February 6, 2004 | Maybe you've heard what Miracle is all about, and have already decided to give it a pass. Take my advice: Think again. In lesser hands, this true-life drama about dogged underdogs at the 1980 Winter Olympics could have come across as the most treacly type of flag-waving, feel-good fantasy. But the makers of Miracle tell their inspiring tale with intelligence and restraint, so that their movie earns its potent emotional impact without cheap sentiment or clumsy heart-tugging. In this context, the moldiest of sports-movie clichés somehow seem, if not newly minted, then at least freshly refurbished.

Working from a script credited to Eric Guggenheim, director Gavin O'Connor vividly details the celebrated "Miracle on Ice" victory by U.S. hockey players against a fearsomely formidable team from the Soviet Union. The action on ice is spectacularly persuasive and skillfully choreographed, while the mostly unfamiliar young men cast as U.S. players - many of them amateur or semipro athletes without previous acting credits - form a seamless ensemble of intensely dedicated competitors.

But the real key to the movie's success is the artful underplaying by Kurt Russell in the lead role of Herb Brooks, the University of Minnesota coach recruited by U.S. Olympic officials to ramrod the 1980 Hockey Team. To his great credit, Russell resists any impulse to portray Brooks as a stereotypical gruff-but-lovable authority figure. Instead, he plays the coach as a sternly obsessive taskmaster who frankly warns players that he wants to win games, not make friends.

While stopping well short of making Brooks an unfeeling autocrat, Russell remains rigorously disciplined in his avoidance of easy, audience-pleasing sentimentality, even during his scenes with Oscar nominee Patricia Clarkson (Pieces of April), who makes the most of a thankless role as Brooks' supportive (but not infinitely patient) wife. Another plus: Russell nails Brooks' Midwestern accent so well that, about 10 minutes into Miracle, you stop paying attention to his speech pattern and simply accept it as another character trait (not unlike Brooks' rather unfortunate penchant for plaid pants).

Although Miracle clocks in at 135 minutes, O'Connor maintains a satisfyingly brisk pace while viewing the recruitment, training and Olympic trials of the U.S. Hockey Team against a backdrop of 1979-80 turmoil. Starting with a smartly concise montage under its opening credits, the movie positions then-contemporary events - the U.S. oil shortage, the Iran hostage crisis, the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan - as not-so-indirect influences on the ice-hockey activity.

Indeed, the very hiring of Brooks - a coach with many NCAA championships to his credit - is presented in terms of Cold War realpolitik, as U.S. Olympic bigwigs frankly acknowledge the propaganda value of fielding a credible team of gutsy amateurs against seemingly undefeatable Soviet Union players. Gradually, maybe inevitably, the prospect of a U.S.-Soviet face-off is enthusiastically embraced by many Americans - much to Brooks' wary displeasure - as a welcome opportunity to "beat the Commies" at their own game.

Early on, Brooks establishes his audacious game plan for defeating Soviets: A new style of play emphasizing group effort over individual ability, merging the best of Russian, Canadian and European approaches. "I'm not looking for the best players," he explains during tryouts, "I'm looking for the right players." In scenes that often recall basic-training exercises in war movies, Brooks methodically (and, yes, mercilessly) drives his players to push themselves to the point of exhaustion, and then a little further. By doing so, he strips away their individualistic impulses while forcing them to act as a single unit of fluid, resourceful athleticism.

Much like the U.S. pucksters they portray, the well-cast supporting actors behave more like team players than discrete individuals. Which, of course, makes it all the easier for you to cheer for them as a group, even if you can't tell a slap shot from a sweep check, when the U.S. team goes for the gold.