“The Last Samurai” could be the first big budget Hollywood movie to express heart-felt sympathy for the bloody, demented and self-destructive values of Muslim fundamentalism.

Not that director/co-writer Ed Zwick (“Glory”, “The Siege”) makes any direct reference to Al Qaeda or Bin Laden or any other exemplars of historic or present day Islamic radicalism. Nevertheless, his heavy-handed anti-Western/anti-Imperialist messages combine with his lyrical glorification of an ancient, exotic martial and religious tradition which emphasizes bloodshed and martyrdom to project an uncomfortably contemporary (and topical) resonance. When his expatriate hero Tom Cruise shrugs off the question “Why do you hate your own country so much?” as too obvious to merit an answer, he seems to speak for Zwick’s own profound alienation from all aspects of modern American culture.

The action unfolds in the 1870s and centers around Cruise, deploying his familiar swagger as an arrogant, alcoholic veteran of the War Between the States who now makes his living hawking weapons for a major gun company. He’s haunted by flashbacks of his Indian-fighting service on the Great Plains after the war, in which he apparently participated in a horrific massacre of innocent women and children. In San Francisco, an Irishman (incongruously played by Scotsman Billy Connolly, with a bogus brogue) introduces the hard-drinking Cruise to some Japanese industrialists who plan to import U.S. weapons into their country and want to hire the bibulous war hero to show the Emperor’s army how to use them.

Cruise arrives in Yokohama (quaintly rendered through Computer Generated Imagery) and befriends bemused Englishman Timothy Spall, while working alongside a cruel and brutish colleague (Tony Goldwyn) from his killer cavalry days, to train the newly recruited Imperial troops. Despite Cruise’s insistence that the raw soldiers aren’t prepared for battle, they march off to confront a force of rebellious Samurai in the provinces. In a poetically charged and formidably ferocious scene of combat and carnage, the larger force with guns and bayonets faces annihilation from fearless traditional warriors in their medieval armor, with swords and arrows.

Cruise survives, badly wounded, and impresses the Samurai band with his reckless courage. They take him as a captive to their remote and picturesque village in the mountains where his various wounds, physical and spiritual, gradually heal; he even goes through hysterically over-acted alcoholic withdrawal. The charismatic leader of the Samurai rebellion (the tall, impressive Ken Watanabe) speaks perfect English (naturally) and represents the highest conceptions of dignity, self-discipline, sacrifice and honor. Cruise responds to these traditional ways, and to the gentle, timeless rhythms of village life, as an invaluable antidote to his inner emptiness. Clearly, he sees in the Samurai chieftain the same sort of Noble Savage he fought in the Indian Wars — a stoic warrior, committed to fight to the death for the ancient ways of his people even if the entire tide of history runs against him. The connection between the Ken Watanable character here, with his mystic sense of doom in combating modernity, and both Sitting Bull and Bin Laden feels unmistakable. Al Qaeda echoes also appear in the Samurai leader’s implacable warfare against traitorous elements of his own people (the pro western Japanese in the movie come across as especially slimy and loathsome) who want to cooperate with an American commercial agenda.