I don't think I have to tell you much to let you know whether you want to watch this. You will probably know after the first sentence of the next paragraph, the second at the latest. It's the kind of film that people love or hate, depending to a great degree on their age and gender.

A shy, socially uncomfortable young girl postpones her entry into Harvard so that she can learn about life from an experienced, world-weary older man. The tag line: "He was her first love... she was his last". He is a photographer, so he is capable of exposing her to certain types of experiences and people far outside the sphere of her upper-middle class family, which consists entirely of Harvard-trained lawyers who debate fine legal niceties at the dinner table. The photographer is also an alcoholic which, coupled with his age, assures that he will not be the long-term love of her life, but merely her designated tutor and coming-of-age experience.

You know from the first five minutes or so that the relationship is doomed. It would have been enough to show us that he drinks 24/7 and has one foot in the grave, but just to make sure we don't miss the point, the story also begins in the present with her voice-over narration, which assures us that their relationship began five years ago and is now over. Given that certainty, the only dramatic tension comes from a certain doubt about what effect the relationship will have on each of them. Well, unless you count the dramatic tension generated by the fact that he might die at any minute.

Despite my kidding about the lack of plot development and surprise, their relationship does have a proper ending that was both emotional and appropriate, and you may not be expecting it to end that way. It is sad, but also satisfying in a certain way. Unfortunately, the film drags on anti-climactically for much too long after that separation.

The woman trying to come of age is played by the ever-pasty, oh-so-vulnerable and preternaturally icy Sarah Polley. The world-weary Irish artist is played by ... gee, can you guess who might assay this role? It's that seething volcano of passion and emotion, Stephen Rea. Talk about a guy with only one facial expression! Rea must be the world-weariest of the world-weary actors, a man so jaded and unflappable that if the world were to end by nuclear war, you'd expect him to use a glowing radioactive rock to light his cigarette, then heave a stagy, practiced sigh.

Polley and Rea. Whoa - the sparks really fly when you rub those two together, eh?

Talk about low octane

I'm not really the right guy to evaluate this kind of movie, but I guess it must be pretty decent, because if I had read my own description above, I would never have watched it in the first place, yet I managed to crawl through it without any coffee breaks or fast-forwarding. I didn't love it, but the point is that I didn't hate it, despite its complete lack of energy and a concept that didn't really interest me. The one thing that makes it work is that it was written and directed by a woman, and I think she told a story which was pretty damned close to the truth, right down to the clumsy sex scenes.

The truth - what a shocking concept! Hollywood ought to try it.