Not so fast, you. I know that alloyed superheroes and creaky archaeologists are simpler to swallow if you nestle your brain amongst the wool sweaters and stash it away for the summer. But David Mamet's back, and the more grey matter you have at your disposal, the better. Cinema's leading practitioner of the confidence game ends his four-year screen absence with "Redbelt," a thrilling grift played out in the world of mixed martial arts. It would be easy to glance at the poster and dismiss "Redbelt" as a kung-fu movie, but it would also be a mistake. This is pure, uncut Mamet, starring Duplicity, Violence, Profanity, Sleight of Hand, and, possibly making its Mametian film debut, Hope.

The knockout Chiwetel Ejiofor (he was Denzel's brother in "American Gangster") plays Mike, an LA jiu jitsu instructor whose resolute senses of honor and generosity aren't paying the bills at his flatlining studio, much to the dismay of his harpy wife (Alice Braga, "City of God"). Drawn into Mike's serene, redemptive orbit are a wounded bird of a lawyer (Emily Mortimer, "Lars and the Real Girl") and a jaded Hollywood action star (Tim Allen?!)... or has he somehow been sucked into their selfish vortexes? That's the thing with Mamet; you never know what's chance and what's been staged, often wondering if someone's mother may have given birth to them just so they could be hornswoggled 30 years down the line.

Discussing Mamet without unraveling his twists is a chore, and, in all honesty, I'm tempted to mislead you so the surprises will remain surprising. Shot by "There Will Be Blood" Oscar winner Robert Elswit (the rousing fight scenes are a blend of gritty and glam), "Redbelt" features Mamet regulars like the fast-talking Ricky Jay, the oily Joe Mantegna, and, for a fleeting second, my secret, way-too-old-for-me crush Ed O'Neill. But Ejiofor is the anchor here, appearing in just about every scene, decent but not a sap, and totally looking like a master of Brazilian jiu-jitsu. A charismatic and compulsively watchable actor, Ejiofor will be a major star once we all learn how to pronounce his name.

A steadfast moral code sounds great in theory, but in the real world, it only prevails if everyone else is equally principled. (Spoiler alert! They never are.) The classic lone samurai, Mike's teachings at the dojo ("You know the escape") will resound throughout "Redbelt" as he swims upstream against a corrupt current. And even though Mike believes that "A competition is not a fight," it's pretty clear in which direction the film is headed the minute someone mentions $50,000 and an undercard. Now, I'm not sure how well the film's logic would fare upon a second viewing, and the finale seems abrupt and slightly cheesy, but most should walk out of "Redbelt" supremely satisfied. Or maybe none of this is true, and I'm just trying to Mamet you.

If you like pie and ice cream, then the opening credits of "My Blueberry Nights" might seem like porn, with close-ups of milky, vanilla-beaned goodness melting its way through a lusty heap of berries and pastry. Now, if you're a cake person, you'll likely be unimpressed. That's probably the most fitting metaphor available for the appeal of "My Blueberry Nights," Wong Kar Wai's follow-up to "2046" and his first English-language film, an intermittently successful stab at the good, old-fashioned American road movie.

Making a lackluster acting debut is singer Norah Jones as Elizabeth, a heartbroken New Yorker who divides her time between stalking an ex and bending Jude Law's ear. He plays Jeremy, a diner owner who listens to Elizabeth vent and feeds her pie, after which she tends to pass out like a narcoleptic toddler, ice cream all over her juicy mouth (speaking of metaphors...). She soon takes to the highway as a way to heal, surfacing in Memphis and getting entangled with a boozy couple. As channeled by David Strathairn and Rachel Weisz, Art and Sue Lynne are right out of a Tennessee Williams play, all drawl and shambles, him the tragic cuckold, her the swivel-hipped vamp, both done over the top but neither particularly compelling.

Natalie Portman gives "My Blueberry Nights" the shot it needs when she pops up as a Vegas-bound poker player who convinces Elizabeth to stake her with her savings. Charmingly blowzy, with dark roots and a sly smile, Leslie guides Elizabeth through the final leg of a journey that will eventually lead her - well, you know exactly where it will lead her. Elizabeth represents us, observing as life unfolds around her, deciding who to trust, and yearning - a common touchstone of Wong's - for what she had, and eventually for what she deserves.

Getting a look at these United States through foreign eyes is supposed to give us a fresh perspective on a lovely bit of real estate that we often take for granted. But these are Wong's peepers - by way of gifted cinematographer Darius Khondji, who's worked with everyone from Jean-Pierre Jeunet to Danny Boyle to David Fincher - which always means neon, rain, and choppy slow-motion shots. The sidewalks of New York don't look much different from those of the 1960's Hong Kong showcased in "In the Mood For Love." So while Wong fans will want a slice, others ought to hold out for something with a little more filling. 

Redbelt

(R), written and directed by David Mamet

Opens Friday

My Blueberry Nights

(PG-13), directed by Wong Kar Wai

Opens Friday