REVIEW

A super-secret unit with paranormal abilities? Sounds outlandish, yet this movie, with its fun performances by a big-name cast, is based on nonfiction.

By BY ANDY KLEIN

For sheer stand-out-from-the-crowd oddness, "The Men Who Stare at Goats" is hands down the best title to adorn a Hollywood film this year (and then some). When I first saw it on a release list, I groaned: Another ethnographic documentary from Bhutan or Turkmenistan? (Not that it wouldn't be fabulous; I'm just not in the mood.) Then I saw the cast list: George Clooney, Jeff Bridges, Ewan McGregor and Kevin Spacey.

OK: I'm in.

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It's a pleasure to say that the final product matches the title in both weirdness and drollery. Our protagonist is Bob Wilton (McGregor), a small-time journalist in the grip of a midlife crisis. He finds just the jolt he's looking for when he encounters Lyn Cassady (Clooney), a recently reactivated and slightly paranoid Army intelligence operative. Lyn soon reveals that he's part of a super-secret unit called the New Earth Army, trained to tap into and control his innate paranormal abilities. Under the tutelage of Vietnam-vet-turned-New-Age-devotee Bill Django (Bridges), the New Earthers study to be "warrior monks" -- masters of nonlethal fighting.

Bill is all love and peace: He wants them to walk through walls, levitate, and disarm enemies through pure psychic energy. Predictably, however, members of the military brass are more interested in using that same energy to kill enemies by stopping their hearts at a distance. (An unfortunate test animal is the inspiration for the title.)

After fantastical science fiction releases like "Men in Black," this plot may seem like weak tea. The difference is that "The Men Who Stare at Goats" is based on Jon Ronson's nonfiction book of the same title. Yes, this stuff is supposed to be real.

There's no dispute over many elements of Ronson's book, particularly because he never claims that the psychic techniques work; in fact, he's uniformly skeptical. The book's fascination comes from the incongruousness of counterculture mysticism being taken seriously by the straightest, least-hippie-ish institution in the country.

First-time director Grant Heslov -- an actor ("The Scorpion King") turned writer-producer ("Good Night, and Good Luck") -- cleverly re-creates the book's point of view by keeping the supernatural bits at a remove from the film's main reality: With one notable exception, we only witness them as parts of stories Lyn tells Bob in flashback. And even that exception is buffered, as the entire story is being related to us through Bob's voice-over.

Spacey is perfectly cast as the story's smarmy villain; Clooney brings a crazed edge to Lyn, without going as far as he did in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"; and Bridges -- as in "The Big Lebowski" -- consolidates his position as our iconic ambassador from the psychedelic and post-psychedelic decades of American culture. McGregor's performance is fine, but his casting is problematic. The characters frequently talk about being Jedi warriors, and seeing Young Obi-Wan McGregor saying "What's a Jedi warrior?" archly pulls us out of the film.

In the transition to the big screen, Heslov and screenwriter Peter Straughan have downplayed the grimness that overtakes the book halfway through; for better or worse, they've removed some of the bite, which may not be such a bad thing. But what's most striking is that nearly every insane scene that feels made up comes straight from Ronson's book, while the most believable elements are all part of the story that has been fabricated to provide some structure.

BrandX@latimes.com