Channel surfing the other day, I settled on a broadcast of a George W. Bush campaign speech. Speaking to a West Virginia crowd, Bush at one point hailed his audience as "the kind of folks who have learned to love their neighbors, and treat them as they would like to be treated."

Aside from highlighting Bush's religiosity (genuine, or affected, depending upon your political persuasion), this segment of Bush's speech was meant to reinforce a theme that became prominent in the aftermath of September 11th and, despite bitter conflict over the war in Iraq and the political polarization of the country in general, is still portrayed as fact by most media outlets: in difficult times, Americans unite in a selfless, determined effort to advance the common good. I don't know how other countries do things, but that sure as hell is the way we handle our business when the chips are down.

And so we are delusional, says Michael Haneke. A purveyor of sado-masochism and misery in "The PianoTeacher," Haneke's follow up film, "Time of the Wolf," is another bleak, depressing examination of human flaws and man's cruelty to man. But instead of a troubled individual, the subject is now a dysfunctional community that is representative of all of society, and certainly an allusion to America.

The premise is as follows: An apocalyptic plague (the issue is never directly addressed) has swept through France, turning people out of their homes and poisoning food and water supplies. In the film's opening scene, a man is murdered by squatters at his country home, where he has fled with his family, and the remainder of "Time of the Wolf" chronicles the attempt of his wife (Isabelle Huppert) and their two children to survive the plague as they set out across a countryside strewn with human and animal carcasses, and perpetually enveloped by either the complete blackness of night or the suffocating fog of day - sunlight has no place in this world. The family eventually finds its way to an abandoned railroad station that is occupied by others facing the same plight. Hungry, tired, and scared, with nerves on edge and hysteria always hanging in the air, the people await their savior - a train that is rumored to occasionally pass through on its way to more pleasant locales.

The desperation and fear engendered by the plague recall the aftermath of September 11th, but Haneke's perception of human interaction in these situations will be shocking to those who have come to accept as fact the idea that people respect the brotherhood of man in crises. Life in the railroad station constitutes a bunker-style existence and, stripped of the structure of modern society and the behavioral template it provides, its inhabitants revert to incivility as the instinct towards self-preservation overwhelms consideration for the needs of others. Seemingly, this plague, or a disaster like it, is all that stands between our highly evolved world with its particular values, and a simpler existence, based strictly on the desire to survive, and wherein conduct is unmoderated by standards of decorum.

In the railroad station, food and water are the most prized commodities, and expensive jewelry is useless while a cigarette lighter is coveted; a man becomes a leader simply by possessing a gun and demands sexual favors from women in return for special treatment; ethnic prejudice is unleashed and a mob tries to kill an immigrant, while a man rapes a woman at knifepoint and goes unpunished; the dire situation drives a teenage girl to commit suicide, and a young boy to the brink of throwing himself into a bonfire. Haneke is clearly preoccupied with the worst that mankind has to offer, but each act of cruelty or selfishness is, at least to cynic - or perhaps, a misanthrope, highly plausible. Although he largely steers clear of depicting acts of kindness or compassion, Haneke's analysis of human behavior in traumatic situations feels accurate, if not particularly reassuring.

"Time of the Wolf" is competing with Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11" for the right to be called the most tendentious film in theaters right now. But while Moore's film casts the United States's political leaders as villains, "Time of the Wolf," indirectly, calls America's rank and file to account. It compels us to ask: How did we act after September 11th? Was everyone a saint? How are we acting now, as citizens of a member of the community of nations, in the age of terrorism?

To be fair, the film struck me as motivated more by pessimism about human nature than anti-Americanism, but as the plot resembles, and was likely inspired by, our recent history, "Time of the Wolf" can reasonably be construed as a slap at the 'ole U.S. of A. So be it. George W. might think we are beyond reproach, but I'm certain Haneke disagrees and won't be upset if he ruffles a few American feathers. I only regret that the film was not made by an American filmmaker with American actors. "Time of the Wolf" is likely to be dismissed by many as a European's tired anti-American diatribe, but it rings true, and it might have a larger audience and greater impact if it portrayed Americans behaving badly. After all, we expect that stuff from the French and we're not them.

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