Superb depiction of the interior world cocooned by drugs and a Walkman - the truest portrayal of rave culture I have ever seen, even though it is only obliquely about that. Wonderful use of sound and music.

"Few films this year have been as resolute in their emotional nakedness." - Chuck Rudolph

For me the film serves as one of the oddest, quietly heartbreaking yet seemingly emotionally repressed looks at grief that one could possibly envisage. Far from trying to discover herself Morvern's journeying is just so that she can distract herself from the pain. The film's aesthetic is wonderful, putting you right in the midst of Morvern's sensory experience and Samantha Morton gives an impeccable performance, denying us the easy insight we so crave and so making it all the more fascinating.

Saw it at time of release, didn't especially care for it - think it needs a rewatch though.

A magnificent work of realism, subtle and powerful, Lynne Ramsay's sophomore work is even better than her excellent full feature debut Ratcatcher. The script is sophisticated, the editing is a standout feature (again), Samantha Morton is awesome in the lead, and the soundtrack is a discerning and tasteful assemblage of industrial and electronic rock.

Haunting. One of a kind. Unlike anything I've ever seen.

I kept watching because this was clearly made with talent and effort, but fuck if I cared about anything in it. Morvern is drug addled and unsympathetic in her actions, and all events are thin, contrived and totally without motivation. The film can't decide if it wants to be a character study, a grimy fantasy story or a commentary on the lower class and ultimately does none of these things even remotely well. I did like some of the shots, though.

A film that is certainly made with talent and a great visual flair but is also unbelievably difficult to watch. It just holds so much back and Callar displays probably the weirdest period of grief I have seen in a long time. Some scenes are fantastically uncomfortable others mesmerizing. I guess this is sort of Ken Loach by way of Antonioni. And though I'm very fond of Loach I loathe Antonioni. So this was basically an odd experience.

At first, utterance of perfect visual sentences. Or just words. A limbo of uncopable uncertainty; deconstruction of the self. Then, emancipation. Osmosis: his life to hers. Intellectual (existential) to nirvana. Dostoyevsky to sensual ecstatic, to hermit, to intuitive sage (through pilgrimage), to success, reflection on death, then freedom from the fear of it. To be.

A better and deeper version of Daisies. The giggling teenagers enviroment might seem weird and annyoing at first, though, as the movie goes on, you begin to understand it is perfection.

Perhaps I should rewatch.

You could probably accuse this movie of being up its own ass. Enigmatic is one thing, but inscrutable is another, and the titular Morvern's motivations and feelings are virtually impossible to interpret. Which sort of begs the question of why anybody should care. And the answer is because of Ramsay's expert direction; few can portray this sense of dreamlike drifting so effectively, and her compositions (plus, her killer choice of soundtrack) make this interesting, if rarely all that engaging.

Identity fractured, reassembled, fractured, reconfigured, and on. Beautiful, but not in an easy way.

Ramsay effectively introduces a melancholic but hopeful world-view in this arrestingly solemn film. An absorbing experience.

Big waste of time.

An incredibly fresh breed of movie - an adventure story of the protagonist's soul.

By no means a terrible film, the tale of a woman who takes credit for her dead boyfriend's novel can be marginally associated with the gigantic DMZ Trainspotting left when conferring the stubborn ennui hovering over anyone living in Scotland (or so they they tell me). Despite the linear storytelling, still feels like an unmarked postcard rather than an undelivered letter, though the two bear ghastly similarities since you're still asking at the end who is morvern callar?

breathtaking

Antonioni for the new millennium...

Character ambition is unclear in this external world of sensory experience. All is left to filmed action and Morton's eccentric performance. She follows the inexplicable emotional whims of tragedy, in search of a landscape where she can coexist. This is Antonioni by way of experimental Van Sant. In other words, wonderful.

I feel like this film could have been 15 minutes long without losing a thing. Really just dragged out, with an artsy feel that doesn't seem natural - it's forced and doesn't contribute much to the film.

Immediately noticeable: Actors that carry themselves like humans do when no one is watching -- no overcrafted dialogue, "knowing" looks and other pretty mannerisms feigned for the camera. Truthful treatment of the disassociative effect of a sudden death, where what's left is enough to function in its wake, though not enough to really keep yourself. One shot, of Morton standing on a cliff at night in the far-off spotlight of a passing boat, is among the most haunting I've ever experienced seeing.