When the film opens, we meet the famous four, not the young virile images we might imagine, but old guys, legends in their retirement. Depardieu is the earthy Porthos, and his hot and sweaty lust for life, albeit somewhat marred by kidney stones. Jeremy Irons is Aramis, a gaunt and austere jesuit. Then there's John Malkovich as Athos, who really doesn't have a role except as catalyst for everyone else. The final part of the quartet is D'Artagnan. He is the only musketeer still waving the sword, indeed, he's now chief musket for the youthful King Louis the 14th.

The heavy handed foreshadowing in the beginning of the film pretty quickly indicates that the other's will soon redon the uniforms, conveniently kept cleaned and pressed for just such a reunion. Before long we've worked out who is related to whom and how, and what they going to do about. The rest of the film is just a matter of watching the inevitable unfold.

So the only attraction is in admiring these four pillars of the acting community, who come from four different countries, and sport their original accents throughout. There is a certain pleasure in the plethora of splendid costumes which wander around the film with little regard for characters or plot. What there is little pleasure in, however, is the story. The chap in the iron mask is Philippe, twin brother of King Louis, and both are played by Leonardo DiCaprio. You remember him, he's the only thing within 20 miles of "Titanic" NOT to receive an Oscar nomination, and trust me, he's not going to be recognized for this wan portrayal of the spoilt brat king and his noble kindhearted brother.

You can get the whole splendor from the last 30 minutes. So, while it's nice to see Depardieu and co on the big screen, save yourself the agony.