I'm annoyed by those reviews of The War Zone that tiptoe around its subject-matter--that make it sound as if there's a juicy, Crying Game-esque secret at the film's centre. Let's not be coy, for it's unfair to send an audience member into the experience unpsyched...

Tim Roth's haunting, bracing directorial debut, The War Zone is about a man who fucks his daughter.

Fifteen year old Tom (Freddie Cunliffe) eyes his father (Ray Winstone) and his older sister, Jessie (Lara Belmont), through a window getting it on one rainy evening. This middle-class British family, including Mum (Tilda Swinton) and newborn Alice, have recently relocated from busy London to the cheerless countryside of New Devon, which has thrown Tom into a depression. Coupled with what he spied, the weight on his adolescent shoulders is unbearably mighty.

Jessie heatedly denies Tom's angry accusations of incest, but the boy believes in what he saw. A few days later, he tails the would-be lovers to a deserted clifftop bunker. There, his assumption is sadly confirmed in a sequence that caused great debate at this year's Cannes and Toronto International film festivals.

The second encounter between Jessie and her dad is The War Zone's turning point, and the question it raises is, "Do we need to see this?" On the one hand, showing the act itself, which is essentially rape, clarifies the situation--it puts us in Tom's shoes. On the other, it's a pornographic moment that exploits the attractive Belmont's palpable sexuality, daring male audience members to look away. (She could pass for the younger sister of The Sixth Sense's Olivia Williams.) Tim Roth's motive for this admittedly gutsy scene remains unclear. (Aside: The neophyte director has dedicated The War Zone to his own father in a title card that elicited queasy laughter from those Festival audience members who stuck around for the credit crawl.)

Roth is daring in other respects. Casting unknowns as Tom and Jessie was a wise yet bold move, not that very many name actors would have touched this material. The reserved, pock-marked Cunliffe, who hasn't a movie star bone in his twiggy body, imbues Tom with an earthy dignity that earns our compassion. Belmont, however, is The War Zone's revelation. One never catches her giving a performance. (The actress was hand-picked by the filmmakers while shopping in London's Portobello Market.) If we believe anything that happens over the course of 98 minutes, it's because of unpretentious Belmont. Winstone--whose role may prove to have a stigma attached--and Swinton are also utterly convincing. Roth is what we call an actor's director, and is it any surprise, given his status as a master thesp?

His penchant for long takes may have been inspired by Quentin Tarantino, for whom Roth has acted three times (in Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Four Rooms); the sure performances by the four principals are not the product of heavy editing. His inspired choice of a widescreen frame serves to emphasize the isolation of Tom and his family within these lengthy shots: there's usually a vast, stoney emptiness flanking the characters.

For all its unquestionable courageousness, The War Zone's ending is cowardly ambiguous. Whether the final shot is meant to convey hopelessness or something much more disturbing, I could not say. One can leave threads untied and still close on a satisfactory note, but Roth hasn't succeeded. Given all the anguish that precedes it, the film's conclusion is tragic for the wrong reasons, though it has startingly little effect on The War Zone's impact.-Bill Chambers

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