Jabs, no knock-out in this boxing pic

A split-decision on the latest boxing movie, Hands of Stone.

With a drastically exceeding hairline, a thinning crop of gray hair and an almost frail appearance, Robert De Niro finally gives a real performance as legendary trainer Ray Arcel in Hands of Stone, a quick-hitting biopic about Roberto Duran, the Panamanian champion whose career peaked in a ferocious bout with Sugar Ray Leonard.

Venezuelan director Jonathan Jakubowicz presents Duran's story in a series of punchy if familiar episodes. A hungry street kid acquires wealth in the boxing ring, falls into the bloat of dissolution, loses sight of what's important and only finds renewed purpose by realizing that he must once again put on the gloves.

Any director who decides to make a boxing movie inevitably must shadow box with some heavyweight movie history, recent efforts such as Creed and, for contemporary audiences, the touchstone: Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull, which featured one of De Niro's greatest performances as boxer Jake LaMotta.

Jakubowicz may have thought that he was expanding the genre simply by focusing on a non-American boxer whose personality was formed in the mean streets of Panama. He also ties Duran's story to tensions between the US and Panama as Panamanians seethe with desire for true independence.

The story's arc generates enough momentum to make Hands of Stone watchable, but I'm not sure that Jakubowicz takes us deep inside Duran's story, which features a raw, energetic performance by Edgar Ramirez (Carlos) as Duran.

Ramirez leaves us with the impression that Duran was a man of recklessly expressed aggression, rage that stemmed from anger at a father who abandoned his family. As an impoverished kid, Duran was motivated by hunger, the kind that comes from missing meals. We're not talking metaphors here.

Much of the training provided by De Niro's Arcel involves trainer and boxer in a tug of war in which Arcel tries to persuade his charge that boxing involves more brain than brawn and that the best fighters employ strategy in their efforts. You need a plan for a fight that goes beyond jumping into the ring and letting the punches fly.

Arcel's approach often chafes against Duran's bravado and impatience, traits that allow him to win the love of a school girl (Ana de Armas) he meets on the streets and whom he sweeps up in a whirlwind courtship.

De Armas evolves from schoolgirl to embittered wife during the course of the movie with Jakubowicz eventually pushing the relationship into a furious, Raging Bull-style confrontation that suggests more than it delivers. It peters out quickly.

Subplots arise, but mostly come across as skimpy. John Turturro plays a New York gangster who wants to control the fight game. Ellen Barkin does what she can with a small and somewhat thankless role as Arcel's wife. With blonde hair and a thick voice, she might be taken for the embodiment of the Bronx, circa 1955.

Ruben Blades signs on as Carlos Eleta, a wealthy Panamanian who becomes Duran's manager. He handles the money end of Duran's career; Arcel does the training. Elena shoulders most of the blame for agreeing with promoter Don King (a credible Reg. E. Cathey) to a rematch that didn't allow the hard-partying Duran enough time to get himself back into shape.

Sugar Ray Leonard (Usher) comes across as a more stylized boxer who, at first, allows Duran to get inside his head. Duran insults Sugar Ray's wife with a crude taunt. It's all part of the fight game that culminates with a Las Vegas rematch in which Duran famously quit in the middle of the bout.

If you're hoping to come away with a greater insight into what made Duran throw in the towel, you may be disappointed. He knew he wasn't prepared? He didn't care? Winning the welterweight championship in the first fight diminished his drive?

It's reassuring to see De Niro give a full-bodied performance as a trainer with a clearly defined ethos about the sport of boxing. De Niro's scenes with Ramirez have real fire, and Ramirez makes you feel the burn in Duran's hunger.

So a split decision. Hands of Stone holds our interest, but never quite delivers the punch that would have made for a great boxing movie.

Maybe it's because we're in late August, but in the world of boxing movies, this one feels like an undercard bout i rather than a main event.

Catholic warriors on the march

If a superior historical movie is defined by its ability to infuse a subject with thought-provoking urgency, For Greater Glory mostly misses the mark.

Despite a ton of battle footage and an underdog story that pits a rebel army against a superior Mexican federal force, director Dean Wright's wannabe epic has the washed out blandness of a work that's ultimately limited both by a diffuse script and by its faith-based commitments.

Overly long at two hours and 20 minutes, For Greater Glory revolves around an obscure chapter in Mexican history, the bloody Cristero War that took place between 1926 and 1929 and which saw a group of Catholics take arms to preserve their right to practice their religion.

Mexican president Flutarco Calles, an excellent Ruben Blades, becomes the primary oppressor. The screenplay depicts Calles as a cruel and zealous upholder of the Mexican constitution of 1917 which contained a variety of anti-clerical strictures designed to limit the power of the Catholic Church. In practice, foreign priests were deported, some priests were murdered and churches were desecrated.

