Jeanne Balibar stars here as a traumatised war photographer who rocks up suddenly at her ex-lover's family farm in Wales with her kids in tow, only to discover he killed himself a month before she arrived. Although she's naturally distressed by the news, it doesn't stop her embarking on an affair with the lover's hunky if rather shouty twentysomething son (Gavin Fowler). She's a free bohemian spirit, you see, beyond petty bourgeois rules – or so the film would have us believe. In fact, she presents as a monumental pain in the bum, given to snapping her camera in people's faces and making grand declarations about war, art and love. As if all that weren't insufferable enough, insult is added to injury by the discordant piano plinking away in the background like a Brazilian telenovela soundtrack, and the sub-audible whispering meant to suggest the heroine's tortured thoughts. Meanwhile, there's a silent supporting cast of actors playing the ghosts of the dead, looking on despairingly at the purgatorial psychodrama unfolding before them.