ART REVIEW : Sultans of Swank: Ottoman Treasures at Hammer : The exhibition of about 270 opulent objects is drawn mainly from the collections of Istanbul’s Topkapi Palace Museum.

Istanbul’s Topkapi Palace Museum is so legendary there was even a movie made around it. “Topkapi” was a 1964 Jules Dassin thriller about a band of lovable rascals who lowered one of the gang from the museum’s dome to steal a fabulous gem without disturbing the alarm system. As I recall the stone in question was about the size of a golf ball.

Now the Armand Hammer Museum and Cultural Center presents “Splendors of the Ottoman Sultans,” a traveling spread of about 270 opulent objects drawn mainly from the Topkapi collections. No stone here turns out as big as the one in the movie but there are, among other things, uncut rubies of Ping-Pong ball proportions, enough gold to fill half the teeth in L.A., and splendid caftans of bold design with silk and silver threads that make the sultanic shape look oddly flat and big-hipped.

The Occident holds a rather constricted notion that some categories of objects are art and others aren’t. According to that measure, much of this art isn’t. But, according to the eye and the mind, these objects--both collectively and in detail--do much of the same work that art does. It induces a general visual fantasy of the aspirations of a culture at a particular time and place.

The Ottoman Empire’s reign lasted nearly 600 years after its 13th-Century founding in Asia Minor by sultan Osman I. By the time the dynasty guttered out after World War I, it was known as “the sick man of Europe.” Clearly this show isn’t about that.

It’s about the empire’s glory days when the very mention of the sultan’s praetorian guard--the janizary troops--was enough to strike terror into the hearts of generals from the Straits of Gibraltar to the Caspian Sea, from Vienna to the Sudan. It’s about the crowning moment of the empire’s rise under sultan Mehemed II. The headstrong sultan is symbolized by the jeweled, teardrop-shaped Ottoman helmets.

In 1453 the prize in his eyes was Constantinople.

Defenders thwarted Mehemed’s plan to lay siege to the city. They blocked the entrance to the Golden Horn--the harbor--with immense chains. A length is on view and it is formidable. Made of Expressionist serpentines of black iron, it looks a bit like angry modern sculpture.

One glimpse and a lesser potentate would have folded up his hordes and skulked home. Not Mehemed II. He constructed a greased wooden runway, moved 63 vessels of his fleet over land into the Horn and proceeded to lambaste the city. Constantinople fell, marking the historic end of both the ancient Roman and Byzantine empires. Mehemed renamed the city Istanbul and made it the Ottoman capital.

Objects on view speak to this sense of triumph with an ostentation rarely dared in the West. For the sultan and his minions nothing was too much. A Koran box is inlaid with endless carefully crafted ivory shapes. The domed top is decorated with a trompe l’oeil zigzag motif to amuse the eye while reverent inscriptions in arabesque letters twine around the edge and decorative motifs crackle below like lightning bolts inside a kaleidoscope.

In this art the idea of decoration is transformed into the urge to encrustation. Surfaces are barnacled rather that just elaborated. You can see traces of the humble leather origins of a water flask that has been cast in gold and inset with so many precious stones it looks as if it’s got a case of Midas measles.

The lust for luxury shows in everything from a sumptuous ebony and ivory throne to an embroidered tent for 30 dignitaries or an ingenious cradle for an infant prince.

It looks like life at the Ottoman court was furnished to leave no longing unfulfilled. Desire a good read and your book is not only filled with some of history’s most graceful poetry, it is a work of art in itself--pages illuminated with miniature scenes and abstract decoration. Clap your hands and players appear to render a tune on the kanun , saz or miskal . With such earthly delights at the fingertips it seems the only danger would be an imagination deprived of anything to wish for.

That’s not quite right. In the early Ottoman dynasty, succession to the sultanate was decided by warring family factions. The winner ensured the security of his reign by executing his brothers. It was made law he must do this. Later, all princes were raised in closeted opulence. They knew that at a certain age they would compete for the throne by managing a province of the empire. The winner became sultan. The rest were killed.

Such aspects of history used to be glossed over in museum exhibitions. In these more candid days, their revelation casts sobering shadows of reality over the pretty things on view.

The Ottomans truly admired the soft waxy greens of Chinese celadon ceramics. But they valued them even more because it was believed the glaze changed color if touched by a poison. They held the skills of artists and great craftsmen in reverence and proved it by kidnaping droves of them in conquered lands.

A stately carriage of Italian make proves the Ottomans esteemed their women. These conveyances were used to spirit them unseen from palace to palace. The one on view looks unsettlingly like a gilded cage.

There are good reasons to see this show. It will certainly be the last major effort of the Hammer Museum before it is taken over by UCLA. That’s a landmark of sorts. The general admissions price is a bit stiff at $9.50 but lovers of masterpieces of decorative arts and history will be rewarded.

For anybody else it never hurts to be reminded that the chronicle of empires is a magnificent spectacle. Fit for the gods. We sit with them on the clouds watching the fireworks.

“Quite extravagantly beautiful the way they slaughter each other,” remarks one, “but why do they do it?”

“They always say it’s because one of us is on their side.”

“Odd idea.”

The Armand Hammer Museum and Cultural Center, 10899 Wilshire Blvd., Westwood, (310) 443-7000, through Dec. 16. Open daily.