AS THE DISCLAIMER at The Coca-Cola Kid's beginning so emphatically states, this is not really a film about Coke, although the recent confusion of Coke brands makes the choice of corporation ironic. It is only partially a film about American economic imperialism, a statement which Yugoslavian director Dusan Makavejev can't resist. Mostly, this film is about Americanisms, the facades that we try to present to the outside world, and how these masks are false to ourselves as much as to others.

As the archetypical American facade, enter Eric Roberts ex-marine, In Search of Excellence Harvard MBA yuppie (enough stereotypes yet?), whose dissertation was on "Money as God's Muscle." As Coca-Cola's troubleshooter, he's been assigned to the untroubled Australian Division to find out what the trouble is, then take care of it. "Don't get scared" and "don't get angry" Coke warns the Australian Headquarters. The caveat seems an understatement when we see the incredible yet believable religious zeal which Roberts gives his character. Truly, he is what Kubrick had in mind in Dr. Strangelove with the solemn declaration "You'll have to answer to the Coca-Cola Company." He permits no distractions, such a sexy secretary (Greta Scacchi) or a revolutionary waiter, to block his quest for constant innovation He does however make time for children, old ladies, and animals in distress, which shows that underneath his corporate exterior exists something more human.

Roberts finally concludes that the entirety of Australian Coke's problem lies in the small outback hamlet of Anderson Valley, where old fashioned operator T. George McDowell (Bill Kerr) has carved out his own soft-drink niche. What ensues is a war for the American way, with men in Santa Claus suits (what does this mean?) trying to market Coke at a Rotary social, and fleets of big red trucks pouring into the valley in the name of free trade.

Victory seems assured, except the Australians have learned how to turn the American's own facades against them. Roberts's male virility is cleverly called into question by an arranged dance with a transvestite, and then he seduced by his former secretary in a Santa suit (again, what does this mean?). T. George tries his hand at American marketing, with his new McCoke line. Most importantly though, Roberts is won over by the real excellence that T. George puts into his product, and so by the time Coke is the real market victor, he doubts that they should have been. This provides a fitting lesson for the real Coke, which should have remembered the value of tradition before it had its costly attack of the MBA's last spring.

Bizarre symbolism abounds in this tale. Red is everywhere, from the Coke cans to the ever enigmatic Santa suit. And why does Roberts choose to befriend a small marsupial, of all creatures, that he finds in his apartment. But this movie is definitely not, as one Boston critic put it, too weird for words. The comedy of Coca-Cola Kid is akin to that of Bill Forsyth, odd and ethnic, but not inaccessible by any means. In contrast to the supposed Oscar heavy-weights that have gone thud this fall, The Coca-Cola Kid doesn't take itself or anyone else too seriously. Even the apocalyptic closing caption is delivered with a cheerful chirp. So, yes, this Coke is it.