Leonardo DiCaprio has a wonderful screen presence. Possessed of an androgynous beauty, he would have been at home in silent film--his feline stare lends itself to eyeliner and telegraphs the actor's every emotion. He's also very much a product of the nineties: he worked in Titanic because Jack Dawson is a man out of his element, a bad boy hipster on a ship full of snobs. Once he dons frilly clothing to portray a historic Frenchman, DiCaprio becomes a walking anachronism to the film's detriment. He is very definitely out of step as Rimbaud in Total Eclipse, and now, as King Louis XIV, in The Man In The Iron Mask.

Adapting the Alexandre Dumas novel for his directorial debut, Braveheart screenwriter Randall Wallace begins The Man In The Iron Mask with heinous King Louis ordering the slaughter of Jesuit traitors to D'Artangan (Byrne), his loyal Captain of the Royal Guard. Louis then falls in lust with the engaged Christine (Judith Godrèche) and orders the slaughter of her fiancee. This sends Athos (John Malkovich), the father of the dead would-be groom, on a rampage. Reteaming with ex-Musketeers Aramis (Jeremy Irons) and Porthos (Gérard Depardieu), they concoct a revenge plan: the release of Phillipe, Louis' secret identical twin, who has been kept for years in a dungeon, his face shielded by an iron mask. A switcheroo is performed, with harrowing results.

DiCaprio is not the only weak link in the chain. Malkovich's performance is somnambulent, Godreche as Christine is unremarkable, and the remaining members of the cast are forced to repeat "All for one and one for all" ad nauseam. Wallace's adaptation is problematic, lacking flavourful, witty dialogue, intelligent plotting, and period nuance. As a director, Wallace brings nothing unique to the table cinematically, though it's competent filmmaking. And Depardieu stands out as the womanizing, suicidal Porthos; he's also the only male francophone to be found in a story that takes place entirely in France.

It's a shame that DiCaprio chose to follow up the biggest film in history with this lacklustre wannabe-epic; no doubt the signatures of his spangled co-stars proved too tempting, to say nothing of Wallace's pedigree. (Show me a man who hates Braveheart.) Despite being miles ahead in quality of Disney's recent Musketeers picture (Charlie Sheen, we hardly missed ya), The Man in the Iron Mask is missing majesty. It's diverting, yes, but I think the next time I crave The Three Musketeers, I'll stick with the chocolate bar.-Bill Chambers