C+

“Attack of the Clones” is the best “Star Wars” movie in more than twenty years. Unfortunately, that statement is far less impressive than it might at first seem. It simply means that the picture is preferable to 1983’s “Return of the Jedi,” which brought the original trilogy to a disappointing end (thanks mostly to Richard Marquand’s stodgy direction and a case of narrative cutes), and 1999’s “The Phantom Menace,” the sumptuous but pedestrian prequel which inaugurated the current series on a low note indeed. The extraordinary visual splendor of “Clones” alone is sufficient to put it ahead of those two installments in George Lucas’ increasingly large-scale effort to fashion a mythic paean to the spirit of Saturday serials of yesteryear; especially in the digital format in which it will be screened in a limited number of theatres, the picture looks absolutely gorgeous, with vast vistas vibrantly caught and massive CGI sequences so flawlessly executed that they raise the bar on special-effects expectations exponentially (though it must be admitted that the galumphing monsters featured in a big gladiatorial show toward the close still have a touch of Ray Harryhausen’s Dynamation rigidity to them). Purely as a visual experience, though, “Attack of the Clones” must be accounted quite a magnificent accomplishment.

It’s also superior to its immediate predecessor in the simplicity of its storyline, which jettisons the convoluted trade-war blarney of “Menace” in favor of a straightforward bipartite narrative. One half of the plot involves the investigative efforts of Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) into the motive behind the attempted assassination of erstwhile Queen, and now Senator, Amidala (Natalie Portman)–an assignment that involves him with the father of bounty-hunter Jango Fett (Temeura Morrison), an ethereal race of clone-makers on a hidden planet, and a mysterious, powerful ex-Jedi, Count Dooku (Christopher Lee), who’s building an army of droids and may be either a foe or an ally of the rumored Dark Lord of the Sith who’s threatening the very existence of the Republic. The second plot track centers on the budding romance between the senator and Kenobi’s apprentice, Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen), an impulsive but impressively talented youngster who’s assigned to accompany her back to her native planet of Naboo as a bodyguard. While engaged in this job, and especially during a side trip to his home planet of Tatooine, Anakin reveals the darker inclinations in his character that will eventuate in his transformation into Darth Vader. The two plot threads, of course, coalesce in a big, slam-bang finale which also sets the stage for the next chapter of the trilogy.

This parallelism has both strengths and drawbacks. On the one hand, it keeps matters coherent in a fashion that wasn’t always the case in “Menace.” On the other, it gives the whole a predictable, ping-pong quality that becomes increasingly tedious as matters proceed. The back-and-forth structure wouldn’t be so problematic if Lucas handled things with a lighter, more dextrous hand. He stages the big action sequences–a chase toward the beginning, the gladiatorial combat at the end–expertly, but one can’t help but get the feeling that those heavily-digital moments are the ones he really relishes, and the expository, dialogue-driven scenes between them prove far less engaging. All one need do to appreciate what might have been is to revisit “Empire,” easily the best-directed episode of the series, to which Irvin Kershner brought not only breadth and vision in the larger sequences, but invention and energy in handling the more intimate moments, too–as well as inexhaustible energy and a cunning eye for rhythm and composition. By contrast much of Lucas’ work here–unlike in “Star Wars,” where there was a gleeful, almost childlike sense of abandon constantly on display–is ponderous and staid. This is most evident in the episodes set amidst the ruling councils of the Republic, whose participants are made to stroll about at a glacial pace and speak in slow, hushed, measured tones, as though every word were fraught with significance; but it’s the case in the conversational moments between Amidala and Skywalker as well. (There’s one hillside scene, when the duo are gamboling about on Naboo, that’s staged in so clumsily–and inappropriately–imitative a fashion that you half-expect the senator to turn into Julie Andrews and burst out singing “The hills are alive….”) This kind of dawdling and deliberation might work if what was being said weren’t so banal in content and expression; but quite simply, it’s difficult to decide what’s flatter–Lucas’ helming or his writing. That’s partially due to the very nature of the enterprise, in which there can’t be many surprises to the narrative, since we know in advance where the story is headed–to the beginning of what is now Episode Four. But there’s no equivalent here for the zippy patter that Luke and Han brought to the first two parts of the original trilogy, or for the mystical humbug that Obi-Wan recited in “Wars,” or for the gravely memorable exchanges that mark “Empire” (the latter thanks to better scripters, Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan). A couple of lines are jokes that look ahead to the later “Star Wars” story (as when Kenobi says that he suspects Anakin will be the death of him), but they’re heavy and joyless, and the pun-happy shtick given to C-3P0 in the final act is way too broad to engender anything but embarrassed groans. (One line early on, when Kenobi says to the irritating Jar Jar Binks, whose participation in this episode is happily attenuated, is especially likely to elicit derisive snorts. “Glad to see you again, Jar Jar,” the Jedi observes in a sentiment with which none of us can agree.) Most of the “political” conversation is bland and obvious, but even it pales beside the almost comically purple lines that pass for romantic banter between Amidala and Anakin: the latter, in particular, delivers an impassioned declaration of love and torment that is a virtual chain of cornball cliches. Even non-verbal connections with the previous pictures don’t have the resonance they should. The final shot, for instance, which involves a physical change pointing to Anakin’s transformation into Vader, has a thematic link to the great confrontation between Vader and Luke that closes “The Empire Strikes Back,” but the loss here seems like a throwaway gimmick in comparison to the almost mythic power the earlier film conveyed.

