Four days. Four hours. One minute.

For third-generation enlistee Anthony “Swoff” Swofford (Jake Gyllenhaal, “Proof”), that was the extent of his time in combat during the first Gulf War as part of Operation Desert Storm. The rest of his time in the desert, his and the rest of his Marine battalion, was spent waiting. Over 100-days of doing virtually nothing save watching Air Force planes fly overhead to demolish targets they’ll never see, and after spending so much time preparing for combat this constant state of unbearable inactivity is driving Swoff and his companions completely around the bend.

This is “Jarhead,” “American Beauty” director Sam Mendes’ new feature based on the acclaimed memoir of Swofford. This is the first major studio production to take on the subject of the first Gulf War since the second one commenced (and continues to rage) and, as such, its resonance immediately goes far beyond anything else on the fall schedule. And it is impressive; technically phenomenal on so many different fronts it nearly boggles the mind. Heck, Roger Deakins’ (“The Man Who Wasn’t There”) cinematography is almost worth the price of admission on its own, the washed out over-saturated sand-swept landscapes both surreal and stunning.

And yet, despite Walter Murch’s (who also worked on “Apocalypse Now,” a movie given pointed reference here) crackerjack editing, Dennis Gassner’s (“Big Fish”) artful production design and the strongly assured performances of the entire cast, “Jarhead” ends up not adding up to anything remotely consequential. It is a remarkably thin and threadbare introspective melodrama, spending so much time hammering home the conflicted emotional insecurities of its protagonists any commentary the filmmakers wanted to impart is unfortunately lost amidst all the angst.

It is clear, fairly early on, that David O’ Russell’s vastly superior “Three Kings” is still the definitive opus on the first Gulf War. Both pictures go out of their way to show how much unlike war this conflict was for the soldiers on the ground. But whereas in that action melodrama – pointed political commentary cleverly hidden inside the threads of a military thriller – the soldier’s unshakable apathy and near-fury of having been trained for combat only to be relegated to the sidelines was emotionally visceral, here it only feels cute and too eccentrically ironic. Moments of soldiers playing football in full chemical gear, endlessly training in the desert heat and sitting around commenting on their unfaithful partners are good one their own, but tied together they add up to an unbelievably disappointing nothing.

Granted, some of these moments are spectacular. Swoff’s training montage and voiceover as he learns to become a sniper are somewhat mesmerizing, as is a surreal sequence late in the picture with him and his spotter (and friend) Roy (Peter Sarsgaard, “Shattered Glass”) in a burned out building finally getting a chance to put a target between their crosshairs. Best of all is the journey taken by Swoff’s unit during their first, and in their case only, moments of the ground war. As they ascend a desert dune, before them comes into focus a great interstate traffic jam of burned-out and decimated motor vehicles stretching into an apparent infinity, the lives of so many only wanted to flee conflict left littering a roadside smack dab in the middle of a giant nowhere.

But none of this serves any real purpose. So what if Jamie Foxx’s (“Ray”) – who, it must be admitted, is splendid – character Staff Sgt. Sykes is a career military man in love with the Marine Corps? There’s never enough going on with him for it to really register. Same goes for Chris Cooper’s (“Adaptation”) bellicose cheerleader Lt. Col. Kazinski. While the fellow Oscar-winner chews up both his scenes, they’re still not really anything more than glorified cameos, and as much fun as it is to see him strut and swear so brusquely nothing happening with him matters a single lick.

This is the whole movie, though, Mendes’s and screenwriter William Broyles Jr. (“The Polar Express”) crafting a surrealistic enigma desperately searching for a reason to exist. Poor Gyllenhaal is left stranded, stuck trying to find the keys to a character so thinly constructed I kept thinking someone was going to accidentally bump into him shattering the actor into a million pieces. There just isn’t anything here for him to play, Swoff’s insecurities and random rantings not given the space or the development they need for the character to ever resonate.

Yet, “Jarhead” is impossible to dismiss outright. Sarsgaard continues his 2005 streak (“The Skeleton Key,” “Flightplan” and now this) of being very, very good in very, very disappointing movies, and this performance might just be the best of the bunch. Also, even if nothing overly interesting (political and/or social commentary isn’t even hinted at save for a couple of character moments by Lucas Black, “Sling Blade”) happens, it’s still impossible to look at any feature about American soldiers in the Middle East without a shudder going up the spine. But even here Mendes comes up short, not having the guts of Kubrick to show the military’s talent for creating killers or Stone’s chutzpah to make the soldier’s collective misery operatic. Don’t get my wrong, Mendes is a master craftsman sure to make another classic along the lines of “American Beauty” someday, this just isn’t it.

Late in the film, Swofford states, “This is our labor… we wait,” and I couldn’t help but find myself agreeing with him. The difference? While the soldier waited for conflict, I waited for something worthwhile to happen. After watching “Jarhead,” it is clear neither one of us got what we were waiting for.