Okay, here's the deal. I'm in the examining room. The scent of Lysol and rubbing alcohol wafts passed by nose as I ponder the freckle on the neck of Maurice Ronault, our local hypochondriac and French-Canadian pastry chef. "No, Mo, it's not a malignant growth, it's a freckle!" I shout. He flinches. I apologize. (I should be more kind. He's singlehandedly paid for my timeshare in Orlando. ) But it's the stress of inner conflict that tears at my serenity. I retreat to my office, put on my Risky Business soundtrack (just the tracks with that floopy Tangerine Dream stuff) and enter a meditative state.

My mind drifts upward. I become an orbiting nuance. A floating aura. My essence gently catches the passing dust particle stream emanating from the pattering blades of my rotary fan (the A.C. went on the fritz last Tuesday; I gotta remember to call the Carrier Guy.) This out of body experience brings me into concert with my innermost quest -- to walk the earth like Caine from Kung Fu. Hey, look there's Samuel L. Jackson in a geri curl. I give him the head nod as he passes. Dang. I shoulda asked him what's in the briefcase....

Gently I drift toward the sun. It speaks to me. "Vincent. You are a Prophet. Your task sits before you like a mighty oak that must be felled with the ax of your soul." I interrupt to check the sun's grammar on the word felled. "Silence, Prophet Vincent," he scolds. "I grant you this task. And this task alone. You shall preach the Second Coming of the Action Film. You shall debunk the imposters, like Con Air and Batman & Robin. You shall mingle with the people, preaching of the prophesies of Cameron, in the Reels of Terminator I and Terminator II. You shall smite the vain folly of the latter day Schwarzenegger and warn the masses of the poison Stallone. Your tongue shall invoke the names of those who walked before, the teacher Peckinpah who baptized young souls in the waters of the Wild Bunch. The bearded Steven, who with the aid of his disciple Indiana, brought us the Ark of the Covenant and other sacred relics. The scribe Quentin, whose chiseled tablets harkened the arrival of a new ruler from the East." The sun took a deep breath and grabbed a Rolling Rock out of the fridge. "Ah, I'm gettin' too old for this hooey. Just review the new John Woo movie, you schlup." And with that, my aura fell on my desk blotter with a wet flop.

Well, kindred spirits, the moment of my task has come. The new king of the Action Film is John Woo, a legend from Hong Kong. And his latest effort, Face/Off, is one of the most inspired, most twisted, and most beautiful action films to be made this decade, and certainly the finest action film to be unveiled in a theater this summer.

Face/Off stars John Travolta as Special Agent Sean Archer, a shattered soul troubled by the fact that his son was murdered in his very arms, and by the fact that he's been unable to catch the maniacal terrorist that squeezed the trigger. The terrorist, Castor Troy, is a wild man, full of drugs and power and insanity. Nicolas Cage plays Troy to the frightening nth.

So as not to disclose any of the film's surprise twists, let me just sketch the story for you. Archer finally tracks Troy down and catches him. But Troy has planted a super-explosive bio bomb somewhere in Los Angeles. Someone has to pose as Troy and make contact with Troy's brother, Pollux to find the bomb's location. (Castor and Pollux. Get it? Read your mythology.) And who better to infiltrate the family tree than the man who has hunted Troy for so long. In some sort of future-shocked surgical lab, Archer has the comatose Troy's face removed and attached to his own skull, and Archer, not needing two faces, leaves his behind. Now a dead ringer for Troy, he allows himself to be put in a maximum security prison to find out where the bomb is, and how to stop it. Meanwhile, Troy wakes up, faceless and pissed. He commandeers the good guy's face, takes over Archer's identity, family, and career as a government agent. And he makes certain that our man Archer (looking like Troy) is set to rot in the jailcell for all of eternity while he enjoys the fruits of his new life. You know, they say a good movie has a good conflict. Well, my friends, what we got here is one heck of a good conflict.

I'm sure that brief synopsis confused your grey matter, but believe it or not, when you're in the theater seat, it all makes perfect sense. It's played out with such precision and tenacity that you're never lost, despite a thousand and one plot twists, and enough hot-collar action to boil an egg. The film starts you out on the edge of your seat and keeps you crawling. The action sequences are shot with as much care and concern as a Bergman film, but with a lot more blood. The gunfights are shot in a blend of slow-motion and real speed, merging the raw carnage with a strange sense of grace, transforming them into a ballet of destruction. People don't just get shot -- they get pulverized. They don't just fall -- they fall apart. And they don't just pull the trigger -- they pump it like it was their lifeblood.

Mind you, this movie is more than raw action. Its core lies in the hands of Travolta and Cage. They are incredible, rangy actors, and unlike any opp before, this film gives them a full frontal showcase to reveal another world of their talent. Both men have to play the same two roles, Archer and Troy, and they have to play them in exactly the same way. Not just in line delivery, but in every mannerism, no matter how huge or how tiny. Every twitch, every blink, everything has to serve the switch. And they do it. The handoff between the two characters is seamless, and it becomes even more impressive when you realize that what you're watching is, in essence, Travolta playing Cage playing Travolta, and Cage playing Travolta playing Cage. (Mommy, I need an aspirin.)

There are scenes in this movie that will leave you awestruck. You will see things that prompt your mind to blurt, "How in the name of Yakima Canutt did they accomplish that stunt?" And, without offering up the whole ball of eyewax, you will see some things that will absolutely make you rethink your definition of pain and suffering. Let me say that again, and please heed my warning. You will see some things that will absolutely make you rethink your definition of pain and suffering. Dare I say it a third time? I dare not.

If you saw Woo's last film, Broken Arrow, you got a mere taste of how the man likes his action films. He likes over-the-top performances, stunts that boggle the mind, and delicately carved and choreographed scenes of total destruction. All rendered in the highest of high style. (Woo's motto: "If it ain't Baroque...fix it.") Broken Arrow was a mere crumb of what it could have been. Face/Off is John Woo as he was in Hong Kong...yet with an A-list cast and Hollywood scratch to spend. Granted, he's perhaps a tad flawed at times (poor stunt doubling and needling continuity blunders), but never enough to diminish the overall product. This film is a dance in the fields of Armageddon, to the tune of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

With all that said, let me render a final summation. Face/Off is a blissful time at the cinema. It is so good that it might even empower you with a new sense of cinematic enlightenment. Say hello to the sun for me, wouldja?