As Titus composer Elliot Goldenthal points out in a remarkable documentary that supplements the film on DVD, the ancient and the recent are a permanent juxtaposition in Italy, where Lamborghini drivers negotiate the roads between premedieval architecture. Julie Taymor's motion picture directorial debut, an interpretation of Shakespeare's comi-tragic "Titus Andronicus", spins off from this duality and is validated by it.

Taymor's approach to history as a malleable concept may sound innovative, but off the top of my head, I can think of at least one other film in which the art direction is not slave to a period setting: Alex Cox's biopic Walker. There, the nineteenth century world of mercenary William Walker is peppered with twentieth century conveniences--extras can be glimpsed buying cigarettes from a vending machine, and the Nicaragua-stranded Walker himself is retrieved, in a satirical denouement, via military helicopter. These anachronisms make explicit Walker's utility as an allegory for the then-current political scene, just as Titus' Elizabethan dialect and signifiers are rendered less impenetrable by ageless iconography.

Take the introduction of Saturnius (Alan Cumming): dressed to the nines in fascistic leather, he hoards the WWII-era mike at a postwar celebration, conveniently positioned before an intimidating square monolith that was in real life erected at the behest of Mussolini. Would we have so immediately perceived him as a dictator had he arrived for the event in Roman-classic apparel? In light of such visual cues, some viewers may accuse Taymor of reductionism, but need symbolism be subtle in order to be valid? That's one argument; another is that "Titus Andronicus" is so morally complex it resists total subversion through style. I've rarely found Shakespeare this accessible, and, consequently, I quickly became swept up in its confluent mixture of joy and sorrow--after the period of adjustment (common to every filmgoing experience, when all's said and done) to its details passed.

General Titus Andronicus (Anthony Hopkins) returns from war to Rome victorious and with prisoners Tamora the Goth queen (Jessica Lange) and her three sons. According to religious ritual, he sacrifices the eldest of them while Tamora looks on desperately. Cut to: Titus, having refused emperorship, and having killed one of his own boys in an unsuccessful attempt to promise his daughter Lavinia (Laura Fraser) to the new ruler, Saturnius, discovers himself in a position of vulnerability after Tamora weds Saturnius instead. With apathetic Moor Aaron (Harry Lennix) as an accomplice, Tamora plots her revenge against Titus beat by wicked beat, first by siccing her surviving, sadistic offspring (Matthew Rhys and Jonathan Rhys Meyers) on Lavinia.

Gruesome images are suddenly abound. Lavinia is left for dead by a swamp, her tongue removed and her fingers replaced by bundles of gnarled sticks, which will ensure a reciprocation of cruelty. I must say I haven't been this shocked by gore for countless movies now, because Taymor concentrates on the residual effects of violence, the part we can't escape from or into. Her secret weapon in getting mileage out of the bloody aftermath is cinematographer Luciano Tovoli, Dario Argento's frequent lensman.

Fraser's ghoulish melancholia further inhibits audience complacency, the post-traumatic Lavinia suffering irreparable damage before our wincing eyes throughout the latter half of the action. Lennix also excels here, playing Iago's racially-inverted forebear, while Lange's ferocious matriarch makes Lady Macbeth seem like a doormat. Perhaps the most ingenious casting of all is Hopkins', whose performance cannily merges his theatrical and Hannibal Lecter personae. (To that end, Titus' scabrous wit controversially acknowledges that laughter lies at the end of misery. It's our only defense.)

But it is Osheen Jones' observant Young Lucius through which Taymor's many strategies become clearest. A prologue suggests that a modern-day boy is a Dorothy or an Alice whose unchecked rage against toy soldiers has manifested tumult beyond his influence; later referred to as Titus' grandson, he's an audience surrogate who simultaneously remains our moral compass and the traditional child hero of a surreal fairy story who will come to regret his selfish curiosity. Although the film grieves for our past, it ends on a hopeful note regarding our future.

Taymor, the mind behind Broadway's kabuki rendition of The Lion King, is an ambitious artist, to put it patly; Titus has a grand-scale scope and imagination that some film directors spend half their careers building up to, and a palpable, happily contradictory intimacy (often thanks to Elliot Goldenthal's heartfelt arrangements, which emotionally unite us with the characters) legions more could never hope to achieve. (I do feel, however, that its nightmare sequences are superfluous and masturbatory, the film's only true mark of neophyte indulgence.) Titus is a purposeful and powerful abstraction that revalidates themes implicit in its source. Experimentation doesn't always lead to rapture--sometimes, it is its tired substitute. For Taymor, the two are interdependent, and her obvious passion is contagious.

DISC ONE

Fight Club DVD producer David Britten Prior has once again surpassed the standard of excellence he established for himself on Ravenous. Let's get the standard stuff out of the way: the 2.35:1, 16x9-enhanced video shines, despite mild print wear. Contrast and black level are spot-on, resulting in awesome shadow detail. Shimmer and other digital artifacts are not an issue, even in scenes rife with chrome objects. The Dolby Digital 5.1 audio mix has been championed elsewhere; unfortunately, dialogue sounded overly compressed--crushed--on my system, and I thought the rear channel use peculiarly uninspired. On the other hand, bass extension is solid, and Goldenthal's compositions, additionally assigned a dedicated track (more on that later), give the impression of being in the orchestra pit.

Taymor provides a feature-length audio commentary that really gets to the bottom of her method in a welcomely unpretentious manner. Lennix and Hopkins (individually recorded and spliced together) contribute a second, chapter-specific commentary (helpfully indexed) that is equally fun. Lennix and Taymor often overlap in their remarks because the actor generously discusses the production surrounding his input; Hopkins is forthcoming and allusive towards future projects. Now for the isolated music: Goldenthal speaks between passages, and sometimes runs over. Those wanting to hear that beautiful climactic theme will find a cleaner rendition of it in the film proper.

DISC TWO

A 34-minute Columbia University Q&A with Julie Taymor is akin to an abridged and better-organized version of her commentary, and leaves few potential queries unanswered. The aforementioned documentary, which takes us inside the bowels of pre-production, for the most part, makes a terrific companion piece to her interview, and its candid, offhand nature recalls Mark Rance's brilliantly voyeuristic making-ofs for New Line's best Platinum Series releases.

Kyle Cooper, designer of Se7en's memorable opening titles, explains what went into creating the special effects for Titus in a section called "Penny Arcade Nightmares", aside from two trailers ("If you think revenge is sweet, taste this!") and four commercials the last of the live-action bonus material. A pair of lengthy "American Cinematographer" articles (don't worry, the layout is easy on the eyes), a gallery of costume stills, and an uneventful Easter egg, plus a foldout containing a trenchant New York Times essay by Jonathan Bate, top off the dessert menu.-Bill Chambers