin and Marian").  I trust you've already filed Kevin Costner's wobbly British accent in "Robin Hood:  Prince of Thieves" (1991) so far back in your memory bank that it couldn't reemerge even if you wanted it to.

This "Robin Hood" is essentially a prequel; Robin the Hood back story.  Once the skilled archer gets out of the stocks (for mouthing off to the king) and bonds with a handful of loyal rowdy followers (the Merry Men), the mission begins to return the fallen king's helmet to the Queen Mother (Eileen Atkins).

Robin, who grew up without a father, also agrees to return a dying prodigal son's sword to the doomed soldier's father.  That may seem like a lot of chores for a future hero of Sherwood Forest to bog himself down with.  But since this movie ends where most Robin Hood flicks begin (Sequel anybody?), there's no plot-point agenda.

Marion, tough and no one's damsel in distress as portrayed by Blanchett, turns out to be the revered old man's (Von Sydow) daughter-in-law.  Only in the movies does a stranger move into a lady's bedroom and pose as her husband to keep peace in the land.  That works fine for a day or two.  But then the need to scratch the old Scott-Crowe itch kicks in, and ferocious battles rage with lives and, in fact, England itself on the line.

"Robin Hood" squeezes in a wee bit of merriment.  Mark Addy ("The Full Monty"), who toned down his British accent a little to star in the U.S. sitcom "Still Standing," earns some laughs as mead-swilling Friar Tuck.  William Hurt plays it serious as Sir William Marshal, though, turning in one of his finest performances in years.  And Mark Strong (Lord Blackwood in "Sherlock Holmes") is about all anyone needs as nasty villain Sir Godfrey.

At two hours and 20 minutes, "Robin Hood" indulges itself too long on screen.  Technically it's on target, though, if you appreciate boiling oil dumped on soldiers and enough flying arrows to block out the sun at times.  Generally, however, Scott and Crowe are both on top of their  game.

And the game here is tweaking a mystery folk hero into a bankable new epic movie franchise.

The old man and the siege

 
Oddly, it's the fact that "Harry Brown" is reality based that justifies 77-year-old Michael Caine in the role of a neighborhood vigilante.

Let's face it, no one would buy the two-time Academy Award winner as a fantasy fighter for justice as sundown nears on a glorious career that includes "Alfie," "Educating Rita," "The Cider House Rules" and "The Weather Man," just to name a few.

In "Harry Brown," which I prefer to call "Dirty Harry Brown," Caine sets the dour tone quickly.  And he seems acutely at home as a severely depressed London widower living alone on the second floor of a London estate.  Don't let that word "estate" fool you.  In this country, we call them "the projects."

Harry lives in a time-ravaged slum that wears its graffiti like oozing, pock-marked facial blemishes.  Teen gangs rule with such force that Harry and other law-abiding citizens can't even walk through a tunnel to get to the store.  Even taking the long way around, they fear for their safety; perhaps even their lives.

Caine's Harry is a former Marine who long ago locked his war remembrances away.  He wears the weight of the world gone by one his face and has one friend left in the world.  Harry and Leonard (David Bradley) play chess as dust settles on all the fixtures (including Harry and Leonard) in the neighborhood pub.  

Even a best friend can offend, and Leonard does when he asks Harry if he ever killed anyone in the war.

First-time feature filmmaker Daniel Barber and screenwriter Gary Young ("Shooters") tip their hands a little too obviously with the death-related pub talk.  When the final straw falls, which everyone will see coming a mile away, Harry springs (OK, moseys) into action like Clint Eastwood when the neighborhood Detroit punks start messing with this "Gran Torino."

"Harry Brown" pushes the violence envelope for sure.  But these things do happen in real life.  So when Harry goes postal, so to speak, it's not completely out of left field.  It may be difficult to believe that an actor can bring nuance to a scene of explosive force.  Caine does that here as he investigates a character overflowing with remorse as well as rage.

In addition to Bradley (Argus Filch in the "Harry Potter" franchise) as Leonard, Emily Mortimer (Rachel in "Shutter Island") scores acting points as D.I. Frampton, the police detective who shows compassion under pressure.

This is a film that delivers as a character-driven thriller about an elder.  The appeal, however, is not limited to seniors.  Anyone who appreciates Caine's long extraordinary career will relish the depth he's still able to summon in every character he explores.

Caine had a long head start on dirty Harry.  He grew up in the very slums, or estates this drama wallows in.

05/07/2010

Acting, blazing action a blast in 'Iron Man 2'

The only problem with the first "Iron Man" two years ago was that director Jon Favreau fell into the trap of action extravaganza overkill.  The ultimate battle finale felt like it had more chapters than "War and Peace."

Favreau has learned his lesson.  "Iron Man 2," which rocks with pulsating action and outstanding acting (a rare combination), builds to a spectacular crescendo, then ends on an emotional human note.

In fact, the sequel takes a cue from comic book hero and competitor Superman.  The Man of Steel liked to whisk Lois Lane suddenly skyward and then park on a rooftop for a flirty, "Go ahead, kiss her" chat after the bombastic dust settled.

Screenwriter Justin Theroux's feature film debut came in the outrageously funny "Tropic Thunder," which drew Downey an Oscar nomination.  He takes some chances here that work, like letting this film's lead character get drunk and shame himself with birthday party angry rant.  From a bottom-out low often comes a rise to great heights, however.  Theroux's script manages that. 

