Lynne Ramsey makes arresting images, and Samantha Morton can summon feeling with a gesture. So what a drag to discover their talents wasted on this mannered, pretentious lark. <br /><br />Ramsey can't bring Callar to life. Her attempts are too arty and oblique. Repeatedly her camera lingers on long silent shots of the agonizing actress as if Morton's obliterated gaze alone could supply character. We are in a blank Warholian hell of self-indulgence: for a film that has minutes to spare on bugs crawling across the floor, you might think it could get round to fleshing out its protagonist. But how will it do so if she rarely speaks? Without the novel's interior monologue, the celluloid Morvern Callar is nobody. Small wonder Ramsey has Morton undress often.<br /><br />That said, the first ten minutes were so impressively acted, shot and edited that my hopes were soaring. Give the film that much: it knows how to make promises, if not how to keep any.