By Dennis Harvey

POSTELECTION ANALYTICAL WISDOM from the so-called liberal media largely amounted to vague chastisement, smirking that Democrats and other zeitgeist-resistant types will now have to heed the supposed message sent to them by voters. Which was pretty much "Straighten up and fly 'right.' " Appointed biggest loser by many was Hollywood itself, that well-known propagandistic H.Q. for the Jew, the Harlot, and the 'Mo.

Admittedly, there's something kinda stomach-rumbling about being encouraged toward democratic participation by the likes of P. Diddy and Leonardo DiCaprio. But the fallout is being interpreted not just as a reason for stars to shut up in the future but also as a reason for the industry to self-serve a mandate: curb the filth! You can be sure that category includes Will and Grace and bootylicious music videos as well as genuine porn.

Actually, there's been a steady swell in Christian entertainment media for some years, from its robust music market to holy popcorn flicks like The Omega Code. Hollywood has been skittish toward religious subjects since the age of Aquarius dawned, but this preexisting niche market, the sleeper horror smash The Passion of the Christ, and Emperor W.'s Phase II anointment will likely change that very soon, or at least commence resuscitation of that semi-extinct genre, the family movie.

This isn't inherently a bad thing – in theory. But one shudders at the thought of cookie-cutter blockbuster formulas simply put through an A.D. 2004 "moral values" car wash, emerging the same but for an antiseptic new surface where cussin' is missin', sex appeal is chaste, and violence bloodless. Jesus might not get marquee billing for a while (through there are several vaguely Christian projects in the mainstream pipeline, like theologian C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe). But be sure to keep a movie-watcher's eye out for the commercially safer new piety of patriotism, which, if you haven't noticed, has been your god for more than 38 months now, bitch.

That makes National Treasure quite possibly the shape of crap to come – its sole distinction. This is a movie that manages to salute the flag incessantly while otherwise not altering its video game-like, recommended-ages-8-to-14, ultradumb action-fantasy conventions one whit. It's so professionally characterless that I sometimes even forgot I was watching a movie, in that amnesiac "Oh – the plot's moved on? They're in New York now? How long is this thing?" way.

There's reason to question whether the mall crowd will queue up for star Nicolas Cage, and this may be that rare product the mass audience scorns as too generic and stupid (don't bet on it, though). But whether National Treasure turns out to be a hit or a dud, the alleged high-concept hybrid here – sorta Uncle Sam goes Indiana Jones – is sure to prove a blueprint for mediocrities yet unpitched. It's like The Da Vinci Code for dummies. Or for those for whom even a little European culture is too heathenish. Plus, the target demographic is – what else? – 12-year-old boys. And it's so already almost a video game-slash-theme park attraction!

Cage's character, Benjamin Franklin Gates (really), is a "third generation treasure hunter" convinced the founding fathers did something really important: they hid lots of expensive stuff. As in gold and priceless art looted – oops – preserved from civilizations lost over the course of four millennia. The government scoffs when Gates warns it that ruthless former partner Ian Howe (Sean Bean; a Brit, natch) is going to steal the Declaration of Independence to access the secret map in invisible ink on its back. Aided by Comedy-Relief Sidekick (Justin Bartha) and the Girl (Diane Kruger, the face that launched a thousand shrugs in Troy), Gates must thus steal the document first, before those bad guys do. "It's not about the money!" his dad confirms. It's about, you know, the liberty!

American History 101 errata, as well as conspiracy nuggets involving those trendy Masons and Knights Templar, are sprinkled amid routine chases that invariably take place in and around national monuments. (Including, take note, Wall Street.) Somehow all this scrambling for historic bling is painted in flag-waving good citizenship terms. But more concrete values are detectable in the sweet new wheels and tony new gigs the good guys flaunt at the fade. Throughout, the word "treasure" gets incorporated into every exchange, as single-mindedly as a child might use "candy" as an anticipatory mantra. Me want more! And God bless America, y'all.

Reliably entertaining in his gonzo roles, Cage is also consistent in his straight-leading-man ones: he recurrently prompts the question "Why am I here playing a normal person?" He's like a stand-in mistakenly left under the lights as cameras roll. Christopher Plummer, Harvey Keitel, and Jon Voigt play the most forgettable supporting roles of their careers. Enough whoring now, guys. Get back to work.

Behind the camera no one is slumming – this really is their level. The three scenarists have been involved in the likes of Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle and Operation Dumbo Drop. It's probably safe to say director Jon Turteltaub will never make an interesting movie, having contributed such bars of soap as Disney's The Kid, 3 Ninjas, and (his highlight so far) While You Were Sleeping.

Then of course there's producer Jerry Bruckheimer, who, with and without late partner Don Simpson, has been responsible for half the defining dreck of our era, not forgetting the gestation of unstoppable buzz-killing machine Michael Bay. Actually, Bay would have been a much better choice for National Treasure. His bombast and shamelessness could've socked this harebrained concept into the Rocky IV-grade, star-spangled camp zone Turteltaub is too dull to access. Then again, the inoffensive blandness he spreads like tapioca over every frame just might be the dominant flavor we'll be spoon-fed – at least for four more years.

'National Treasure' opens Fri/19 at Bay Area theaters. See Movie Clock for show times.