In theaters

LARA CROFT TOMB RAIDER: THE CRADLE OF LIFE, directed by Jan de Bont, written by Dean Georgaris, 116 minutes, rated PG-13.

In the new action movie, “Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life,” Angelina Jolie, in full pucker, comes out swinging again as Lara Croft, star of video games and countless boys’ imaginations, the one person you want on your side should the world ever hang in the balance by the discovery of, oh, say, Pandora’s Box.

The film, which Jan de Bont directed from a script by Dean Georgaris, is a vast improvement over its impenetrable 2001 predecessor.

It may not capture the spirit of the Indiana Jones movies it emulates, but it does have its clever moments, a tighter focus and an improved sense of humor, such as when Croft coldcocks a shark just as it’s about to devour her or when she parachutes into a moving jeep because not doing so would have disappointed the driver.

Not to mention audiences, who see in Croft a female James Bond.

If the energy of a new director and writer strengthens the film, then so does Jolie. Breathing life into a gathering of pixels best known for their concentration around Croft’s breasts can’t be easy, so it’s to Jolie’s credit that she makes Croft so watchable in spite of a franchise that’s only just beginning to make her interesting.

In the film, Croft is busy crisscrossing the globe in spandex again, this time in an effort to stop an evil scientist named Reiss (Ciaran Hinds) from getting his hands on Pandora’s Box – the origin of all life, we’re frequently told – which is tucked deep within the mountains of Africa and protected by scores of warriors and tree-dwelling monsters.

Should Reiss claim the box, he plans to rid the world of those he finds undesirable, which, given his haughty air, appears to be just about everyone.

To help her stop him, Croft reluctantly enlists the help of a former lover – the rakish Terry Sheridan (Gerard Butler) – an untrustworthy chap whose passion for Lara is so great, it becomes a subplot, with Lara questioning whether she can trust him – and fall in love with him – amid all the unfolding chaos and growing sexual tension.

From the Greek isle of Santorini to the Great Wall of China, the skyscrapers of Hong Kong to the mountains of Kenya, and various stops in between, “The Cradle of Life” is a restless movie that travels for the sake of travel. It hangs its plot over the shoulders of several continents not because it makes sense to do so but because the views are great.

Nicely shot and reasonably brisk, with a handful of stunts that surpass anything in the first film, “The Cradle of Life” is another post-feminist punch to the heart of summer, with Jolie’s Croft joining Charlie’s angels in taking on the bad guys of the world, only proving that she’s eminently more qualified to do so.

Grade: B

On video and DVD

THE QUIET AMERICAN, directed by Phillip Noyce, written by Christopher Hampton and Robert Schenkkan, 100 minutes, rated R.

Deftly balancing its politics with its personalities, “The Quiet American” is a first-rate drama with real power.

It begins in Saigon in 1952 – that’s the first sign of trouble. It’s twilight. In the foreground is a river, on which are a clutch of boats, and in the background is the city, stretching low along the waterfront and glowing gold. Barely visible along the horizon are missiles lighting up the summer sky and slamming into unseen targets. Like corks, they pop.

Over this surreal fizz comes the voice of Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine), a British correspondent for the London Times who’s in Saigon to cover the French colonial conflict and – eventually and unwittingly – the full weight of the Vietnam War.

“I can’t say what made me fall in love with Vietnam,” Fowler says as the bombs drop and the river sparkles. “But at night, there’s a breeze and the river is beautiful.”

That is, of course, until an ungainly young idealist from Boston, Alden Pyle (Brendan Fraser), is mysteriously stabbed to death and thrown into the river, turning it red with his blood.

The film, from a script Christopher Hampton and Robert Schenkkan based on Graham Greene’s 1955 novel, was directed by Phillip Noyce, who lingers on the wound in Pyle’s back before reaching back into the past to uncover how it got there.

In an extended flashback, the film chronicles how Pyle met Fowler, how the two men befriended each other over tea at the Continental Hotel, and how they eventually came to fight for the affection of Fowler’s mistress, Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen), a beautiful Vietnamese taxi-dancer Fowler saved from enslavement.

Since no good can come from such a romantic triangle, it doesn’t.

Unlike Joseph Mankiewicz’s 1958 adaptation of the book, Noyce, an Australian, doesn’t sugarcoat Greene’s prescient story or his suggestion that sometimes Americans aren’t always where they ought to be. Indeed, as Greene saw it, a wealth of good American intentions can sometimes lead to divisive results, a connection to the present that will undoubtedly resonate with some.

Grade: A

Christopher Smith is the Bangor Daily News film critic. His reviews appear Mondays and Fridays in Style, Thursdays on WLBZ 2 and WCSH 6, and are archived on RottenTomatoes.com. He can be reached at BDNFilm1@aol.com.