"I am Iron Man," billionaire industrialist and former weapons dealer Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) proclaims during a press conference that comes at the end the first "Iron Man" and launches the sequel.  You're in for a robust two hours of "Holy s%#*!" action sequences, dandy performances and witty, if at times silly, dialogue.

Six months after the first adventure, admittedly egocentric Stark is flaunting his wealth, his "peacemaker" iron suit with rockets in the heels and his need for flaunting applause at Stark Expo.  His late father put on a similar chest-thumping dog and pony show first, looking a little like vintage Walt Disney talking about Tomorrowland.  Tony's flashy reboot, however, more closely resembles a slightly larger-than-life version of Apple CEO Steve Jobs bestowing the iPad on the world.

The government wants to take Stark's invention away.  So Stark proclaims to the Senate Armed Services Committee (with Garry Shandling chewing the scenery as Sen. Stern) that no possible threat exists that can rival Iron Man, so chill, America.  

Pretty soon after that, a Russian named Ivan Vanko (Mickey Rourke) whips up a lightning-whip knock-off version of the Iron Man technology and off we go into grand adventure.

Rourke, nominated for a Best Actor Academy Award in 2009 as the washed-up modern day gladiator in "The Wrestler," is perfectly cast as a vengeful Russian who's way smarter than he looks.

Vanco constantly chews on a toothpick, even when he's slicing race cars apart at the Monaco Grand Prix or plotting Stark's demise.  The camera loves Rourke's craggy face, and the veteran actor -- a survivor of good times and bad -- is rivaled by only one other toothpick chewer in the history of cinema.  That's Paul Newman.

"Iron Man 2," not unlike Stark's flashy computer gadgets, unlimited resources and, of course, the red-and-gold supersuit, borders on being an embarrassment of riches.  The technical effects astound even more this time than the first time around.

Downey, one of the finest actors working today for my money, is super and completely comfortable in the suit and out.  Like his character, Downey is a gifted man who has beat the odds to get where he is.

Few actors can still act engulfed in a formidable costume.  Downey, on screen during the Christmas holidays as the title character in "Sherlock Holmes," is one of them.  Perhaps the finest.

Gwyneth Paltrow returns as Stark's assistant "Pepper" Potts, and their verbal tête-à-tête is even more finely tuned than it was in '08.

Newcomers, who are all great, include Scarlett Johansson ("The Spirit," "Vicky Cristina Barcelona") kicking hiney and not taking names in a unitard as mystery lady Stark assistant Natalie Rushman.  Also, Sam Rockwell ("Everybody's Fine") struts his stuff quite well as a spoiled, jealous arms manufacturer.

Don Cheadle, nominated for an Oscar for "Hotel Rwanda" in 2004, takes over the role of military liaison Lt. Col. James "Rhodey" Rhodes seamlessly, like he belonged there all the time.  Cheadle is so good, in fact, that some "Iron Man" fans might be thinking, "Terrence Howard who?"

"Iron Man 2" falls just short of measuring up to the name of its parent franchise company, Marvel.  It's a blast of a superhero action sequel.  It's just that No. 2 must, by definition, revisit a cinematic world now familiar and, therefore, slightly redundant.

Come on 'Babies,' light my fire

Call me a cinematic crybaby if you must, but I was expecting a little more from "Babies," the documentary chronicling the development of newborns around the world over a two-year period.

Maybe I've been spoiled by British filmmaker Michael Apted's brilliant growth-spurt study of British lads and lasses in the "Up" series, which drops in on the subjects every seven years to update their life stories.

Before I get run out of town for failing to cheer the innocent gurgles of newborns in San Francisco, Tokyo, Mongolia and Namibia of "Babies,"  however, know that French director Thomas Balmès successfully captures first gurgles, early crawling and shaky steps in four distinctively different environments.

It's an unusual documentary, though, because there's no interaction between the filmmaker and his subjects.  We see young personalities emerge somewhat, but never do the parents utter a word to the filmmaker about their relationship with their new child.

It's a bit like a visit to a human zoo, really.  We get closeup views of little Hattie in San Francisco being given all the comforts a U.S. child can enjoy.  That contrasts abruptly (in fact, a little shockingly at times) with Ponijao, the eighth of nine children of the Namibian family.

Ponijao might just be the happiest baby of the foursome featured.  And that's despite crawling around in dirt much of the time and competing with flies for mother's milk.  Yet no narrator verifies the happiness of an African family in an environment that will seem not only remote, but primitive to many viewers.

This was all the brainchild of French producer/actor Alain Chabat, who played Napoleon in  "Night at the Museum:  Battle of the Smithsonian" last year.  Chabat, according to the film's press notes, thought it would be fascinating to watch vastly different newborns adjust to their surroundings, their families, their pets and the wide, wide world itself from the time they're born until they stand -- a little wobbly perhaps -- on their own feet.

I agree.  For some reason, however, the magic you might expect never really generates.  All four of the children are adorable, of course.  The awwwww factor is definitely present throughout.

But even as the Japanese and U.S. babies romp with their mommies in mother-child class groups and the two in the plains of Mongolia and a village in Namibia grow up in earthy, basic homes, the fascination level diminishes rapidly.

For all its promise, "Babies" makes 79 minutes feel like a near-eternity.  Let's put it this way.  The toddlers weren't the only ones who enjoyed a little nap time.