The new movie version of this tale does its best to jump off from the historical mystery--who was the faceless prisoner in the Bastille?--while at the same time evoking the spirit of the oft-filmed musketeers. But this story was never meant to stand alone. Its themes of honor and conscience flow from D'Artagnan's enthusiastic idealism in the first book, now transformed into blind obedience by his oath of service to the king. Writer-director Randall Wallace (Braveheart) rushes past this crucial backstory in search of an adventure that he hopes will sweep his movie along without any bother about themes or ideas. Because of his thoughtlessness--not to mention some performances that could charitably be called idiosyncratic--The Man in the Iron Mask limps painfully through Dumas' classic tale.

Heartthrob Leonardo DiCaprio plays a dual role: young Louis XIV, a despot more interested in wars and women than in feeding Parisians, and his twin brother Phillippe, who was snatched away at birth and locked in a mask to prevent a feud over the throne. As the French king, DiCaprio's flat American vowels are somewhat of a distraction. But as the uncertain, unsocialized Phillippe, he has an appealing vulnerability. The masquerade ball, where the two change places, is tense and effective because of the actor's ability to differentiate the twin personae with a nervous eye twitch and a bobbing Adam's apple.

The actors lured to the musketeer roles are a diverse ensemble. Jeremy Irons has the most dignity as Aramis, the fiery priest who comes up with the plan to replace young Louis with his lost twin. Gabriel Byrne manages as D'Artagnan, the loyal captain of the king's guards, despite an occasional lapse into Irish brogue. Gerard Depardieu, France's greatest actor, is a hoot as the degenerate, Epicurean Porthos; the few words that can be understood through his thick accent are "nipple" and "piss." Whenever he blunders into a scene, the movie becomes hilariously absurd. John Malkovich, as Athos, appears to have forgotten everything about acting except for bizarre over-enunciation.

The musketeers' motto is "one for all and all for one," but Irons, Byrne, Depardieu, and especially Malkovich act as if they're enclosed in soundproof isolation booths. When they meet in a crypt to plan the royal switcheroo, the scene plays as if computer wizardry has been used to combine actors who were never in the same room. The editing emphasizes lifeless, single-figure shots, while the murky cinematography and obvious overdubs add a strange, artificial air. The sword fights at the film's climax begin stirringly, with the four figures ranged across the screen challenging all comers, but they quickly degenerate into dizzy close-ups, rendering the action tiring rather than exciting.