A scattered story tries to find focus in the person of General Gorostieta Velarde (Andy Garcia), a retired military officer who's asked to lead the rebel forces. Though skeptical about Catholic dogma, Velarde believes in religious freedom. He ultimately takes the job.

A bland Garcia doesn't do enough with the doubt that must have wracked a man such as Velarde, who -- according to the movie -- eventually was moved to reaffirm his Catholicism by a 12-year-old boy's Christ-like sacrifice.

Several familiar faces crop up in supporting roles. Looking as if he might at any moment be blown away by a stiff wind, a frail Peter O'Toole appears as a priest who's executed by the Federales. And Bruce Greenwood shows up as the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, a diplomat trying to broker a peace that serves U.S. interests.

The For Greater Glory trailer makes a big deal out of the fact that Eva Longoria appears in the movie. Longoria sheds the desperate housewife trappings of her TV fame to become the devout wife of General Velarde: Because Velarde spends most of the movie away from his family, Longoria doesn't get all that much screen time.

Earnest to a fault, For Greater Glory doesn't look hard enough at the contradiction within the rebel forces; i.e., fighting and killing to practice a religion built around the teachings of Christ. A warrior priest played by Santiago Cabrera might well have received more attention, perhaps at the expense of yet another battle.

Now, as for the movie's religio-political agenda: A Washington Post article published on May 24 reported that "For Catholics enraged by the Obama administration’s proposed contraception mandate, the film about the Mexican church’s fight in (the) 1920s is a heartening and timely cinematic boost in the American church’s battle to preserve 'religious freedom' in 2012."

I wouldn't classify For Greater Glory as entirely propagandistic nor do I think that the film will ignite Passion of the Christ levels of controversy, but, as the Post article suggests, even with an "R" rating, For Greater Glory dovetails with the objectives of some Catholic organizations. The Knights of Columbus, for example, devotes an on-line page to resources for promoting the movie.

Some will see all of this as an enhancement, but even those in total synch with the movie's values may find themselves growing antsy during its long march to glory.

Sifting through the wreckage of 'Safe House'

This action-oriented blur of movie relies on Denzel Washington to hold it together.

A desk-bound CIA rookie comes into contact with some of the agency's more questionable practices. As a result, he begins to understand that the action for which he has been longing comes with a steep price, an acceptance of ethical expediency that can undermine anyone's humanity.

That kind of situation surely would make for an interesting movie. Unfortunately, Safe House -- which focuses on the relationship between a CIA novice (Ryan Reynolds) and a former agent gone rogue (Denzel Washington) -- is not that movie.

Safe House is a jumbled mishmash of action wrapped around a strained plot that's given a bit of extra cache by a strong cast that -- besides Reynolds and Washington -- includes Brendan Gleeson, Vera Farmiga, Ruben Blades, Sam Shepard and Robert Patrick, actors who, for the most part, are present without making a big impression. Most of the supporting cast hangs out in a media-heavy control room at CIA headquarters.

If you find the movie intermittently confusing, blame David Guggenheim's muddle of a script and director Daniel Espinosa's frenzied direction. Bruising car chases and vicious fights are spewed across the screen in fragmented, hand-held chunks that ape the visual incoherence of some of the set pieces in the Bourne movies and which seem to have become the fashion in too many editing suites. (Here's a quick, but helpful FYI: Richard Pearson, who did the editing here, also edited The Bourne Supremacy.)

Reynolds portrays Matt Weston, a CIA agent who’s working in a low-grade post in Cape Town, South Africa. Matt’s life changes when Washington’s Tobin Frost -- a former agent who has wandered way off the reservation -- surrenders at a U.S. consulate. Frost is brought to Weston’s safe house for interrogation sessions, which include water boarding.

As the interrogators ply their morally dubious trade, the safe house is attacked by an unidentified group of invaders, a development that puts Weston and Frost on the run. Weston's supposed to keep Frost safe so that he can be questioned and prevented from doing further harm to the agency and to the U.S. interests its supposed to protect.

The rest of the movie proceeds in an action-oriented blur. Reynolds functions as a kind of straight man to Washington, who delivers another wily performance as a savvy, manipulative sociopath who knows every trick in the book. Why not? He seems to have helped write it.

At one point, Frost overpowers Westen and puts a gun to his head; he spares the young man's life while simultaneously insulting his prowess. Frost says he only kills professionals. It's tough to top Washington when it comes to thee kinds of obvious "power" moments, but I found myself hoping he soon finds a script that's challenging in a totally different way.

The pounding pace of Safe House doesn't allow much time for reflection. That’s a good thing because the action can be as puzzling as it is improbable, all of it undergirded by the predictably cynical notion that the CIA is as devoted to treachery and betrayal as it is to gathering useful intelligence.

Safe House could have benefited from more useful intelligence itself. Instead, the movie coasts on pre-digested attitudes, Washington’s undeniable appeal and lots of punishing action. Before it's done, just about every character in Safe House takes some sort of beating. So, finally, do we.