by John P. Meyer

Big Red and crew fight their way through cyclopean ruins, encountering intimations of apocalypse in the process.

What you've probably heard through the grapevine is true: Hellboy II: The Golden Army is likely to disappoint no one. From devotees of the comic book series (Mike Mignola co-wrote the story) to fans of the first film (the major characters - and the actors who originally played them - are back for this return engagement) to die-hard Guillermo del Toro mavens (who will encounter no shortage of the kind of twisted, intricate and dangerously dark creature configurations they've come to expect), anyone bringing expectations into the theater will end up walking out a winner.

As for those who come to this movie cold: there's enough old fashioned action and adventure to stir the circulatory cinders of even the most cynical cinematic sourpuss. (Right, Frank?)

One of the great strengths of director del Toro's approach to filmmaking is his knack for fulfilling the essential requirements of the genre - whether we're talking about ghost stories or horror tales or fantasy or comic book action-adventure - and then stirring in his unique and - frankly - downright disturbing perspective on things. Which is almost always fascinating, from a guilty "can't look away" sort of viewpoint.

Hellboy II begins with a curious flashback sequence that finds little "Red" (played by Montse Ribé) at home on a New Mexico army base in the companionable company of his "Dad," Professor Trevor Bruttenholm (John Hurt). Ensconced in their cozy Quonset hut bachelor pad, in the glow from a pot-bellied stove, the professor celebrates Christmas Eve by reading H.B. a bedtime story from a lavishly illuminated ancient text.

The tale has a pervasive sword-and-sorcery tang, involving as it does a mythical race of beings ruled over by a pale-skinned, Nordic-featured royal family who wage shiny metallic war on the barbaric human race by creating an army of fearsome and indestructible mechanical warriors. The thousands of brass-hued soldiers prove to be so effective at slaying that the king takes pity on the surviving hapless humans and calls off his artificial dogs, vowing never again to unleash them on creation. He works out a truce with mankind, assigning them the bright, sunny places while he and his Frazetta-flavored warrior folk will retain dominion over forests, nooks and assorted sub-surface crannies.

It's all just a story, of course, but in the nature of stories told by characters in comic books (and movies made from them) it turns out to have a basis in truth. This particular tale proves so truthful, in fact, that no actual allegory is necessary to explain it - the literal characters involved start to show up in contemporary "real life" New York City.

A private auction house is about to drop the hammer on a royal relic from the ancient, apparently-not- so-mythical kingdom of Bethmoora when who should appear stage left but Prince Nuada (Luke Goss), himself an ancient relic but looking none worse for centuries of wear - unless you consider terminal Goth and a serious case of reptile eye to be a cause for concern. Before you can say "going twice" he's disrupted the bidding beyond resumption by unleashing a lacquered chest full of hungry tooth fairies on the assembly. Yes, you heard me - tooth fairies. And they really do crave teeth, it turns out, along with other and varied sources of calcium. (Uh oh.)

Waiting in the story element wings are Hellboy (Ron Perlman), fish fellow Abe Sapien (Doug Jones, making a fine career for himself by never showing the movie-going world his actual face) and the fiery-tempered Liz Sherman (Selma Blair). These worthies are called into action by Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense director Tom Manning (Jeffrey Tambor, playing straight human to the chromosomal freaks within his purview) when he learns of the widespread calcium-munching going on at the auction house, and the team proceeds to the scene of the culinary crime.

While they arrive too late to tangle with Prince Nuada and his tricky telescoping sword, they do get in on some after-dinner tooth fairy dessert action, taking one of the ravenous blighters as a trophy before retiring to their CONTROL-like lair. But not before Hellboy makes a YouTube-worthy exit from the sixth-floor window of the building.

Hellboy, it seems, just can't keep a low profile - even when Director Manning attempts to bribe him with confiscated Cubans. (Cigars, I mean.) As a result of all the unwelcome publicity, the power brokers behind the BPRD send in a new team leader, an ectoplasmic chap in full Robbie the Robot regalia who answers to Johann Kraus (Seth MacFarlane). This Teutonic taskmaster tries to reign in H.B. by showing him what a disadvantage his unfettered rage can be during a confrontation - and it's quite the sacrificial demonstration, as Kraus discovers.

From the corpse of the salvaged tooth fairy (reanimated through the agency of Kraus' gassy exhalation), the team learns the whereabouts of the storied Troll Market, where they hope to get a handle on the dangerous rogue prince. This leads them (and us) to the most exotic collection of creatures seen since the bar Luke Skywalker wanders into on Tatooine: it's pulsing with the most bizarre living creatures imaginable, all engaged in some sort of commerce, and - hilariously - the BPRD crew fit right in. For once, no one notices them as they go about their cloak-and-daggering. By the time they're done, they've ferreted out Prince Nuada's twin sister, Nuala (Anna Walton), who holds the key to unlocking the long-dormant power of the invincible golden force. Fortunately, she's on their side.

From a relationship angle, Red and Liz are on rocky terrain thanks to the rather slovenly self-centered behavior of the male side of the partnership - but a wild card is about to throw a whole new light on things where they're concerned. And in the blue corner, Abe develops quite the crush on painfully-blond, lizard-eyed Nuala, who seems to find nothing unsavory about the taste of seafood.

Following a dynamite giant monster interlude on the streets of Gotham (though actually a soundstage in Budapest), the action culminates beneath a stone megalith in Ireland, where Prince Nuada finds everything he needs to bring the army of mechanical soldiers to demon life. Including the soldiers themselves, of course, rank upon rank of them, glittering faintly in the shadow of cyclopian arches and towers.

Liz is forced to make a life-and-death decision concerning her big red beau, with the fate of the world in the balance. Then the climactic ass-kicking commences, with H.B. swinging his mighty fist and Nuada leaping and twirling about in grand Jet Li fashion, slicing the gloom (and anything else in range) with his glittering blade of diabolical steel. All the while, the infernal clockwork metal army inexorably closes in, until there seems no hope for our heroes, or - indeed - humanity.

Del Toro indulges once again his gleeful fascination with all things geared and mechanical, offering up constructions of such intricacy and weirdness that even those of us familiar with his bag of clockwork tricks find ourselves enthralled by this latest demonstration of the infernal device fetish. From the puzzle-box egg housing the Cthuloid elemental; to the golden soldiers themselves, their multifarious gearings powered by shimmering internal heat engines; to the steampunk leather-mounted goggles used to penetrate the glamour of the bag lady (who is actually a kitty-craving carnivore), nothing seems to emerge from Guillermo's imaginus mundi that has ever been dreamt of in our - or anyone else's - philosophy.

Mr. Perlman shines (or, rather, buffs up quite nicely) in his big red prosthesis, even managing to steal the end credits with a gaping double-take brought about by news from Liz. For her part, Ms. Blair proves up to the challenge of portraying the slinky hotter half without in any way rising above the limited character material. And Mr. Jones seems to channel Anthony Daniels' C3PO the entire time he's onscreen in the fish suit, right down to the vocal inflection.

Anna Walton as Nuala is a rare and fortunate find, demonstrating that casting crews needn't limit themselves to a-list known quantities in order to flesh out their playbills. She conveys a magnetic vulnerability capable of penetrating the emotional armor of any fish man out there. (Or in here.)

Truly outstanding as the villainous Nuada is Luke Goss, who makes the most of his sinister features and deathlike pallor by adding a palpable venom to the performance. This guy's downright scary.

What do you think?