In 1980, the United States was not a happy place. The gas lines of the late seventies were shortening, but still prevalent. Interest rates were high, the country’s economy mired in mediocrity. On the world front, Russia invaded Afghanistan and the U.S. was perceived as being powerless to do anything about it. Even worse, the Ayatollah came to power in Iran taking multiple Americans hostage, the President Carter’s attempt to rescue them a spectacularly bloody mistake.

The country needed a spark – something to make it stand up; something to make it feel proud; something to give people hope. America needed a wake-up call, and anything even remotely optimistic would do. What they got were 20 hockey players and one hungry coach, all eager to prove that the letters “U,” “S” and “A” meant something. So on a cold February day in Lake Placid, this band of youngsters did the unthinkable, beating the Russian hockey team in the Olympic semifinal on their way to a gold medal. Quite simply, it was a miracle, and just the sort America was waiting for.

Walt Disney, after back-to-back hits with “Remember the Titans” and 2002’s excellent “The Rookie,” turns its attention to this singular moment in United States athletic history with “Miracle.” Even though everyone knows the story, even though there isn’t a moment of doubt how it ends up, director Gavin O’Connor’s (“Tumbleweeds”) film is the first stand up and cheer event picture of 2004. It is a mesmerizing, rollicking good time of a movie, the type that puts a lump in the throat, tear in the eye and a smile on the face, all at the same time.

O’Connor and rookie screenwriter Eric Guggenheim focus their film on legendary hockey coach Herb Brooks (Kurt Russell, “Dark Blue, “Vanilla Sky”) and his determination crafting the perfect team to beat the Russian Red Army juggernaut. Considered by many to be the best hockey team in the world (and in some sports circles considered the greatest team of all time), the Russians had proven their world superiority time and time again. This included demolishing a vaunted All-Star team from the NHL, the supposed best players in the world nothing more than chattel to this Eastern Block powerhouse. 

Brooks decided the best way to beat the Soviets was to play like the Soviets, adopting their style of speed, passing, conditioning and physicality melding it with the Canadian and European schools of hockey. It was a hybrid system, constructed with one singular purpose in mind: beat the Russians.

It was a risky gamble. With only a short period of time to teach his players the system, was it possible to completely reinvent the American game of hockey before the Olympic games? Never mind that the U.S. hadn’t won a medal since their 1960 gold. In most peoples’ minds the best Brooks and his squad could hope for was to not make fools of themselves, while at worst this complete reinvention of American hockey could lead to world-wide embarrassment.

Of course, we know this wasn’t the case. Brooks got it right, somehow egging his players on to defeat the most storied amateur athletic team in history. The Russians hadn’t lost on Olympic match since 1960, every country in the world seemingly ceding the top podium position to them before the games even began. Heck, even the sportscasters considered a Soviet win a forgone conclusion, the pundits patting the American team on the back for making it to the medal round but not giving them even a fool’s chance to win.

But not Brooks. Assembling a team of rough’n’tumble collegiate athletes, most from Massachusetts and Minnesota, the coach schooled them tirelessly in his newfangled view of the game, mercilessly challenging them to be greater than the sums of their singular parts. Sacrificing any personal relationships, Brooks took to them like a drill sergeant, beating his ideas into them day-in and day-out. He forced them to bond together, not with him, and in doing so the team struck bonds of love and togetherness that hold true today.

Russell is simply fantastic as Brooks. One of the most underrated actors in the history of American film, he finds away to make the doggerel coach sympathetic and lovable, stripping away his didactic and militant façade to reveal a deeply caring human being who loved his players more than he could ever admit. It is a deep, passionate performance full of longing, regret, hope, love and determination, the fire burning behind Russell’s eyes constantly fueling the picture to even greater heights.

Adding sublime support is recent “Pieces of April” Oscar-nominee Patricia Clarkson as Brooks’ long-suffering wife Patty. With only a few, slightly underwritten scenes to do it in Clarkson fleshes out the character imbuing “Miracle” with her stoic resolve. This should be a throwaway role, the token forgotten female to Russell’s central figure. Clarkson won’t have it, the actress sharing a potent, heated chemistry with the lead that’s passionately expressive. The requisite moment where the two verbally spar over Brooks’ emotional aloofness works amazingly well almost in spite of itself, the two actors so good they bring things to a hearty boil.

I wish I could say the rest of the cast fares as well as these two. Unfortunately, Guggenheim fails to give the members of the U.S. Olympic Team much individual personality. We never get a chance to know whom these guys are or why they seem to wholeheartedly buy into Brooks’ bellicose system. They all end up being enigmas, interchangeable cogs in a film seemingly with room for only one distinct character.

Yet, while this tactic unfortunately distances the players from the audience as individuals, as a collective whole they are still quite endearing. Watching them suffer through practice after practice, seeing them sweat blood and bust heads out on the ice, it is hard not to root for them even though it is a forgone conclusion they’re going to come out victorious. Heck, even the cliché-filled scenes somehow ring true, a player shouting he plays for the United States of America enough to make even the hardest-hearted cynic cheer.

On top of that, O’Connor paces his film beautifully, subtlety building to the climactic game with a showman’s grace. He and cinematographer Daniel Stoloff (“Tumbleweeds”) achieve a breathtaking, brutally warp-speed look at hockey, creating a you-are-there symmetry inside the U.S./Russian game that’s borderline awesome. It’s all edited with crackerjack precision by John Gilroy (“Narc”), the movie weaving and bobbing through many of the games more intimate facets with the unwavering refinement of a speed skating ballerina.  I also liked that O’Connor chose to use the actual 1980 Al Michael/Ken Dryden commentary as the only real audio support during the classic semifinal match. I can’t imagine anyone being able to duplicate his classic, “Do you believe in miracles?” exclamation and I’m certainly glad the filmmakers didn’t try.