Since their selfless dedication to duty on September 11, America's firefighters have achieved mythical status among the public.

So, it wasn't going to be too long before a cinema tribute - lights flashing, bells ringing - came trundling along the Hollywood production line.

Thankfully, director Jay Russell's story of fictitious firefighter Jack Morrison's rise through the ranks from rookie to veteran is an unflashy, workmanlike affair.

His life is literally shown in flashback as he lies trapped and injured in a burning dockyard warehouse while his devoted buddies try to reach him.

We first meet him when he turns up for his first shift only to be confronted by drunken fire chief Mike Kennedy (Travolta) and is then obliged to take confession with the fire house priest.

Of course, it's a massive wind-up but Jack takes it well and is welcomed like one of the family to the close-knit team.

For the next decade we follow him as he meets future wife Linda (Barrett), gets married and has two kids.

At the same time, he's establishing himself as a professional firefighter with a reckless streak that finds its outlet in acts of selfless heroism.

This is pretty much what it says on the tin - a warts'n'all portrayal of life both inside and outside the fire house.

The action sequences - particularly the blazing warehouse - are skilfully staged while the acting is up to the standard you might expect from Phoenix and Travolta.

Locating the action in Baltimore rather than New York avoids cheap comparisons with the World Trade Center attack and stresses the bloke-next-door quality of the everyman heroes.

Where this unabashed tribute scores highly is its reluctance to underplay the dangers - and consequences - of what being a fireman might be.

While offering nothing new, it's a honest movie about a closed world that now finds the spotlight on it.

Tim Evans