Perhaps because it began so late in the history of culture, cinema has always exhibited a close, complicated, and even reciprocal relationship with other arts. The number of motion pictures dependent on previous works in other forms probably exceeds those that began life, so to speak, as themselves. Countless films grow out of novels, nonfiction books, short stories, newspaper and magazine articles, plays, poems, and songs; more recent developments in media and technology provide additional sources, so that comic strips, comic books, television shows, and video games now routinely undergo translation from their original incarnation to the big screen.

Movies based on other works not only enjoy the advantage of an established form, a sort of template for a script, but also benefit from the existence of an audience already familiar with the original and thus presumably interested in seeing its film adaptation. As usual in the film industry, the opportunity for profit outweighs any artistic consideration anyway, so the notion of repeating a success seems entirely logical.

The latest translation from one medium to another, "Speed Racer," suggests that the profit motive overruled everything else. Based on a television cartoon using some of the techniques of Japanese graphic novels and animation (manga and anime), it appeals directly to fans of the prototype, who, judging by its intellectual and emotional content, must all reside in a demographic slot somewhere between the ages of 12 and 15. In keeping with the rigid strictures of the warm weather blockbuster, moreover, the movie depends almost entirely on its array of colorful special effects.

Andy and Larry Wachowski wrote and directed "Speed Racer," which represents something of a departure from the grand pretension and muddled metaphysics of their best known work, the "Matrix" series. While the new movie avoids most of the mysticism and mumbo-jumbo of those films, it retains some of their penchant for cornball pronouncements delivered with Old Testament solemnity and the sort of ersatz emotionalism that forms the stock in trade of the soap operas. Whether that combination will prove irresistible to the audience for manga and anime seems problematic.

The movie's preposterous plot involves a family named Racer dedicated to automobile racing who face a special challenge. The father (John Goodman) designs and builds sleek race cars and his son, Speed (Emile Hirsch) drives them; an older son, Rex, died in a crash in a Grand Prix race, a tragedy that devastated the family. Now young Speed, a gifted driver, intends to enter the Grand Prix himself, driving a special car built by his father; although an evil coalition of industrialists and corrupt drivers try to thwart his plans, he and a masked competitor known as Racer X team up to defeat all the bad guys.

And that's about it. The plot moves with a sort of moronic simplicity, the characters behave as if conceived by a Cub Scout troop, and the actors perform with an air of intense embarrassment, as if hoping nobody really was watching and listening to them. The whole enterprise reveals the stunning superficiality of the vaunted manga and anime, as well as the filmmakers' troubling assessment of the intelligence of its presumed audience.

The special effects, which really must carry the picture, consist mostly of spectacular, amazingly bright colors flashed at a remarkable rate of speed as the streamlined racing cars careen around impossible roller coaster tracks. Watching it feels like being trapped in some combination of video game and pinball machine; together with the technique of placing actors against constantly changing backgrounds during flashbacks, conversations about the past, memories and dreams, the whole sensory overload obliterates any sense of humanity from the film - it amounts to a brightly colored kaleidoscope of mere cardboard.

Two accomplished actors, Susan Sarandon and John Goodman, appear painfully out of place and evoke only a sort of weary sympathy - no doubt large paychecks compensate for any amount of humiliation. The most striking performer in the film, someone named Benno Fürman, plays a villain who looks very like the obnoxious Christopher Hitchens, speaking with that journalist's upper-class condescension and juicy Oxonian accent, which makes him about the most enjoyable bit of comedy in the whole sorry business. 

Speed Racer

(PG), written and directed by the Wachowski brothers

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