A little bit later, when Travolta (playing investigator Paul Brenner, who is sort of an undercover military cop) is called to a murder scene, we see that the naked, spread-eagled woman staked out there in front of God and everybody is actually, gosh, the pretty captain who helped him fix that flat tire just a couple of nights before. In case we don't realize that, there's a helpful insert of the woman's face as he flashes back to his passing acquaintance with her.

The General's Daughter turns out to be, at every turn, a movie that takes pains to explain things to us, to make sure that we don't miss anything. We shouldn't be surprised later on when, given the opportunity to flash back on a grim rape scene, director Simon West chooses to stage it in all its repulsive glory. Photographing a simulated rape is always tricky business for a filmmaker, though it can be done to great effect, sensitive or otherwise. In A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick made rape as chilly a proposition as just about every other aspect of human existence in that film, going so far as to choreograph it to classical music for maximum ironic distance. In Kika, Pedro Almodovar actually managed to turn a rape scene into a funny joke. In The General's Daughter, where rape is a critical psychological event, West (whose career resume to date includes just this film and Con Air) films it with the same artlessness that he brings to the rest of the film. Because this film more or less lacks a point of view, the glossy cinematography and whiz-bang editing that pass for "style" bring a generic tawdriness to the rape that helps undermine everything else.

Part murder mystery and part psychological thriller, the movie delves unashamedly into the sex life of that fetching captain Elizabeth Campbell (Leslie Stefanson), who turns out to be the daughter of general Tom Campbell (James Cromwell), a well-regarded officer planning retirement and perhaps a political career. The shady attitude of the elder Campbell and right-hand man Colonel Fowler (Clarence Williams III) make it clear that the facts of the matter are unpleasant, and that a cover-up is involved. Based on a best-selling novel by Nelson DeMille, The General's Daughter is a labyrinthine whodunit with its motivations dependent entirely on some rather dubious character psychology. Since the central character in the yarn that unravels is dead before her story is told, The General's Daughter fortunately avoids having to conjure her plausibly as a living, breathing human being. Performances are not the film's strong point, nor is the outré portrayal of Elizabeth as an S&M; nymphomaniac among soldiers.

Likable as he is -- and he's obviously having a great time in his frequent scenery-chewing moments -- Travolta is the wrong choice for a character meant to intimidate army men and exude righteous determination. Madeleine Stowe is better in an undemanding role as Travolta's partner in the investigation (and, unbelievably, his ex-flame). As Elizabeth's friend and confidante Colonel Robert Moore, James Woods teeters on a fine line between hammy hopelessness and cool intellectual slipperiness. The film's best scenes (perhaps contributed by venerable co-screenwriter William Goldman) have him and Travolta squaring off in conversation, lacing each question and response with a psych-out in a game of macho/intellectual one-upsmanship. From there, it's downhill -- before long, Travolta is pointing a gun to someone's head and yelling "motherfucker" unconvincingly.

The actors may have been hobbled by some unjudicious editing. Like Armageddon, The General's Daughter features long stretches where no single shot is held for more than three seconds (I was bored; I counted the seconds), and it has the feel of a movie cobbled together for the sheer thrill of fast edits rather than for narrative coherence or showing off performances to their best advantage. (Even the stalwart Cromwell feels like a phony from square one.) Visually, it's sharp and dynamic in a bland kind of way. West apparently never met a lens flare that he didn't like, and just about every night shot in the movie features zig-zags of color reflected across the screen as cinematographer Peter Menzies Jr. shines lights directly into the camera.

At the end of the film, we're in explain-everything-to-the-audience mode again, and just in case you haven't yet figured out the answer to the question that the film poses ("What's worse than rape?"), Travolta explains it for you. And OK -- despite the story's fundamental ridiculousness, there is something darkly compelling about the journey toward that answer. But the proceedings are executed with such tawdriness that you may feel guilty for caring what happens next. If the crafty DeMille can ultimately be blamed for the film's apparent misogyny, it must be said that West brings no sensitivity to the story. Any compassion for Elizabeth is negated by the crass perspective on her sordid death -- here's a film that pays lip service to the horror of a sexual assault even as it leers at the victim's perky, Hollywood-perfect nude body (turning blue). Approaching the life of a promiscuous woman solely from the perspective of the different men who knew her, The General's Daughter could be the sexual sadist's response to Citizen Kane.

USA, 1999