The story basically deals with the hunt for that terror head, Al-Saleem, of undefined al-Qaeda links who has threatened to target places in the US and UK. Ferris speaks Arabic, often dresses up like an Arab, wears a helpful goatee and is not averse to being hit by missiles or bitten by rabid dogs. Hoffman is his CIA handler, keeping a watch on him via an eerily clear satellite.

True to the film’s theme, there is an underpinning of distrust in the relationship between Ferris and Hoffman. While Ferris is the one taking all the risks, from Iraq to Jordan, Turkey and Dubai to Syria, as a boorish Hoffman tries to instruct him 24/7 on earphon— while chaperoning his kids to school or ballgames — Crowe gives Hoffman the sense of credibility that comes with age and experience. When Ferris urges that a local accomplice be protected or looked after, or strikes up instant likes and dislikes, you tend to agree with Hoffman that he could be naive.

However, the abilities of Crowe and DiCaprio or director Ridley Scott — who has enough Middle East under his belt but handles this one like The Gladiator — can’t keep away the disquiet over how the highly wrought and complex issue of terror has been handled.

Even as tokenism, the film doesn’t make a nod to the history that tinges and singes the region’s geography. Instead, look at the tokenism it does employ: if DiCaprio is called Ferris, sounding closely like Faris (meaning a Knight in Arabic), his love interest is a woman of Iranian descent called Aisha (the Prophet’s wife’s name; she didn’t exist in the book). Aisha’s nephews don’t like their mother’s cooking; they would rather have pasta, spaghetti. Me too, chuckles Ferris.

... contd.