Womb

Despite a fascinating concept, a gorgeous look and a silky score, 'Clone' is difficult to warm to.

If the 20-odd seconds of blank screen squatting pointlessly amid the opening credits aren't enough warning that you're in for some seriously sluggish storytelling, then the adoption of a snail as one of the central motifs should drive the point home.

You are unlikely to see a movie about incest made as sensitively and tastefully as "Womb.''

The eeriness is underscored by the subtly intricate sound design, and by Green's subtle performance. She deftly balances her desire for the lost Tommy with the maternal responsibility to shield her son.

It's a fascinating film to think about, but far too cool to touch.

Green was meant for quick-witted comedy. Unfortunately, she's becoming a mainstay of painfully sincere slogs...

Péter Szatmári's atmospheric photography of brooding, steely blue skies, bleak deserted beaches and soggy autumn woods is one of the chief virtues in this misbegotten enterprise.

Clone looks good and may get under your skin - if you can put up with the story's glacial pace, which is so creepingly slow that it's no wonder that the token of the pair's childhood love is a snail.

Shonky science, flat fiction - this should never have left the lab.

The only thing which would make this film more awkward is watching it with your parents.

One of the more effectively eerie chamber dramas to come around so far this year, perhaps because its chosen "chamber" exists on an otherworldly plane.

Too abstract to suggest a coherent moral lesson, but too remote to foster a satisfying emotional connection, Womb feels barren, an attempt to do too much that ultimately does very little.