History might have very easily been different if Secret Service agent Frank Horrigan had reacted quickly enough to catch the shot that did for JFK in Dealey Plaza that sunny day in 1963. At least, that's what this long-divorced jazz lover contends on those long nights at home in Washington DC. Then, while on a routine investigation of one of the 1,400 assassin threats the President apparently receives each year, he stumbles across one crazy too many. Opting to hide behind the name Booth (for obvious reasons) this is a man hotter on deed than mere threat, and one equally as obsessed with the veteran Horrigan as with killing the President.

No one is going to claim that much originality for this latest Clint Eastwood star-vehicle, his first film since the Oscar-laden Unforgiven last year. But at the same time, the best entertainment often comes from a new stirring of the familiar old ingredients, which is exactly what In The Line of Fire is, in spades.

This is a virtual two-hander, with in the White Hat Eastwood's Horrigan, the croaky, granite-faced maverick old-timer who stirs up more than a few memories of 'Dirty' Harry Callahan gone slightly New Man -- he is puffed by running alongside limos, and even catches the flu. Freed from all duties on this piece besides appearing, Eastwood has a fine time with all he's offered; he can still carry off the action-man stuff with aplomb, but when called upon can also stump up a considerable weight and wry humour that is easy on the eye, but at the same time masks the substantial talent he's honed over the past thirty or so years. His interrupted bedroom scene with fellow agent Rene Russo is a delight.

The Black Hat is passed to John Malkovich, an actor with a major theatrical reputation but also blessed with a remarkable line in exceedingly thick-sliced ham on screen. Here, though, he's gifted the 'Hannibal' Lector role and comes up smelling more of Brian Cox than Anthony Hopkins. Constantly changing his appearance, he brings a control freak fury to the piece, a prominent menace so that even when plot requires events to be a little procedural, his presence is riveting. And given such superbly matched players, the highlights of the film are a number of intimate telephone conversations between the two that crackle and spit with a palpable tension that would make even Hitchcock proud.

The other factor that lifts this above the norm is a much impressive script from newcomer Jeff Maguire that knows just how to play off enough humour and suspense to deliver crowd-pleasing thrills but also successfully undercut expectations sufficiently to keep the whole fresh and exhilarating. German director Wolfgang Petersen, after a string of machine-like works (the tired Shattered, for one), is gifted so much talent (including an edgy Morricone score) to work with that all he has to do is marshal it, which he does with an unfussy hand that in the process serves up two genuinely exemplary sequences: an extended roof-top chase a la the masterly Vertigo; and the whole end sequence at a Presidential dinner that is as wonderful as it is predictable.

Approach In The Line Of Fire with the proviso that it says in Clint's contract that he gets both his man and the girl, and this is top-flight, edge-of-your-seat entertainment of the highest order.