My blank notebook is its own damning verdict on this French effort.

After taking copious notes while viewing other entries I found the only thing I had written after 85 minutes of Higher Still was a "nice scenery" observation made about the opening scenes.

For the rest of the movie I waited in vain for something to happen but sadly it never did.

The plot, if that's not too strong a word, follows the very different but interwoven lives of four French women.

There's the country housewife who is forced to sell up and move to the city after her husband dies. She is sad. We know this because we see her crying, and crying, and crying. Then she cries some more.

It is at this point we see the beautiful countryside. Then we meet the flighty young actress who longs for a big part.

But to get it she has to let the director get at her parts. It doesn't work. She cries too.

Later she tries to get her letters back from her old lover who she dumped for the film director but they fall in the hands of another women. I am not sure if she cries.

There follows some obligatory Gallic scenes including people smoking cigarettes in cafes and drinking coffee.

Then there is the doctor who has a sick child patient who dies. She definitely cries.

By this time I was shedding my own tears - tears of boredom.

I am not sure why people bother making films like these and it's not as if I am the sort of film fan who wants Arnie causing Armageddon in every scene.

In fact I prefer the understated, people centred films but you had to have a script and acting which gets you involved rather than irritated.

But it's impossible to connect at any level with this humourless and stilted offering. Higher Still left me feeling lower than ever.

Supporting short: Le Guide is a mini horror pic with its tale of surreal and violent events at a family picnic. It's disturbing but not particularly enthralling.

Times: April 13, 4 p.m., Liberty

April 16, 6.30 p.m., Little Theatre

Matthew Taylor