Of all the megabudget effects franchises, the slick, well-oiled Iron Man might be the hardest to get a purchase on. He’s guaranteed to make a fortune, but this hero in a metal suit doesn’t have the emotional accessibility of Spider-Man, Batman’s growling rage, or even the lunkheaded sensibility of a Transformer.
It doesn’t help that there’s a near-complete visual disconnect between our flying tin man and Robert Downey Jr, who plays billionaire arms entrepreneur Tony Stark. The computer-generated superhero, with his aerial pyrotechnics and stern, implacable mask, occupies a different movie altogether from Downey, whose job is to wallow slyly in wealth and entitlement, and then sit back when the whizzy graphics take over.
With his new-found bankability and knowingly debauched charm, Downey’s absolutely the right star to do this. He’s essential to everything that’s pretty entertaining about Jon Favreau’s Iron Man 2 – basically, its winking awareness of what an obscenely expensive corporate product it is in itself. Like Stark’s many toys and gizmos, it cost a bomb – $200 million – and, like Stark Industries, it’s simply too big to fail.
When the series’ running gags are about Stark’s inexhaustible passion for hardware, his tendency to trash his ludicrous playboy pad without so much as wincing, and all the dough he’s generally rolling in, it’s no surprise that “more is more” is the governing principle of this unrestrained sequel.
More is often more. Mickey Rourke, as a lugubriously-accented Russian baddie called Whiplash, counts as more, even if you can practically see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. Sam Rockwell, enjoyably smarmy as a rival manufacturer, is right up at the “more” end – he gets the single best scene, delivering a rhapsodic encomium to a state-of-the-art warhead that I guarantee will find a permanent home on YouTube.
But more can be less, too. Not so much a case of too many cooks as too many new ingredients, this invites ominous comparisons to the cluttered and alienating Spider-Man 3. The plot has to shuttle Stark between all manner of conflicts at once.
He’s being set upon by Whiplash because of a badly explained grudge, trying not to relinquish his patents to the US military, needing to prevent Rockwell’s Justin Hammer plagiarising his weapon-suits, and falling out with reluctant sidekick Rhodey (Don Cheadle, replacing Terrence Howard) over Tony’s irresponsible penchant for drunken target practice. If this weren’t enough, the palladium core that both powers his suit and keeps shrapnel out of his heart is slowly killing him.
That’s a lot of fiddly gripes for a single hero to micro-manage, and a movie with no dominant threat or storyline to juggle competently. Plus, there’s Scarlett Johansson, greedily drafted in as a legal aide/secret agent called Black Widow, and so obviously there to up the film’s booty quotient she gets nothing to do but pout, perform a few swivel kicks, and irritate Gwyneth Paltrow.
However much Justin Theroux’s script fails in oomph terms (pretty badly), it’s full of good banter and throwaway grace notes; though not as turbo-charged as the original, it’s funnier and less politically off-putting. The set pieces, particularly an abrupt contretemps during the Monaco Grand Prix, and a clanking set-to between Tony and Rhodey, are handled with a nicely flippant showmanship, without the heaving desperation of most effects showdowns to outdo every other blockbuster in history.
If the movie often borders on smug, it’s equally happy to be only lightly reverent to the comics it’s based on. And I’d defend it as smug on purpose – one long, high-fiving in-joke about its own sure-fire success.
Movies are a wonderful form of entertainment, and for Christians, are a great way to affirm faith and learn more about Christianity. Whether you’re looking for inspiration, drama, history, or just a good Christmas story, you’ll find what you’re looking for here. Check out our list to find 100 of the best Christian movies of all time.
Microsoft took the wraps off of
