Some historians may protest that Tavington's brutality unfairly caricatures British conduct during the Revolution (although his character was apparently suggested by a historical figure, the notorious Col. Banastre Tarleton), but it seems to me that the filmmakers have a larger target in view. Rodat's screenplay makes clear that Tavington is a middle-class fortune hunter seeking to carve out a name for himself in the New World, who believes he can't afford the luxury of gentlemanly conduct. He is sternly reprimanded for his behavior by the aristocratic Gen. Cornwallis (fine English actor Tom Wilkinson). But Tavington represents the true historical spirit of warfare past and future -- of Genghis Khan and the Caesars, of napalm-bombed villages and ethnically cleansed provinces -- far better than his sherry-sipping superior.

As if to symbolize his sudden transformation from father to warrior, Martin's first task is to teach his two younger boys, the elder of them no more than 11 or 12, to be killers. In perhaps the most haunting of the many scenes of violence in "The Patriot," this improbable trio ambushes a band of Redcoats on a remote road, saving Gabriel from the gallows. Sending the younger kids off with Martin's glowing sister-in-law (Joely Richardson, who eventually serves ably as Gibson's love interest), the reunited father and son become leaders of a scruffy militia band that hounds and harasses the edges of Cornwallis' immense army, disrupting supply lines and destroying shipments.

Martin's journey into heroism, and his tireless quest for revenge against the smirking Tavington and his chain of worsening atrocities, progress in predictable fashion. But the grim grandeur and scale of "The Patriot" remain remarkable throughout. Among its immense and enjoyable cast, standouts include Chris Cooper as a beleaguered American colonel, Lisa Brenner as Gabriel's fresh-faced fiancée and Tchéky Karyo as a visiting French officer.

The ludicrous spectacle of conventional 18th century warfare, featuring opposing armies blasting away at each other with cannons and single-shot rifles across 30 to 50 yards of open field, is captured in horrifying detail. (Not that the chaotic slaughter indulged in by Martin's guerrillas looks much better.) Emmerich has a tendency to flog his symbols half to death -- there's a tattered American flag that makes many tiresome appearances -- and to drag his battle scenes long past the point of viewer fatigue (or of this viewer's, at least), but he has developed a terrific eye. From the overhead view of Redcoats swarming over Martin's land like invading ants to the mournful, twilit shots of the guerrillas' swamp headquarters to the "Barry Lyndon" decadence of Cornwallis' outdoor ball, "The Patriot" is full of seductive pictures.

Emmerich's final battle sequence, in which it appears that Martin has turned the tide of the war single-handedly, is exceedingly irritating, and the film's treatment of race is, I think, disgraceful. Yes, a fair number of blacks won their freedom by fighting in the Revolution (on both sides), but to pretend that this really meant anything in a nation that would permit slavery to exist for an additional 90 years is hypocritical in the extreme. But war stories, as I tried to say earlier, are almost always distorted by the ideological perspective of the storyteller. Within those limits, "The Patriot" is a grand yarn with a sense of the weight of history and an awareness that the winners are often those who have lost the most.

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