Stark lives in a cliff-hanging Malibu mansion with a gigantic basement that serves as his toy room and his laboratory his private jet comes equipped with female flight attendants who double as in-flight pole dancers. Sporting a neat, dark Vandyke beard that cuts the air like a knife and complements his glittering black eyes, Downey plays Tony Stark, a billionaire arms manufacturer and playboy. But Downey, who completely dominates the whooshing junk pile that is “Iron Man,” is on his own wavelength, and he turns the movie into a hundred-and-eighty-five-million-dollar put-on. Michael Keaton and George Clooney, in the “Batman” series, brought an instinct for satire to comic-book movies, giving their mock-stentorian lines a twist. In the past twenty years or so, Robert Downey, Jr., has gone through the following stages: a good young actor with a melancholy smile a good young actor who was also a drug addict, jailbird, and insurance risk and now, no longer young, an actor who may become the first genuine hipster star since Robert Mitchum and Marlon Brando.
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