Starring Nick Nolte, Damien Nguyen, and Tim Roth. In English, Cantonese, Mandarin, and Vietnamese with English subtitles. Rated PG. Opens Friday, August 5, at the Cinemark Tinseltown

Of all the nations in the world, few had as little invested in the outcome of the Vietnam War as Norway. Socially democratic and neutral, its politics were as far removed from Ho Chi Minh's as they were from LBJ's. If one were looking for an objective opinion of that still-festering conflict, a Norwegian would be a good person to give it, which perhaps explains why this film about a Vietnamese refugee in search of his GI father (Nick Nolte) was entrusted to the Nordic hands of Hans Petter Moland (best known locally for Zero Degrees Kelvin).

When we meet Binh (Damien Nguyen), we see him eating his supper on the porch like a dog while his employers enjoy more ample fare indoors. This is because their servant is bui doi, a Vietnamese phrase meaning "less than dust", the preferred term for children born of Vietnamese women and American soldiers. Eventually, Binh sets out to find his mother (Thi Kim Xuan Chau) in Saigon, which he does, discovering in the process that he also has a younger brother (Dang Quoc Thinh Tran). Unfortunately, a bloody accident soon ruins this brief happy reunion, and Binh and his sibling are forced to flee for their lives.

As boat people, the brothers find their destinies harsher than ever, and they eventually wind up in a displaced persons' camp in Malaysia. Another escape follows, and Binh falls in love with karaoke prostitute Ling (Ling Bai) while struggling to survive a Machiavellian battle of wills with sinister Captain Oh (Tim Roth).

Indeed, the more Binh travels, the more his dreams seem to slip away.

Mollander's approach to this potentially melodramatic material is surprisingly phlegmatic, the director maintaining a carefully measured distance between human suffering and Hollywood bathos. What's more, his view of the world is decidedly post-Cold War, his camera seeing people more as individuals than as embodiments of social roles. (That the most snobbish capitalists in the film are actually Communist officials is typical of his systematic undermining of left-right clichés.)

Despite its length (more than two hours) and frequent changes of scenery, there's nothing really epic about The Beautiful Country (a title, incidentally, that refers to both America and Vietnam). There's a great deal that's real about it, however, and that's something that precious few contemporary films can honestly say.