They're a strange animal, these Lara Croft movies.  The first one – certainly no prize pig, nor anything I could recommend to anyone but my horniest friends – was lambasted by critics, who for some reason simply couldn't wrap their minds around a story that featured a bunch of over-the-top action sequences in a variety of exotic locales.  These are the same critics, mind you, who gush every time James Bond does the same thing, with considerably less style and originality.

I'm not sure whether they're all against the notion of a female Indiana Jones knockoff, or instantly turned off by the idea of a film based on a videogame, but Lara Croft: Tomb Raider was no worse than the last three Bond films (does anyone remember Denise Richards playing a nuclear scientist?).  You'd think these critics, who are mostly men, would be happier watching Angelina Jolie – an Oscar winner, by the way – on account of her being way more interesting, way easier on the eyes, and a way better actor than Pierce Brosnan.

Maybe they're hung up on the peripheral nonsense, which would certainly be understandable.  Stories of airbrushed nipples, lesbian affairs, feuds with Daddy, DIY stunts and the removal of both a tattoo (by powerful lasers) and 140 pounds of dead weight (by powerful lawyers) were plentiful in the weeks leading up to the release of Lara Croft: Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life, a title which Roger Ebert points out is still 10 letters shorter than Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. Life is slightly more solid than its predecessor, even though its third act degenerates into The Lord of the Rings as seen by M.C. Escher.

My biggest fear was that Life was going to be one big Jeep commercial, but that particular product didn't show up until said ill-fated last act (sadly, the same could be said of the mesmerizing actor Djimon Hounsou).  The story involves Lady Lara (Jolie, Life or Something Like It) hunting down Pandora's Box, which, of course, is also being pursued by a diabolical scientist named Dr. Jonathan Reiss (Ciarán Hinds, Road to Perdition).  Lara wants to protect the box, which contains the clap or something, while Reiss would rather throw it open just because he's into chaos and stuff.

The race leads our characters through Greece, East Asia and, eventually, Africa, thanks to a nifty hiding job by Alexander the Great (don't ask).  Lara busts an old boyfriend (Gerard Butler, Reign of Fire) out of prison to help her, gaining both a romantic interest and an almost steamy sex scene cut short by a line that would make Punch Drunk Love's Barry Egan crack a smile ("You can break my wrist, but I'm still going to kiss you"). Granted, I'd watch Jolie read a phone book, or maybe even the script to Gigli, but she's a blast to watch here, what with the shark punching and horseback riding and slinky outfits and Paltrow-quality accent. There's a ton of stuff that makes absolutely no sense, and the bad guy could be a bit more colorful but again, please grade using the Bond curve.

There are upgrades behind the scenes, too, with Jan de Bont replacing bland Michael Bay wannabe Simon West.  de Bont is aided here by one of the industry's best editors in Michael Kahn (a three-time Oscar winner who works with Spielberg) and cinematographer David Tattersall, who has shot Bond (Die Another Day) plus some enjoyable films (The Green Mile).

1:55 –

for action violence and some sensuality