David Mamet’s scripts have always been packed with memorable lines. I just wouldn’t have called any of them aphorisms, particularly. No, the soundbites have been too edgy and cynical for aphorisms—not exactly the kinds of things you want to quote to your teens in order to build character; rather, they’ve been the kinds of things you might quote to your buddies at the bar in order to impress them with how worldly and tough you are.

Well, now we have Redbelt, Mamet’s foray into the world of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. If I hadn’t been holding my fancy-pants press booklet in my hot little hands immediately after the screening, I would have thought one of two things: Mamet has gone totally soft on us, and completely and utterly lost his gourd; or, This must be one of the most subtle works of cynicism I’ve ever seen.

Somewhat surprisingly, the film’s press kit clarifies that neither is the case. In fact, Mamet has actually not gone not soft; in fact, quite contrarily, he has gone hardbody, becoming a Jiu-Jitsu practitioner in his own right—and he’s neither lost his gourd nor sublimated his cynicism. No, it actually appears as if Mamet has found something he actually believes in: “a vision of correct moral behavior in all circumstances.” Sounds like something the characters in any number of Mamet’s plays and movies could have spoken, without ever personally accepting or believing it.

The hero of Redbelt, however, is a man clearly guided by his profound belief in such a vision. Moreso than any other character, it seems Chiwetel Ejiofor’s Mike Terry serves as the voice of Mamet. A proponent of “the code of the warrior,” as he puts it, Terry’s object is not to win (“Competition is weakening,” he says) but to prevail, and to prevail for a purpose: “Who controls the terms of the battle controls the terms of the peace.” Jiu-Jitsui is not a tool to bring others down, but a method of thinking—and conserving energy by harnessing the energy of one’s opponent—that prevents others from bringing you down.

And who, exactly, could possibly be interested in bringing Mike Terry down? He’s simply a martial arts instructor in an out-of-the-way dojo, training people not to win tournaments but—as with one police officer working toward his black belt—to overcome their own weaknesses and demons.

But when a pair of chance encounters brings Terry into conflict with both Hollywood high-rollers and local loan sharks, Terry’s principles become sorely tested. In order to save his dojo and his marriage—not to mention his reputation—he finds himself lined up to do that which he had passionately declared he would not do: compete on the undercard of the grand poobah of all Jiu-Jitsu matches… and he discovers that the sport—no, the philosophy—to which he has been so passionately devoted is as dirty as, well, Glengarry Glen Ross.

Ouch. What’s an honorable man to do? Suffice to say that Terry doesn’t go the route of Mamet’s Eliot Ness.

There are interesting subtexts to the story, which on its surface isn’t all that different from, say, Rocky or The Hustler. But Mamet’s not after something as specific as a “Jiu-Jitsu film” or as generalized as a commentary on honor. The subplot involving movie-star Chet Frank (played surprisingly dark and convincingly by Tim Allen) makes it clear that Mamet finds these principles specifically extensible to the practice of war… and thereby to filmmaking. Redbelt functions not only as story, but as an extended metaphor (“It’s about the artist in the big, bad world,” he told Sports Illustrated); and that’s a curious thing to find in a Mamet film, which, as a rule, are more concrete than abstract (if also mind-bending exercises in sleight of hand).

Here, also, there is a conspicuous absence of the hyper-eloquence and ellipses characteristic of Mamet dialogue. In fact, just when you’re expecting the Big Speech, you might just get silence (or merely a slap in the face); and just when you’re looking for the big Moment of Cynicism, you might want to be prepared for a deep swig of—would this be pushing it too far?—hope for the human condition.

This ain’t your mom and pop’s Mamet. But I’m not really sure whose it will be. It’s a well-acted, well-written character study; but Mamet’s body of work may have painted him into a corner with audience expectations.

If you’re ready to let Mamet out of his dark, interesting little box, Redbelt may pleasantly surprise you. But if the idea of sunny optimism coming from the bard of “the Chicago way” is just too much for you to contemplate, you might find (as I did) that this Redbelt fits Mamet a little too tightly. He might have done better to dish the material to a different director.

Redbelt is rated R for “strong language.” Seriously. Nothing else. And yet… Glengarry Glen Ross was also rated R for language, and this was nowhere near that strong. Either Ross should have been rated more strongly than R, or (as I believe) Redbelt should have gotten a PG-13. Your teens won’t hear anything worse here than they do in their locker rooms or hallways at school.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Greg viewed a promotional screener of Redbelt.