Graham Greene, easily one of the greatest novelists of the twentieth century, is said to have despised Joseph Mankiewicz’s 1958 adaptation of his 1955 book dealing with early American involvement in Indochina, which centers on the realization of British journalist Thomas Fowler that Alden Pyle, a young American embassy attache, is actually an intelligence operative creating a supposedly nationalist “third force” to supplant the French in the battle against the communist insurgency. One can certainly understand Greene’s attitude. Out of concern for the sensibilities of the domestic moviegoing public, Mankiewicz muted the original’s indictment of US government policy (a criticism which he intended to apply to a far broader geographical area than Southeast Asia) in favor of an anti-communist message; he modified the status of the title character and made his motives more simplistically noble. (It also didn’t help that Pylr was played, rather weakly, by Audie Murphy.) But while one can sympathize with the author’s objections to the changes, it must be said that Mankiewicz’s picture had many virtues, too–most notably a good deal of crisp, knowing dialogue, beautifully delivered in particular by Michael Redgrave as Fowler, the cynical journalist who narrates the tale, and stylish black-and-white cinematography by Robert Krasker (some exteriors were shot in Saigon, but most of the picture was filmed in Europe).

Now Phillip Noyce has returned to the book with a new version of “The Quiet American,” and it’s even better. Given the proximity of his native country to Vietnam, it’s entirely appropriate that an Australian should be drawn to the material, and he treats it with a fidelity of which Greene would surely have approved. There are excisions, to be sure (Fowler’s conversations with French pilots, for instance, and his amusing digression on Caodaism) as well as some additions for cinematic impact (e.g., Fowler’s close call at a dangerous warehouse, or his brief interview with the renegade General The) but while some of the changes are regrettable, reducing the sharpness of the argument and adding an unfortunate tinge of melodrama, as a whole the film is remarkably faithful to the author’s artistic vision and his prophetic geopolitical perspective. (In fact, its release was withheld after the 9/11 tragedy because it was feared that American audiences would be angered by its critical attitude toward their government’s frequently interventionist policies abroad.) The fact that it was shot in Vietnam–the locale brilliantly captured in Christopher Doyle’s sultry yet oddly crisp cinematography–and features many local actors also gives it a considerable advantage. Most importantly, however, the picture successfully evokes that Greeneland in which moral ambiguity dominates and there is no white-and-black, only varying shades of gray–a reality encapsulated in Fowler’s ultimate decision to betray Pyle to the communists, though it’s equivocal whether he does so out of a genuine detestation of the violence the man’s machinations are visiting upon the locals or simply out of rage at Pyle’s success in taking the journalist’s long-time Vietnamese lover Phuong (Do Thin Hai Yen) away from him–probably even he doesn’t know.

The virtues of Noyce’s film, however, aren’t restricted to its close adherence to the novel. This new adaptation of “The Quiet American” is a sensitive, cultivated treatment of Greene’s work as well as a remarkably faithful one. As with his other current picture, “Rabbit-Proof Fence,” Noyce has thrown off the shackles of his two-decade involvement with big-budget Hollywood product and returned to the simplicity of earlier years. This is an elegant piece of work; indeed, if there’s a flaw it’s that at times it seems a trifle too genteel. (One can also quibble with the decision to close things with a montage of newspaper clippings outlining the future course of American involvement in Vietnam–it’s too facile a wrapup.) Michael Caine certainly delivers one of his best performances in years as Fowler, though despite the fact that he’s appeared in lots of junk, one shouldn’t exaggerate their rarity (think of “Little Voice” and “Last Orders,” for example). He gives us a very different Fowler from Redgrave–decidedly less the suave, effetely cynical sophisticate and more the middle-class scribbler–but it’s just as effective. One respect in which he’s far more fortunate than his predecessor is in his co-star: Murphy wilted when set beside Redgrave, but Brendan Fraser holds his own against Caine. Like his excellent work in “Gods and Monsters” with Ian McKellen back in 1998, his turn as Pyle makes splendid use of his burly physique, his open, innocent face, and his general air of wholesomeness; he seems to excel in smaller films in which he’s challenged by working with extraordinary actors, and one hopes he’ll continue to have the opportunity to do so between such stuff as “Monkeybone” and “The Mummy Returns.” The remainder of the cast is uniformly solid, if unexceptional.

In view of the reluctance of Miramax to release “The Quiet American” for fear of offending audiences because of current history, one should note that the film is actually salutary viewing in the wake of 9/11. It would be unfortunate indeed if the present wave of patriotism were allowed to stifle serious debate about the wisdom of past American foreign policy. In any event, to view Greene’s novel as crudely anti-American is to miss its larger point, which is as critical of old-style European colonialism as of the newer US version that Greene sees as supplanting it. The point is made most clearly in the character of Phuong, who is, of course, a personification of Vietnam (or, more broadly, off all colonial locales). Phuong is basically treated as a kind of possession (though a valued one, to be sure) by the over-the-hill Fowler, who’s angered by the ease with which she transfers her allegiance to the young, virile American; and Fowler, with the world-weary experience of a European whose culture has already failed in the colonial game, both envies and despises the naivete of the US effort to cloak its own imperialism in altruistic garb (even if it’s no more absurd a justification than the Kiplingesque one which Britain espoused in the nineteenth century). The strength of Noyce’s film is that it enables the viewer to glimpse Greene arguing with himself over these issues without coming to some easy conclusion about them. And whatever its minor dramatic failings, the fact that it does so is valuable in the present climate.

