ing again, and yet again, director Osama bin Laden, a man of exceedingly grandiose ambitions and distinctly limited resources, managed on the proverbial shoe-string budget to create his own apocalyptic film in lower Manhattan (though not in Washington, where the low-slung Pentagon, proved far less photogenic).  With the help of a little dismally good luck in the category of destruction, he brought home nuclear-holocaust-style images that had until then, for Americans, been confined to a world of on-screen i