The Real Life of Angel Deverell directed by François Ozon (UK, 2007)

"Say you like me or the pussy cats die!"

This perfectly appalling movie is based on the 1957 novel, Angel, by Elizabeth Taylor whose unlovable protagonist was inspired by Marie Corelli, Queen Victoria’s favourite writer.

Angel specialises in slushy romantic fiction and her vivid imagination makes up for her ignorance.

She writes with authority about Italy without ever having been and won’t change a word of her novels even when they contain blatant errors like a description of opening a bottle of champagne with a corkscrew.

Her refusal to compromise for her ‘art’ makes her insufferable. You might admire her drive and single-minded determination to rise above humble beginnings but she is such a hideous personality that you just end up loathing her.

Like Margaret Thatcher, she is a grocer’s daughter and , like the Iron Lady, she  lacks any common humanity. You don’t have to like a main character to enjoy a movie but, in this instance, Romola Garai is so hammy in the lead role she’s not even someone you can love to hate.

Angel displays her naked ambition.

Despite her lack of redeeming qualities, all her childhood fantasies are fulfilled as she become a successful novelist and makes enough money to be able to buy the Paradise estate she dreamed of owning as a young girl.

The only reason for watching it, and the only reason I was interested in seeing it, is to see Michael Fassbender in pre-Shame role. He’s Esmé, a struggling artist whose paintings reflect his cynical character. Angel can’t understand why he doesn’t use brighter colours but is so smitten by his dashing good looks that she marries him anyway.

Subsequently the ill-matched couple become estranged when he enlists for the army. Angel regards the First World War as a trivial distraction that shouldn’t disturb her private universe. Esmé ends up killing himself, and I think anyone married to her would be tempted to take the same exit route.

Sam Neil , as Angel’s publisher, drifts gamely through the movie with the bemused expression of someone who has been conned into making a film to match My Brilliant Career.

I can only imagine that the French director thought his kitschy style would be in keeping with the brash and trashy romantic fiction Angel writes so prolifically.  But to pull this off, the movie needs to have the quality of a playful romp and plenty of tongue-in-cheek humour. Instead, it comes across as a heavy-handed tragicomedy and a parody of itself.