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It seems that `Saving Private Ryan' is casting a long shadow over war films. Once again, audiences are having the dubious pleasure of experiencing the `gross-out' opening battle sequence. In the case of `Enemy at the Gates' it certainly makes the point that the director, writer and cast think that war is a Bad Thing in general. After this, it seems the film would like to raise more complex moral questions about patriotism and propaganda, and most importantly whether we can ever sublimate individual desires to one collective goal. Indeed, Joseph Fiennes' multi-faceted performance as the Political Officer, militarily inept but skilled in creating a dream to motivate the citizens of Stalingrad portrays well the anguish of a small but perceptive cog in a very large system.

By contrast, Jude Law's bluff unpolished depiction of Vassily, the proletarian `Hero of the Revolution' who is incapable of really seeing the wider picture presents a remarkably unsophisticated answer to the questions raised by the immorality of the entire Soviet hierarchy (brilliantly portrayed by Bob Hoskins as an archetypally ruthless Nikita Krushchev before he learnt some skills of political diplomacy). This results in confusion for the sort of film-goer (like me) who likes either to clearly sort out in his or her mind who are the `goodies' and the `baddies' or to treat everyone on a level playing field. The problem was compounded by the fact that the crack German marksman (Ed Harris) recruited to duel with Vassily seemed equally charismatic and his superiors appeared equally amoral. But the German aristocrat's one act of appalling cruelty jars with the other hints that are dropped about his character (for example, the fate of his son) and certainly gave the impression that the writer felt that some clear red water was needed to distinguish nice Vassily from the nasty Nazi, with Joseph Fiennes' character acting as an unhappy medium. Yet the `happy ending' seemed forced too; are we really supposed to be pleased that Vassily was decorated for services to Stalin's state and helped indirectly to preserved the web of evil that nourished people like Krushchev?

However, if we do not delve too deeply into the moral justifications for the characters, `Enemy at the Gates' can be enjoyed as a directly told, well acted series of exciting set-piece duels in the great tradition of Hector and Achilles, Aeneas and Turnus and quite possibly Tom and Jerry- for I certainly wasn't meditating on the futility of warfare by the end of the film but cheering on Vassily by the end and hoping he would take out the horrible Kraut.

A note on the vexed question of accents: although Jude Law's Sarf Lundun twang gave me a surprise (especially as I had watched him play Lord Alfred Douglas in Wilde the previous night!) I don't see why it is alvayz necessary for Germanz to talk like zis in films simply to allow to slow-witted viewers to work out which country each character comes from. And yes, Bob Hoskins' amazing variable Moscow/Walthamstow dialect was a little off-putting. No doubt DVD on the box stood for Dick Van Dyke on this occasion. But isn't it far more important to have acting of good quality per se than to worry about whether an actor can pronounce the letter `v' as `w' and vice versa (or even wice wersa)?

Overall: B+++

Jeunet and Caro, with the help of their familiar repertory of actors, create a deeply disturbing and violent world where only a few shreds of conventional social mores remain. These scraps of morality only serve to delineate more clearly the overall decline and collapse of their dystopia. We see a butcher's shop; the proprietor, played by Jean-Claude Dreyfus, is evil almost to the point of caricature. He only manages to survive by killing his lodgers when they get behind with the rent and selling them as meat. However, the situation is given an added twist when we learn that all the lodgers are aware of this; a woman who is sold a joint of mother sheds a couple of stifled tears and mutters she would have liked to have said goodbye. Similarly, the butcher is most apologetic when he accidentally chops off the foot of one of his clients who has paid his rent in full.

Into this hellish world is placed someone with his moral values relatively intact. In this case, it is a circus performer played by the marvellously rubber-faced Dominique Pinon. A less engaging actor might have made this character seem two-dimensional, as he appears to have no faults whatsoever (except a set of over-mobile lips). He enthrals the lodgers' children with his games, is immensely chivalrous to the butcher's daughter and plays the musical saw. Finally, an old edition of his act is broadcast on the flickering black-and-white television, and even the most bloodthirsty lodgers are amazed and delighted. The butcher's jealousy is roused; Good and Innocence is forced to fight Evil and Hatred.

As such, the plot is relatively straightforward. It is the sheer surrealistic imagination that Jeunet and Caro bring to their films that prevent them being unremittingly bleak or simple morality tales. They display a brilliant sense of musical timing- the whole building frequently becomes an orchestra of creaking bed-springs, croaking frogs, and crackling radios; above all this soars a love-duet of a cello and a musical saw. The faded `look' of the film complements this. With the exception of a single television remote control, nothing here would be out of place in in a exhibition of 40s and 50s design. In `The City of Lost Children' the exuberance of the design threatens to swamp the slender storyline on occasions; here, the more `grown-up' themes and less fantastic design go hand in hand.

(A word of warning about the video release- the subtitles appear to have been written be a couple of Frenchmen who really ought to have concentrated harder in their English classes at school. Apart from that, I wholeheartedly recommend this joyously grotesque film.)

It would have been very easy for this film to degenerate into a series of beautiful static images. Luckily, the unpretentious qualities of the production and the compellingly direct plot mean that a wholly believable picture is built up of an almost totally foreign society.

The only possible hint as to the time-period of the film is a bottle of gin which surreptitiously turns up in a character's pocket- even this could come from any time in the last hundred years. In this way, the picture acquires a sense of timelessness which serves to highlight perennial themes and values of the family and all societies.

The ordinary people of Tibet seemed to be a vast undifferentiated mass in Kundun, acting as a backdrop to the actions of individuals like Mao and the Dalai Lama. Here we see the neighbouring society of Nepal from the bottom-up, with political events entirely irrelevant to the story of the struggle against nature.

Go and see it if you can!