The Dancer Upstairs, a terrific new film directed by John Malkovich, is a densely fictionalized investigation of a dangerous guerilla uprising in an unnamed South American country. Based on the real-life capture of Peruvian Shining Path leader Abimael Guzman, The Dancer Upstairs is a most interesting film that combines personal, political and moral issues seamlessly; as notable for its complex political machinations as for its equally dimensional portrait of a good cop at a crossroads of conscience.

The marvelous Spanish actor Javier Bardem is former lawyer Augustin Rejas, now a beleaguered police chief, specializing in terrorist activities, summoned to uncover the origin of a series of vicious guerilla attacks against the government. The film explores the intersecting threads of Rejas' personal and professional lives: his gradually deepening investigation into the frightening world of a mysterious, phantom-like guerilla leader; his slow detachment from his marriage and developing romantic interest in his daughter's ballet-teacher (a complex performance from the radiant Laura Morante); his understanding of the deep political corruption with a firm stranglehold on his country.

The Dancer Upstairs is a most dignified film - it's a rare political thriller that doesn't tread on the high-concept playing field of shifting allegiances, good guys and bad guys, super-powered weapons, double-crosses and last-minute reversals. This is a literate, intelligent film that harkens back to the days of master political thriller director Costa Gavras (indeed referenced in the film), when a large political agenda framed a similarly complex personal dilemma.

One can appreciate Malkovich's handling of his actors, particularly his lead. Bardem, as always, gives a layered and emotional performance. He's quite an amazing actor - in touch with his toughness and sensitivity almost at once. For those of us who have seen him for many years in Spanish cinema, this comes as no surprise. But for probably more, who have only been exposed to Bardem in his Oscar-nominated turn in Before Night Falls as the persecuted Cuban poet Reynaldo Arenas, Bardem will dazzle nonetheless. Malkovich gives Bardem much latitude for subtle contemplation in the film, and when his character is presented with difficult political and personal choices and must carefully define his allegiances, Bardem is most expressive.

Consider, for example, the dénouement of the film. Without giving any spoilers away, there's a character connected to Bardem who is discovered to have been harboring radical political convictions. His reaction to the revelation and subsequent character choices seem most elegant. Throughout the film, he also accomplishes the considerable feat of making what could have been a complex political roundelay seem quite simple and coherent. And his final extended moment in the film, observing his daughter's ballet recital through a glass window while her reflection fills the pane before his face, is moving. A most assured Malkovich holds an extended shot on his weary face, which speaks volumes and registers with great emotion.

In a testament to novelist Nicholas Shakespeare's multi-layered storytelling, we derive as much tension and feeling from Rejas' personal life (including his marriage to an impossibly spendthrift wife and his attraction to the vibrant Yolanda Morante) as we do from the escalating and unstable politics that form their large-canvas backdrop. And we witness the increasing level of corruption in the government that Bardem discovers.

The Dancer Upstairs, in a restrained sort of way, is an intimate epic - its personal struggles played out against the larger issues of country and allegiance. What strikes me most about this film is the idea of people trying to carve out a life for themselves against a nation that is ravaged by civil instability and government corruption. About halfway through The Dancer Upstairs, a provocative idea occurred to me - that perhaps these political guerillas, with their sledgehammer violence and reign of terror - might possibly be doing the corrupt government in this film a favor. And though this film takes place in the recent past, with the obvious political climate post September 11, the story feels fresh, timely and relevant.

The Dancer Upstairs, as carefully directed by Malkovich, is the antithesis of any political thriller directed by say, Oliver Stone. Where Stone would likely use his trademark and often effectively showy command of technique to hammer home the film, in a barrage of shaky cinematography, flashy editing and combinations of film stocks, Malkovich is content to just sit back and listen to his actors, observe their shifting world and moods, letting them speak for themselves.

If there's any flaw in the film, it's a pet peeve of mine that happens in fine American films all the time. Why, oh, why must characters that are obviously not American nationals, who live together in their non-English speaking homeland, be speaking English together? It's a good question and never makes any narrative sense, as it doesn't in this film. It's jarring to hear different levels of English being spoken with different accents. Spanish is obviously the native language of the film's undefined country, so why not go for authenticity and speak it? Obviously an American audience is the reason.

That's a minor detraction from a fine film that ambitiously covers compelling political and personal issues. What's on display in The Dancer Upstairs is the rare quality of intelligence and restraint. It's a good film, well directed and performed.