THREE KINGS

THREE KINGS

Directed by David O. Russell. Starring George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg, Ice Cube

DON'T LET the trailer put you off - David O.Russell's third feature is by some distance the most deceptively radical "war movie" to emerge from Hollywood in my living memory, and if it manages to snare a few Rambo enthusiasts in its subversive web, it will deserve a certain immortality.

The Gulf War may seem very risky territory for an out-and-out comedy, but Russell - the man who brought us Flirting With Disaster - somehow manages to stay on the right side of tastefulness without toning down his trademark quasi-slapstick style. In the process, Three Kings hammers home a few powerful points about the insane evil of warfare while assiduously avoiding any hint of sombre seriousness - it's quite some achievement, and it should hold up to repeated viewing.

As the Gulf War nears its end, a gang of bored US soldiers prowl the desert, disappointed at the lack of first-hand action they've witnessed thus far . . . when one of them spots an Iraqi in the distance, shoots him Space Invaders-style and gleefully registers his first taste of blood. While strip-searching another Iraqi, the crew discover a map stashed up his arse, which contains directions to a bunker where Saddam Hussein has hidden gold bullion reserves he appropriated from the Kuwaiti sheikhs - the gang's leader, Major Archie Gates (Clooney) then talks his team into tracking down the gold.

En route, they encounter no resistance whatsoever from Saddam's troops, who are far too busy suppressing a rebel uprising - while Clooney and crew slowly develop consciences during the course of their journey, and end up undergoing profound conversions.

Mark Wahlberg's mercenary squaddie alters his outlook radically as the drama develops, partly thanks to some severe torture meted out by a crack Republican Guard, while Clooney provides the film's human and moral centre. By the close of play, the gang's assumptions have all been completely stood on their head, as they incur the wrath of their own army - Three Kings provides a savage indictment of Allied cynicism without once resorting to a sanctimonious, preachy tone. Nor does it need to: the film's occasional horrific visual flourishes (including an astonishing close-up illustration of what happens when a bullet enters a gut) are more than sufficient to demonstrate the unspeakable evil at the heart of the whole episode, and remain seared into the memory-banks long after the smart but flip dialogue has been forgotten.

But Three Kings' real genius lies in its uncanny ability to remain unerringly hilarious throughout, while atrocities and environmental catastrophes are taking place left, right and centre. The credit for this is chiefly due to its determinedly screwball tone and culture-literate script, with side-splitting asides on matters such as Michael Jackson's plastic surgery, which never quite manage to deflect attention from the deeply tragic context of the film's setting.

Funny, upsetting, brainy, harrowing - and a hell of a lot of fun - this is quite the most original and unique war movie ever commited to celluloid. Check it out.

RATING: HHHHH