David Mamet has never been a softy. The plays that made his reputation in the ’70s and ’80s — Sexual Perversity in Chicago, Glengarry Glen Ross, Speed-the-Plow — were swift, brutish and often nakedly hostile. In the movies he’s written and directed, he’s often favoured the sort of lone-wolf protagonist — Joe Mantegna in Homicide, Gene Hackman in Heist, Val Kilmer in Spartan — who’d rather finish a conversation with a punch than yet another of Mamet’s bulletproof two-word sentences.

Back in March, Mamet earned some flak over a Village Voice essay named “Why I Am No Longer a ‘Brain-Dead Liberal.’” Yet it was  hard to imagine a guy with such a pitch-black take on the human condition ever being confused for Ed Begley Jr. (Just as unlikely was Mamet’s unspoken notion that the editors of the National Review had been clamouring for his allegiance: “Jeez, if we could only get that Oleanna guy on side, we’d have it all wrapped up!”)

So the idea of Mamet making an action-heavy film set in the world of mixed martial arts ain’t so ridiculous as it first appears. Nor is the news that Mamet has been studying Brazilian jiu-jitsu for five years; the man has always been about discipline, about the warrior code, about the path of the righteous, dammit. No, what’s ridiculous is the movie. A stiff cocktail of MMA-is-the-way-of-the-future hype, ’40s-fight-flick hokum and movie-biz self-loathing all delivered in typically terse Mamet-speak, Redbelt is hard to take seriously even before it careens into the most ludicrous final reel since Neil LaBute and Nicolas Cage went off the rails of The Wicker Man’s crazy train. Yet it’s also irresistibly compelling due to the sincerity of its convictions and the size of its cojones. Every time the movie seems ready to expire, it gets back up off the mat and heads back into the fray.

Mamet also has the advantage of enlisting actors up for a challenge. Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Mike Terry, a noble-minded jiu-jitsu teacher who runs a Los Angeles studio with his wife Sondra (Alice Braga). After protecting a boozy actor (a right-on-the-money Tim Allen) in a bar fight, he gets involved with a shady movie producer (Joe Mantegna). What Mike doesn’t realize is that he’s being drawn into a con that will eventually force him to overcome his contempt for the increasingly commercialized MMA world and fight for his survival.

Mamet’s own teacher, Renato Magno, was Redbelt’s fight choreographer. The cast is also populated by some of the MMA’s most revered fighters and instructors, most of whom are easier to recognize than the long-AWOL Jennifer Grey in a minor role — even Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini is in here somewhere. Such is the pungent aroma of man-sweat permeating most scenes, it’s no wonder Emily Mortimer (playing a lawyer who becomes Mike’s student and helper) seems perennially on the verge of wilting away.
 
Viewers who dare to resist the barrage of plot contrivances and implausible characters will eventually regret their decision to put up a fight. It’s far better to give in to Mamet’s submission hold and let your brain get by on a little less oxygen.