Don't drink and fly.

Well, to anybody actually anticipating that post about Cloud Atlas I promised a few days ago, it is still coming. I've just been busier than I anticipated this week. In the meantime, however, I got caught up on a couple of last week's new movies: Flight and The Man with the Iron Fists. I thought one was great and the other abysmal. You'll never guess which.

First off, Robert Zemeckis' new drama Flight is the story of an airplane pilot who, when his aircraft begins falling apart mid-air, crash-lands it in a startling way that begins by turning the thing upside down. This scene rivals Argo's finale in terms of intensity, and in any other movie probably would have been the highlight. In this film though, it takes place pretty much right at the beginning and becomes the jumping point for a story of genuine emotional anguish that is headlined by a brilliant performance from Denzel Washington as Captain Whip Whitaker.

At the very start of the picture, we see Whip waking up from an all-night drinking session, quickly snorting up some cocaine and jumping into the pilot's chair without any hesitation. Denzel Washington is so amazing in this role because he brings it something we don't typically see in a drug dependency character: a downright unnerving calm. Whip is an alcoholic and drug addict without shame or remorse, and literally turns from a slobbering invalid flopping on the floor into a confident smooth-talker who is perfectly capable of flying a plane. Most of the movie revolves around an upcoming hearing that will determine the fault of the crash, whether it be machine or pilot error. Everyone knows that it was the plane that broke down and that the captain was drunk, even having had drinks during the flight, but the question isn't whether or not he had control of his faculties, but whether or not he is a criminal for risking it.

Flight is a fascinating film from a morality standpoint. Its story, a captivating original screenplay by John Gatin, asks questions we never would have thought of and goes places we didn't think it could. This is not your grandparents' inspirational movie, and there are some moments that are truly shocking. To make things even better, there is a great supporting cast that includes Don Cheadle as a no-nonsense lawyer determined to let Whip walk, John Goodman as an amusing drug dealer who seems to have skipped the last three decades entirely and Kelly Reilly as a heartbreaking former heroin addict who falls for Whip, but can't stand by while he destroys himself.

As great as these characters are, they are somewhat overshadowed by the silent chaos of Denzel Washington's acting, which raises an already great movie even higher. Flight would have worked no matter who it starred, but with Washington it has a guaranteed place as one of the best films of the year.

The Man with the Iron Fists, on the other hand, is the most miserable thing currently playing. It stars "singer" RZA, who also made his directorial debut here, as a blacksmith in a small Chinese village, who makes weapons for folks. Lucy Liu also stars as the madam of a brothel, which is visited by a British soldier "on vacation," played by Russel Crowe. The story involves a "Lion clan," the leader of which was Gold Lion who was killed by Silver Lion who now is going around terrorizing the village with his evil tyranny. Then there's something about some gold that Silver Lion wants that Madam Blossom has, but doesn't want to part with. The blacksmith also gets his hands cut off at one point, which forces him to attach new iron ones, hence the title.

As you may be able to tell, I did not enjoy this movie. The whole thing makes no sense and has no point, and is all done with the tongue halfway in cheek. Some of the movie seems intentionally silly for the purpose of parody or homage. If this is the case, it seems to me that RZA and company have no real knowledge of the genre they're parodying or paying homage to. I suspect that the movie grew more from a cut-out pop culture understanding of martial arts movies than from a love of the style itself. This could have easily been a rap music video. On the other hand, I get the distinct impression that the movie is actually not supposed to be silly, but seriously cool. If that is the case, it failed so much. I not only couldn't keep up with what the movie was even doing, I never cared if I did.

 RZA is obviously incompetent as a film-maker, since his first feature jumps right into the territory of indulgence. I can only assume that he at least thought that what he was doing was neat-o, though I can't imagine anyone else being truly in on the joke. Anyone, that is, except for Russel Crowe, who is the only actor in the whole movie who brought along a surprising whimsy to his character, rather than the forced eccentricity of the others. The movie, which admittedly may have had good-looking art design, was also hideously filmed. Most shots stay uncomfortably close-up, only going wide when there's nothing to see, and others are framed so poorly, they may be interpreted as intentionally humorous, but I strongly suspect they're just bad.

If all that weren't enough to condemn The Man with the Iron Fists, it is particularly lacking in the logic department. There is a main character who comes and goes in the movie without any purpose that I can remember, whose skin can turn into metal or something, making him almost unbeatable. How he became like this, how he is inevitably defeated, or what he's doing in the movie at all remains a mystery. There is also a bizarre scene during the final battle that takes place in a room of mirrors that nobody would have had any earthly reason for building. Some of you will not take my advice to ignore this movie's existence and will see it based on the pretense that it will be fun. Please save yourself some time and trust me. It isn't.