'I feel my quill is broken! The organ of my imagination has withered! The very towers of my genius have crumbled!' Aye, pal, I know that feeling well: it seizes me every fortnight as I sit down to crank out my copy. The difference is that people actually read Shakespeare, even many centuries after his departure. In fact, considering how frequently his plays have been adapted for the silver screen, it's something of a mystery why it's taken so long for a film to chronicle his life - and while there's no way we can expect a definitive depiction of someone who has been dead nigh-on four hundred years, the man's life is still a ripe subject for exploration.

It's all speculation, of course, but most accounts suggest that the good Will was something of a mighty fine individual - he is rumoured to have died during a heavy drinking bout with some 'ne'erdowells', been an incorrigible womaniser and a generally intense, passionate sort of punter. The longstanding rumours about Shakespeare's possible homosexuality aren't dealt with in the film, which pitches itself as a straightforward epic love story with generous helpings of both comedy and tragedy - and within the limits of its ambition, Shakespeare in Love succeeds quite brilliantly.

The lively script is co-written by leading Shakespeare authority Tom Stoppard, and premises itself on a doomed love affair between the young bard and his muse, whose roles are played to near-perfection by Joseph Fiennes (Ralph's little brud) and Gwyneth Paltrow. Fiennes is ideally cast, despite his occasional tendency toward luvvie-ish overacting - undeniably handsome, suitably moody and devilishly mischievous, it's hard to think of a contemporary actor who could have done the role as much justice. Paltrow, with her renowned mastery of English accents, was the obvious choice, and rises to the occasion with the performance of her career - it's the first time she's shown reserves of real depth behind the ice-blonde exterior, and there's nothing lacking at all in the chemistry between the pair.

The dialogue is so determinedly sappy and poncey it becomes downright magnificent: 'O, if I could write her eyes! I was born to look into them and know myself - alas, her eyes hold more peril than twenty of their swords' while there's almost an overkill of rich acting talent in support, all hideously dressed up like extras from Portrait Of Blackadder II In Hell. Colin Firth is possibly the pick of the bunch as the unspeakably loathsome Duke of Wessex, who is set to marry Gwyneth against her will; Ben Affleck and the ever-excellent Geoffrey Rush give it plenty of soul, while Dame Judi Dench hams it up royally (it's the only word) in a delightful cameo as Queen Elizabeth I.

The historical detail is inevitably shaky (no pun intended) but the whole thing is sumptuously shot, acted with enormous passion by every one of the major players, and mercifully free of the stuffiness and staleness that normally attends such period dramas. There are more genuinely comic moments than you'd find in most straight comedies, and the dialogue is a joy forever, with Fiennes rhapsodising romantically about nightingales singing in the garden and that kind of thing, to hysterically hilarious effect. How he managed to keep such a deadly-earnest look on his face for the whole two hours is beyond me, but every 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day' is delivered in some style, with Paltrow (all rapturous smiles and heaving bosoms) lapping it all up, as do the audience.

While the reek of stage-English luvvie-dom is never a million miles away (i.e. I won't waste my time trying to persuade The Lads to go and see it) Shakespeare in Love is a ludicrously entertaining romp from start to finish, and though not exactly a masterpiece, it will definitely deserve an Oscar or three.