When the Argentine film The Secret in Their Eyes took the recent Best Foreign Film Oscar over the favored The White Ribbon, the art house world got a little huffy.

But I’m glad Secret took home the statuette, because otherwise this engrossing and moving thriller probably wouldn’t be playing at the River Oaks. But I’m also glad because justice was done.

The Secret in Their Eyes isn’t as austere — and therefore “artistic” — as the Michael Haneke film. But its satisfactions run much deeper.

Secret, filmed and co-written by Juan José Campanella, has an abundance of plot. It starts in contemporary Argentina, with retired court investigator Benjamin (Ricardo Darín) working on a novel that deals with a case he’s never been able to let go of — the 1974 rape and murder of a beautiful young woman whom we only meet as an artfully arranged (and naked) corpse.

As the film shows, Benjamin and his sidekick, a brilliant drunk named Sandoval (Guillermo Francella), were finally able to track down and arrest the memorably creepy murderer. But, with the recent death of Juan Peron, Argentina’s Dirty War against its “subversives” was just beginning, and through some vile political machinations, the killer was set free.

Benjamin has been haunted through the years (and the sad-eyed Darín can really look haunted) by two images. First, that of the dead woman draped across her bed.

Campanella has taken some criticism for lingering over her naked body, and beautifying her death. But in this case, the image of the dead woman has to be compelling, and even perversely beautiful, if it’s going to linger in the mind of a man who lived through the Argentine military dictatorship

The second image is of the dead woman’s husband, Morales (Pablo Rago). When the early investigations fail to catch the killer, Morales begins hanging out at Buenos Aires’ train stations. He’s convinced that the killer will turn up there one day, and that he’ll know who he is.

Benjamin is so moved by Morales’ commitment to his dead wife, and by the purity of the love that he (Benjamin) sees in the grieving man’s eyes, that he feels he can’t give up on the case.

Actually, there’s a third image that haunts Benjamin, that of Irene (Soledad Villamil), the judge who was his boss during the investigation. He was in love with her, and the secret in her expressive eyes might be that she loved him too. But she was from a much higher social stratum, and he never dared to speak up. When Benjamin shows the manuscript that he’s working on, 25 years after the fact, perhaps he’s hoping for another chance.

The lead performances have been universally praised, and I’ll gladly add my amen. The relationship between Benjamin and his alcoholic but amusing partner Sandoval is deeply satisfying. Sandoval isn’t drunk in the American style — he doesn’t “hilariously” misspeak or trip over his own shoelaces. In fact, he gets mean when he drinks; it’s a hostility that he disguises with wit when sober.

The soft-spoken Benjamin serves as a foil to his brilliance. When Judge Irene joins in their unorthodox investigations, they make for an electric team.

The story is full of surprises, and shifts in time and mood, which for the most part Campanella handles with aplomb. The initial capture of the killer, shot amid a roaring soccer crowd, is a cinematic tour-de-force; I have no idea how Campanella pulled this sequence off, but it’s enough to make you gasp, as is the shocking plot development that comes near the end.

The film isn’t quite perfect. The off-and-on romance between Benjamin and Irene seems forced, and I could’ve done without its denouement altogether, no matter how sympathetic the actors are. But still, this heartfelt and intelligent film deserves both its prizes, and, one hopes, an audience.

Speaking of audience, I was struck by the response of the crowd I attended with. On a Saturday afternoon we nearly filled one of the tiny and uncomfortable upstairs theaters, and as we exited people actually exclaimed “What a great movie!”

Except for the offended-looking man walking down the stairs behind me. “There’s no way Hollywood could make a movie like that!” he growled. “They wouldn’t even understand it.”

I’m not predicting a mass revolt against the screenloads of crap that Hollywood serves up in ever increasing imbecility. But it’s interesting to note that one patron responded to this wonderful film, not with praise for its merits, but with contempt for what’s playing at the multiplex.

How long will it be before Hollywood has to be rescued, just like GM?

Watch The Secret in Their Eyes trailer and let us know: Will you go see it?