Film review: Iron Man 2 (12A)

Who is Iron Man? What is Iron Man? I only ask because in this sequel to the winning original we enter, by an unmarked side entrance, a philosophical debate along the lines of Trigger's broom (if the handle and the head have been changed, is it still the same broom?)

Not that the writers wrestled too long with the conundrum. I suspect they sat scratching their scalps with the butt end of a 2B and wondered where to go with the franchise till one grizzled vet slapped down his Venti Latte and piped up - Iron Man Two? I'm thinking... maybe... Two Iron Men?

So what is Iron Man? Is it the suit or is it the man? If Pea-Shooter without his pea-shooter was just a guy called Guy, could we all raise Bics to our lips and put an end to evil?

It's a telling question in terms of the plot because for much of the time Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr) isn't Iron Man. He isn't even Tony Stark.

Indeed, you're taken back to Will Smith's dissolute superhero Hancock for a parallel - a twisted vision of superpowers for rank and selfish pleasures.

Stark uses Iron Man to shoot cantaloupes tossed in the air by be-meloned blondes at a drunken party. He body-pops like some metallic MC Hammer. He does high kicks to heavy metal at his eponymous expo. He stretches his devilish charm to the limits of our tolerance.

Because Tony Stark, technological genius and flawed human being, is wrestling with mortality - and losing. He has less than a year to live because his life-saving heart gizmo is pumping him full of poison. So what's the point? He's "privatised world peace", so might as well get jiggy with it, as Will would say.

So Don Cheadle, all American hero Lt Col James Rhodes, takes a spare suit and becomes Iron Man for a while, temporarily relieving himself of sidekick duties to hand over the weapon to Uncle Sam (in the shape of Garry Shandling's smarmy senator) and his evil cohort-in-capitalism Justin Hammer (Sam Rockwell as a live-wire wacky corporate rival).

Little does the government know that Hammer has brought on board Ivan Venko (Mickey Rourke) who necessarily drags along his waspish alter-ego, Whiplash. Hammer wants to harness Venko's desire for revenge over Stark for the sins of his father but Venko's Whiplash has a bigger sting in mind.

God loves good genes. Robert Downey Jr and Mickey Rourke have traced similar lines in their private lives. The former emerges as a charismatic hunk, the other a bloated wreck. However, both are blessed with cinematic presence and although their performances are lessons in contrast (RDj is all bombast, wit and verbiage while the Rourkester is a mumblin', pick chewin' Rasputin) they are effortless scene stealers and make the not-inconsiderable Rockwell look like a mouse in the house.

There's a lesson in here somewhere about gender equality too. Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) nags and harries and worries till she's Marge Simpson in Manolos but Stark promotes her from PA to CEO to keep her fretting fruitful.

Meanwhile Scarlett Johansson gets to kick-ass and show the boys a thing or two but she has to change into a catsuit in the back of an Audi so that tells you something about the arc of post-feminist womanhood. Whatever. Did I tell you the bit about her changing into a catsuit?

Either way, the movie - slow and unsatisfying in patches - still packs a punch. An early encounter in which Whiplash slices through the field of a Monte Carlo race cars to reach Stark is a spectacle steeped in screen dollars while the final showdown between the Iron Men and Whiplash is a lesson (from director Jon Favreau) in how to put on screen a grand finale with tempo, verve and slick methods of dispatch.

Iron Man may save the day but Robert Downey Jr - again - saves the franchise. Are they the same thing? Put LeBeouf in the burgundy bodysuit and see how that works out for you.