Five years ago, “300” redefined how dumb a movie can be as long as it looks sweeter than Usdan’s apple pie ice cream. Tarsem Singh’s “Immortals” pushes both extremes further. It is 300 squared, failing elementary requirements for plot and character while shattering the boundaries of style-for-its-own-sake. No blockbuster in the past decade has approached the ornate beauty of “Immortals”–it’s an instant classic, an interesting failure, and essential viewing for moviegoers itching for something fresh.

First, the bad news: the script isn’t just formulaic or boring: it’s nonsensical. Imagine what an M. Night Shyamalan rewrite of “Clash of the Titans” would look like, and you’re close. Likeable Henry Cavill plays Theseus, a Greek warrior-peasant loosely based on his mythological namesake who has to get his hands on a magic bow before Mickey Rourke’s lobster claw hat-wearing King Hyperion uses it to unleash the Titans. Throw in a virgin oracle (Freida Pinto) and doucher sidekick (Stephen Dorff), and you’ve got a fellowship that is uninteresting even when it’s in peril or coated in oil. There are also the gods–a crew of androgynous slackers that look more ready for a catwalk than waging holy war. A subplot between Zeus and rebellious daughter Athena makes no logical sense but still manages to be more emotionally resonant than the main quest.

Who cares? Singh has gone out of his way to hype the film’s Baroque-inspired aesthetic, and it’s more than reason enough to kill an evening. Each shot is meticulous and physical, and every scene has one image you’ll be talking about for days. The Minotaur, Theseus’s most famous adversary, is reinvented as a giant with a Pinhead-style bull mask. One god’s weapon makes consecutive heads explode in slow motion. Singh’s signature matching transitions make several appearances, and each makes you sit up and question what you just saw. And that’s all just foreplay for the film’s extended final battle: an innovative confrontation between the gods and the Titans that breathes technical sophistication and narrative logic into Zack Snyder’s stale speed-ramping.

One caveat: there’s a difference between looking gloriously artificial and just glossy and stilted, and “Immortals” crosses that line in its slower scenes. Singh’s painterly skill is undermined by a weak grasp of rhythm and blocking, so his moments of quiet reprieve are universally dead air. So “Immortals” can be a slog for a while, but patient viewers are generously rewarded. Along with the better “Drive,” it’s an example of a foreign goon storming into Hollywood and turning the stalest of projects into a cutting-edge dream. Cynics tired of superheroes, remakes, and cheap horror movies need to flock to this in droves: it’s a good chance to turn the 2010s into a more dynamic decade for mainstream genre fare.