MISS JULIE

Directed by Mike Figgis. Starring Saffron Burrows, Peter Mullan, Maria Doyle-Kennedy

So fantastically overwrought and resolutely 'arthouse' that it betimes seems to be a self-parody of Figgis' more obtuse work, Miss Julie is an adaptation of the August Strindberg play of the same name. At heart, it's an allegory of sexual repression and class relations, but the presence of Peter Mullan lends the thing a sorely-needed shot of grit, and in spite of yourself, you somehow end up rolling along with the thing.

There's fuck-all to it: it's essentially the tale of a pretty unpleasant sex-and-power game across the class divide, with Mullan in top form as a butler who becomes the target of posh slut Saffron Burrows' intentions. A working-class lad, he has ideas miles above his station which include starting a hotel business, and so sets about worming (Burrowing?) his way into Burrows' knickers. Unfortunately, they're utterly incompatible, what with him being a 'bit of rough' (© any amount of anonymous Dub-4 housewives) and her being an insane, inbred aristocrat.

Thus, we're faced with a totally stilted yet somehow faintly powerful performance-piece, of possible appeal to misanthropes and utter film-geeks, but fairly inconsequential to everyone else.

There's the odd classy touch here and there: sexual tension run amok, an untypically adequate performance from shameless director's-chick-for-hire Burrows, and a show-stealing turn from the predictably excellent Mullan, who could probably infuse life and soul into a dogfood commercial.

Just don't break your neck to see it.