Damp squib of a tale

James McTeigue's film is based on the work of graphic novelist Alan Moore, who was not much impressed with other adaptations of his essentially anarchic, Leftwing storylines and has ordered his name off the credits of this one.

You can't entirely blame him. This portrait of a Britain beset, in the not-too-distant future, by a totalitarian state headed by a mysterious Mr Big, is overlong, overwrought, gimmicky and pompously portentous.

It's written by Larry and Andy Wachowski, who equip the script with a measure of sub-Shakespearean dialogue, which they presumably think fits the slightly Dickensian, British setting.

But the result is worse than the last of their three Matrix films, even if McTeigue aspires grimly to the flair of the first, and sometimes achieves it.

If Moore's original intention was an anti-Thatcher diatribe, it is translated here into a something like a tract underlining Western fear of post 9/11 terrorism and the resultant restriction of liberty that might be foisted upon us in the future.

John Hurt rumbles nobly on as Adam Sutler, the psychotic fascist dictator; Hugo Weaving puts a mask on to play V, a Guy Fawkes-like figure who blows up the Old Bailey and the Houses of Parliament with the help of Evey (a shaven-headed, Natalie Portman, a trifle uncertain of accent). They go to it with a will, but there really isn't a way to make this cautionary tale work properly.

There will be those who regret its parallels with the London bombings and other terrorist activities. But that would be to treat this wordy action movie far too seriously.

V For Vendetta
Cert: 15