Recently I saw Mel Gibson’s Revolutionary War movie The Patriot, and I loved it. Not everyone feels the same way: the British, for example, who are loudly complaining that the film whitewashes the American historical figure on whom Gibson’s character is based (Francis Marion, known in the film as Benjamin Martin) and demonizes the British figure who serves as the main villain (Col. Banastre Tarleton, known in the film as Col. William Tavington).

No doubt they have a legitimate gripe; movies invariably place drama and emotional impact over accuracy, and there are events in the movie that don’t appear in the historical record (Tavington locks people in a church and burns it to the ground). Yet it would be a shame if that controversy were to overwhelm the virtues of The Patriot. In many ways, it’s one of the most honest and accurate historical films I’ve seen in years.

The problem with historical movies these days is that only the sets and costumes look historic. But the heroes act like 20th-century Americans—skeptics who sneer at authority, fight forces of oppression like the church, and hop into bed without regard for little details like marriage. If anyone even mentions notions like the truth of the Christian faith, the importance of doctrine or the sanctity of wedlock, it’s usually characters portrayed as stuffy prudes, mindless conformists or sanctimonious hypocrites. You’d never know anyone else ever cared about that sort of thing.

That’s not how things are in The Patriot.

The film abounds in Christian allusions and imagery. Mel Gibson and other characters repeatedly pray or speak of their faith, and Gibson’s troops keep a cross at the center of their camp, prominently displayed in several scenes. The colonial forces even find large numbers of recruits at a church, including the pastor. Throughout, the movie’s attitude toward Christianity is at a minimum respectful, at times reverential. That’s not just an attitude I like; it’s a realistic depiction of how people felt at the time.

The same thing goes for issues of marriage and sexual morality. In Patriot’s main romance, Gibson’s son (Heath Ledger) formally courts his bride-to-be (Lisa Brenner), beginning by seeking permission from her father. We’re left with no doubt that the couple remain chaste until marriage; following a practice of the day, they spend the night together in Brenner’s parents’ home, with Ledger sewn up in a sack by his prospective mother-in-law. While the film adopts a slightly amused tone at this practice, no characters challenge its legitimacy. In fact, the scene comes off as charmingly romantic; Ledger and Brenner act far more interested in each other than in sex. They’re just lovestruck, delighted to be together and looking forward to spending a lifetime in each other’s company.

The film rings true in numerous other ways, to those familiar with history. At one point Brenner delivers an eloquent, impromptu speech on the need to fight for liberty. To modern ears the words might sound corny and contrived, but anyone who’s read correspondence from that era knows that educated people (women included) were trained to write and speak eloquently.

We’re also reminded that war was once a very different thing than it is today. Though always brutal for those doing the fighting (as several scenes vividly remind us), there was a time when it was waged under strict rules—foremost among them was that civilians were not to be targeted. Tavington breaks these rules, and is denounced with genuine indignation by his superior, General Cornwallis, who orders him to cease the barbaric tactics. Eventually, after Gibson wounds his pride on a personal level in a face-to-face meeting, Cornwallis reluctantly loosens the reins on Tavington. Still, in an age where most countries (including our own) routinely turn their weapons on noncombatants, it’s humbling to remember that the European civilization from which ours descended once strove to maintain standards even in wartime that we "enlightened" moderns have long since abandoned.

The Patriot doesn’t idealize the past. Gibson plays a tragic hero; a widower and father of seven haunted by guilt over atrocities he committed in a previous war, initially unwilling to participate in the Revolutionary War at all. When he does, his motives are mixed at first, including a desire to avenge one son slaughtered by the British and to save another captured by them. Only later does his focus settle on the higher principles at stake; and at different times he confesses his shame both over his past wartime sins and over his subsequent refusal to fight for the freedom in which he believed. Even then, when some of his men want to slaughter British prisoners, Gibson’s first impulse is to go along with them, until voices of conscience—Ledger and the Reverend—remind him of the standards they’re committed to uphold.

In its recognition of human sinfulness across the board, The Patriot rises far above propaganda. Even the British, other than Tavington, don’t come off as villainous; his men often recoil in horror at his orders. And Cornwallis starts off as a decent, civilized man tragically flawed by pride and eventually brought down by it.

But the movie's greatest service is to give the audience at least a glimpse of a world too few of them have learned about in history class. It brings to life ancestors who held convictions foreign to modern Americans, and who valued those beliefs enough to risk life and limb in their behalf. We’d be a better country if more people understood that kind of devotion to faith, family and freedom. We’d be a still better one if more people shared that devotion themselves.