Iron Man

Parker had a sleepover last Friday night, and Saturday morning once we had been to the St Lawrence Market for shopping, then done a bit of recreational shopping, we went to see Iron Man on a whim at the new AMC Theatres at Yonge and Dundas downtown. Parker's initial review of the building itself was a treat and a half: "When did THAT land?" he asked me.

So. Iron Man. Arms dealer Tony Stark, played by a newly clean and sober Robert Downey Jr, has for the most part been able to wash his hands of what people did with the weapons his company produces until the day comes where he is captured by terrorists. With his eyes opened to what has happened, he makes a clunky metal suit and escapes, then returns to his home in the States, renounces the products his company makes, and goes on a one-man crusade to rid the world of those weapons. And he does it in a sleek yet powerful suit of gold and crimson. And he is dubbed "Iron Man" by the media.

As superheros go, Tony Stark is no Superman, nor Spiderman, not even an X-Man; he's just a guy with a vision, which is more like Batman. I won't say he's that smart; he's brilliant enough to build his metal suit, but he had his head in the clouds if he didn't grasp what the far-reaching effects of manufacturing weapons would be, and it takes having one of them pointed at him for his eyes to be opened. And like Bruce Wayne, he's got enough money to afford to be a crusader, although as memory serves, his identity was never really a secret; he starts by leting his buddy in the military in on the secret, and then his secretary, Miss Pepper Potts (played by Madonna's yoga buddy Gwenyth Paltrow in her first role in years) clues in.

What did we think? Parker said "This is a really good movie!", which to me says it did what it set out to do. I forgive all the nonsense from The Phantom Menace on this same criteria; if a child enjoys it, then you reached someone. Me, I wished they could have turned the sound down a notch in the theatre. I'm not as young as I used to be, and now going to 11 means staying up late, not making my ears bleed.

That is all.