I have to admit that I stuck this one out thinking something would have to happen, besides the dead body in the first scenes... and her disposal of him. I was wrong. It was a cinema verite of Betty hits the Beach encased for the first part by Mordant Morven. I really don't care what young lassies from Scotland do these days, who thy screw, what drugs they take. Visually, the stroll through the Cabo de Gata in Andalucia was pleasant and surely the high point for me. The nadir was the chop shop for her dead boyfriend. As the movie came to a close I had two thoughts... 1. That's all there is? 2. Now I see why her boyfriend killed himself. Rename it. "Bare Bitch Boredom, or What I did on my trip to Spain." I'm such a sucker for sticking these things out.

After all the hype that greeted Lynne Ramsay's first film, Ratcatcher, which I didn't see, I approached this with caution. The presence of Samantha Morton was my guarantee that it would at least be watchable, as she's never yet put a foot wrong on screen. And boy was my faith rewarded! It's a long time since I've emerged from a cinema so entranced, and then started itching to see the film again just a few hours later.

Samantha Morton's performance is truly extraordinary, bringing to life this mysterious, inscrutable woman who is at the same time very alive and in-your-face, not out of place getting smashed at a party, yet seeming like an alien as she wanders around listening to her walkman with a dazed 1000 yard stare. I was amazed to read that Kathleen McDermott, who plays her best friend, is a non-professional; it says a lot for her performance that she holds her own opposite such a stellar talent - and also says a lot for the naturalism and generosity of Morton's performance.

Some critics have been much exercised by the implausibilities in the plot (around the fate of her boyfriend's body and the dealings with the publisher, for example). I don't care about all that stuff! This film is as far away from gritty realism as it's possible to get. Go with the flow and soak up the atmosphere is my advice.

You may read that this film is beautifully photographed, that every shot is a small work of art, exquisitely composed and framed. If not, you've just read it from me. That's all very well, of course - they say the same things about Peter Greenaway, who as far as I'm concerned would have been burnt at the stake in a more civilised age. The difference here is the warmth and seeming spontaneity of Lynne Ramsay's work. I didn't hear a voice shouting "look at me, aren't I beautifully filmed??". She doesn't tell us, she just shows us, revealing a gift for finding beauty in the mundane.

The other stroke of genius in this film is the soundtrack - and I don't just mean the music, although that is brilliantly chosen, revealing a trace of gallows humour in the film's grisliest scene; no, just the use of sound, the way we can hear everything, even the cockroach scuttling along the hotel room floor; and the way some of the conversations fade in from a distance, but in such a way that we can still just about hear what is being said.

For once, the hype is justified: Lynne Ramsay is the real deal, and Samantha Morton deserves another Oscar nomination for this breathtaking performance. Unreservedly recommended. So there.

I purveyed the comments on IMDB before deciding *first* to read the book and then watch the movie. I think this was the right move, and would strongly advise those so inclined to do the same.

So, Samantha Morton may be the greatest silent film actress of the 21st century. Her muteness in "Sweet and Lowdown" and "Minority Report" and now here speaks volumes. Seriously though she took on an extremely difficult character to portray, one whose impenetrability is at her very essence, Ms. Morton made this character seem real.

Real, albeit alien. But then a degree of alienation I think comes with what I perceive as an existential novel and film. Initially in the book, I felt that Alan Warner, the author, was too removed from his main character...across chasms of gender and age.

But as I read the book, and now watch the film...it seems to me that Morvern is a person removed from herself. Many of us fill up our days, our thoughts and such online sites as this with words.

Words....words...words.

Morvern is almost sub-literate, her interaction with publishers in both book and film is thus comical, in a sort of Chauncey Garner mode of just being there. Morvern's character always lived through her senses more than her mind. As did her best "friend" who ultimately remains the happy hedonist.

But Morvern...like the many insects shown onscreen...moves on, not with any necessary destination...she just moves for the sake of moving. I think that this ultimately is the light this film brings. I can see how others cite grief as the focus; both the suicide that impels our story, and the hotel interlude near its crossing raise the spectre of death around Morvern.

However, I see her as more absent than abjectly anguished in both of those pivotal scenes... This is the conundrum of Morvern Callar for me, while I'm attracted to such an existence, the fact that I consider it...means I'm already living more through mind than senses. If she's remote to herself, than that puts me at an even greater distance. I think this was underscored by the soundtrack switching from sound to softened sound to silence throughout.

One word about the soundtrack, where's the Peter Brotzmann? Now that's a sensory overload that shuts off my mind in favor of the senses. I was hoping more of the bands featured in the book would have made it to the film. I thought that the artists listed in the book, typically the heroes of college DJ's and other overthinkers made a remarkable contrast with Morvern's seeming simplicity.

But there's more to her than meets the eye...and...the ear, the tongue, the nose, the skin...just as there's more to this film than others' comments would indicate.

7*/10

* Again I encourage folks read the book and then enjoy the film as a chaser of sorts to flesh it out.