The history buffs and gay activists are sharpening their knives. Forget any expectations of Oliver Stone’s much-anticipated epic Alexander as a faithful historical document on the life and times of the complex Macedonian conqueror, or an explicit gay love story many have hung their hopes on. Resting squarely between melodrama and real passion, Stone’s Alexander is an emotionally ripe, compelling, often bizarre vanity project that’s superbly mounted, full blooded and loaded with equal parts honest emotion and delicious kitsch.

As created by Stone with equal detail to Alexander’s personal loves as well as shrewdly cocksure military strategy, it’s a film with moments of touching intimacy, stormed by phantasmagoric battles and lusty, dark passion. That it sometimes approaches camp is a testament to the balls out work of the cast, intentionally and effectively over the top—and why not, in an ancient epic on a huge canvas? In some corners the film has been unfairly maligned by this lack of subtlety, which slams the film home, for my money.

Before his early death at age 33, Alexander had conquered over 90 percent of the known world in a life that, in fairness to Stone and company, would need three additional hours to fully explore.

As narrated by Anthony Hopkins as an aging Ptolemy in a protracted framing device, Stone presents Farrell’s Alexander as Hamlet, as much consumed with personal and emotional conflict than any born through a need to divide and conquer the world.

Stone opens at the beginning of Alexander’s young life, with Greek mother Olympias (Angelina Jolie in an accent that must be heard to be believed) slithering about with snakes while father King Philip of Macedonia rapes her, as mama’s boy Alexander looks on. This act Alexander will later replay on his tentative wedding night with Persian peasant and wife of convenience, Roxanne (Rosario Dawson, called upon to reveal her considerable breasts). Alexander’s boyhood is consumed with philosophy lectures (courtesy of the great Christopher Plummer) and sparring matches (led by a salty Brian Blessed). It’s here that he forms the most meaningful relationship he’ll know—with later life partner Hephaistion (Jared Leto). He’s an outsider to his father, a feminine Adonis too refined for a throne—until King Phillip’s suspicious and untimely murder thrusts Alexander into position.

From there, the film shuttles back and forth between crimson-drenched battles superbly staged by Stone and scored by a muscular Vangelis, and let it be said that Stone captures an absolutely visceral thrill here with the action, overseen by an eagle which serves as Alexander’s guardian. He even pulls off a grand piece of bloodlust—the screen literally filters red—near the film’s climax, involving a nightmarish battle in the Indian forest that incorporates elephants, horses and hysteria.

So what really works here? First of all, Alexander is graced with a go-for-broke hellion of a performance from the excellent Colin Farrell, who by turns sweats with the fervor of a bloodthirsty warrior and that of a sensitively puppy-dog lover. Even when Alexander flies off the rails it’s exhilarating in its own nutty way. When it works best it becomes something urgent in Farrell’s full-bodied, riskily emotional portrait of a brooding lonely heart besieged by self-doubt and driven by equal parts drunken power and an authentic desire to liberate the oppressed.

Whether excised prior to his first cut or after Warner Brothers got wind of a preview, Stone apparently chose to leave some reported male-male kissing scenes on the cutting room floor. But no matter: the numerous confessional "love" scenes between Alexander and Hephaistion, many of which culminate in passionate embraces or teary confessions, drive the agenda home without ambiguity. The effect, for a big budget, action-driven mainstream film, is startling. Here we have an obviously gay king who longs for an heir to the throne, entering into a marriage of political and cultural convenience to those ends. As written by Stone and performed by Farrell and Leto, that’s a definitive read. It’s a risky move that lends the film a complex and distinct gay flavor certain to stir up as strong emotions in less liberal audience members.

Though there’s oddly no homosexual intimacy in the story, there is a lurid, acrobatic, animalistic sex scene between Farrell and Dawson as Roxanne, who fails to sire children and is quickly discarded. Amusingly, in a Babylonian temple populated with beautiful courtesans, it’s an androgynous male servant and dancer named Bagoas (Francisco Bosch), whom Alexander selects to satisfy his long-term, considerable sexual interests.

What doesn’t work? The accents are all over the map from Irish to Russian to Greek. Much will be made about this, but really, who cares? The dialogue is, at times, familiar, even simplistic or ripe. Then there’s the campy sincerity of Jolie and Kilmer, effectively BIG and chewing—gulping—the scenery. Another wrong detail—at one key juncture when Alexander’s rousing speech to the troops turns to mutiny, Vangelis’ score is all wrong—it’s inspirational when facetious Alexander is blatantly criticizing the men’s lack of commitment and tension brews in the mob. Of course, the watch-checkers are already referring to the film as a "buttnumbathon." But is too long? Not from where I was sitting both times, and Stone keeps the action stakes high and the visuals crisp.

This brings us to the magnificent Farrell, who may not always capture all of Alexander’s larger than life iconic quality—neither does Stone’s script, which makes him a heart on his sleeve basket case. Yet he powerfully commands Alexander’s heart and personal relations, from his twisted connection to mother Olympias to his far-reaching, deep bond with "the only thing I’ve ever loved," Hephaistion. Just look at the way he handles Dawson’s dark impulses, his purity for Hephaistion, contempt for his mother and outright terror in battle. It’s a performance for the books.

If anyone’s been watching, Farrell is having a career high year. We knew he was terrific in Tigerland, Phone Booth and just about everything else. What we didn’t know is that in a relatively short time he’s shaped up as the most versatile and convicted actor of his generation.

Consider, for example, his three diametrically opposed performances in 2004: Irish thug and bad guy in Intermission, the sexually liberated open soul of the underrated A Home at the End of the World, and now this. With Alexander, Farrell fully explores masculine and emotionally available notes unfamiliar with modern movie characters, particularly in alpha-male epics like Alexander. He’s not afraid to be weak; unsure. He’s at a fever pitch through most of the film, wailing, snorting, crying real tears, commanding with verve and letting the toll of each battle spend itself across his bloodstained face and matted blond mane. It’s a consummate performance that, like Stone’s aggressively confident, sometimes big and cartoonish film, soars.

Leave your cynicism at the door and enjoy this intentionally large experience.