After twenty years of acting in feature films, Ray Liotta declines to treat his profession as a mysterious thing. In a recent Dallas interview to discuss his role in Joe Carnahan’s “Narc” as a rule-bending, tough-as-nails Detroit cop teamed with quiet, narcotics officer (Jason Patric) to solve his undercover partner’s murder, the 47-year old star explained his method of preparation in terms that might seem more than a little mundane. “I don’t want to trivialize it,” he said, “[but] I just do my homework…The biggest thing is to be prepared and know what you want to do…The more you do it, the more you start trusting yourself and the more you realize you’re playing pretend, and that it’s all about your imagination.” He added: “You get all your information from the script,” and described Henry Oak, his character, as “a really angry, complicated guy…That’s not who I am at all. To get yourself in that state every day is a challenge. [But] that’s what our job is.” He did, however, cite one scene in the picture as particularly telling of his current acting style–a conversation in which Oak explains to Patric’s Nick Tellis the events that changed his life: noting that he played it “very simply, hardly even moving,” he described the restraint as “a sign of my maturity as an actor…a sign of growth and trust in myself.” Liotta admitted, though, that there was one very difficult aspect to his performance–losing the weight he’d put on to play the role. “That’s probably harder than anything else,” he said ruefully.

Liotta did take on one entirely new part in “Narc,” however–that of producer. “I was looking for something on my own,” he explained. “I wanted to start producing and getting involved. I wasn’t happy with some of the scripts I was getting, so I decided to form my own production company with my wife and a partner, and changed agents–just wanted to start kind of fresh. This was about a year and a half, two years ago. And the first script they sent me was this [‘Narc’], and I read it and just was really moved by it…[It was] really well-written, edgy and raw…I liked the twists and turns, and it was a great character. I didn’t start acting until I was in college, which was in the ’70s, and I wasn’t into movies [before then]. The movies when I first started getting involved in acting were [those of] the seventies, and they were great movies–there was the antihero; it wasn’t black or white, there was a lot of grey; De Niro, Pacino, Gene Hackman, characters like that, they were the leads…This [script] reminded me of that period very much. When the agent gave it to me, he told Joe [Carnahan, the writer] first, and Joe said he would love me to play Oak. And as I was reading it I was saying, ‘Oh, man, it’s a bad guy. I don’t want to play another bad guy.’ And then the twist happens at the end that I just didn’t see coming…as much as it seemed edgy, there was also really a sweetness to this guy, a righteous, moral center. And when the twist happened at the end, it really moved me. I started tearing up when I read it.” He passed the screenplay along to his wife who, he remembered, “flipped out over it–she really responded to it in a positive way. And then I met Joe. I liked his sensibilities.” Liotta discovered that he and Carnahan shared a common vision for the material. “[Joe] said he wanted to shoot it like ‘The French Connection,’ with a Cassavetes-type style, using hand-held [cameras and] natural lighting. We wanted to be like a fly on the wall, making it very raw and real. And that’s what we did.”

But doing it was hardly easy. After a week of shooting in Toronto (the picture had a 27-day schedule and a $3 million budget), the funding dried up and the crew threatened to quit. “That’s why there are so many producers on this movie,” Liotta said. “We had to call friends and other producers.” But they were able to raise the funds and finish the project, with ultimately great success. “We finally were invited into Sundance, in the competition,” Liotta recalled, “and this buzz just started happening, where Joe and I started getting calls from Warren Beatty and Dustin Hoffman and Robert Towne and all these huge people, and it went on the Belaire circuit, where all the heads of studios were seeing it. At that same time Sherry Lansing, the head of Paramount who’s married to William Friedkin, saw it–Friedkin freaked out over the movie, Sherry saw it and gave it to Tom [Cruise]. Then Tom called us up and said, ‘I believe in this movie, I think it’s a great movie, I think it should get out there, I think people should see it…I want to lend my name and my support in any way I can.'” Cruise’s involvement was instrumental in persuading the distributor to give the film a theatrical release, and he’s now listed among the picture’s executive producers.

As for Liotta, his turn as Oak has already attracted some buzz about a possible Oscar nomination, and he was nonchalant about the possibility. “It’s flattering, it’s nice. I’d probably get upset if I didn’t hear it,” he said to laughter. “You just have to, like, hear it and let it go. Who knows?”

On February 11 we all will.

“Narc” is a Paramount Pictures release.