Before you get all uppity about the political incorrectness of the title of Anthony Hopkins’ latest film I should point out that the Indian in question (yes, an actual Red Indian if you want to carry your moral outrage even further) isn’t a Native American at all (much like Sean Penn’s 1991 film The Indian Runner had very little to do with Comanche couriers). Neither is it a pentathlon piece about Florence Griffith Joyner (aka “The Fastest Woman in the World”) or a biopic about Barrett Deems (aka “The World’s Fastest Drummer”) or even an anthropological study of indigenous Eskimos (see: Atanarjuat, The Fast Runner). No, it’s simply the true-life story of one Burt Munro, a cuddly old duffer from way Down Under (Invercargill, New Zealand to be exact) and his dream of racing his 1920 Indian Scout motorcycle–a red one at that–on the great salt flats at Bonneville, Utah. Now I’ve seen Hopkins in a lot of stuff and I thought I’d seen him portray them all, from Nixon to C.S. Lewis to the fava bean-loving psychopath Dr. Hannibal Lecter. But here he is again digging deep and coming up with something new, a slightly dopey, heavily distracted aging obsessive who touches just about everyone he meets on his trek from the bottom of the world to the Great Salt Lake in order to race his beloved bike during Speed Week. It’s a lovingly restored fable, much like Burt’s 600cc motorcycle itself, by New Zealander Roger Donaldson (The Recruit) and while the film’s title leaves a lot to be desired, Hopkins’ indelible performance makes The World’s Fastest Indian a dream worth chasing.