Lucas’ heavy hand has a sad effect on most of the cast. Samuel L. Jackson, playing the Jedi master Mace Windu, has never been duller, and Ian McDiarmid seems to be moving in virtual slow-motion as Chancellor Palpatine. McGregor is only a tad more animated as the serious, stern Kenobi, missing the hint of bemused humor beneath the external gravity that Alec Guinness brought to the character, and Portman remains lovely but largely impassive as Amidala (at least she’s not saddled with those impossible head-dresses this time around). But the biggest disappointment is Christensen’s Skywalker. The young actor has an imposing presence, and if he were let loose he’d probably cut a charismatic, swashbuckling figure; but pretty much all that Lucas has given him to do is scowl and pout, and as a result he merely seems sullen and petulant. One feels even sorrier for someone like Jimmy Smits, who’s used as little more than human wallpaper as a senator lurking about the fringes of the action. The only human performer who rises about the general thespian doldrums is Lee; he brings some of the old panache of Guinness and Peter Cushing to Dooku, and his suave, faintly self-mocking malevolence is a nice complement to the dark calm that he brought to his evil sorcerer in the initial installment of “The Lord of the Rings.” Yoda, of course, is a special case. Digital technology makes him a more mobile and expressive figure than of old, but even he seems to have less of a twinkle in his eye than he once did, and when he drops his cane and takes up a light saber at a climactic point, the moment–which aims to be almost transcendent–is instead vaguely absurd, rather like a midget-wrestling match in a galaxy far, far away.

“Attack of the Clones” is certain to be greeted rhapsodically by die-hard fans, but one should recall that they were originally loathe to admit how bad “The Phantom Menace” was. This time around, they’ll have much less to repent of in retrospect, but despite its visual splendor the picture is but a wan reflection of the first two installments in the series. (And looking ahead to its successor, that coming flick is destined to be a downer, closing the series as it will have to with the triumph of wickedness. Yes, “Empire” did so too, but it was the middle episode in its trilogy, which ended in “Jedi” on a triumphant note.) Perhaps, in the final analysis, it was a mistake for Lucas to do the “first” trilogy he had in mind, rather than moving on after 1983 to the last one, which would have freed him from the necessity of dramatizing a preordained story and given him the freedom to surprise and enchant us anew. Ultimately there’s a feeling of dutifulness about “Attack of the Clones” that may elicit admiration but pretty much precludes exaltation: a sense of mere obligation rarely results in something unforgettable. As its subtitle suggests, this picture has more than a hint of familiarity and redundancy about it. Even the magic of “Star Wars,” it seems, is a decidedly transitory thing.