Some movies immediately capture the attention of film-goers, largely through the indefinable yet instantly recognizable phenomenon that is “buzz”. Whether it be a holiday blockbuster comic book movie, an adaptation based on an enormously popular novel, or the infinitely rarer, but often so much more rewarding, indie drama/comedy/thriller/whatever, these become Event Movies, the ones you want to see because everyone else is seeing them, and you want to see them NOW.

And then there are the slow-build buzz movies, the ones that are released to little or no fanfare on the festival circuit but which draw thoughtful, elegant reviews, and to which a more discerning, perhaps even more cultured, crowd consider absolutely essential viewing. Think of movies like Lars and the Real Girl, Moon, or The Fighter; they are often strong awards contenders, often feature actors of some renown (who are themselves frequently the objects of much buzz), and from single screen showings in isolated pockets of rarefied cinematic taste inexorably spread across the arthouse theaters of the world.

Never Let Me Go is such a one. From its premiere at the Telluride Film Festival in September of 2010 it has had a steady, if haphazard, release across the world: it hit Chile last November; in January, Dubai; February saw it in Belgium, Singapore and the UK; March encompassed such diverse viewerships as Russia, France, the Philippines and South Africa; this month it was finally to be found in Australia, Greece and Kuwait, among others; and at the end of next month it opens in Hungary.

Me? I saw it on a plane.

To tell truth, when the movie began, I hadn’t heard anything about it. I had no idea it was about cloning, and no idea it was about an alternate Earth in which medical science took us in the same direction it is heading now, but during a simpler time (the 70’s). All I knew was: “Hey, I really like Keira Knightley. And I have long wondered what all the fuss about Carey Mulligan is all about. And they are both in this movie. So… okay.”

And then I spent the next couple of hours wishing I’d elected to watch Couples Retreat instead.

This movie is a pathologically solemn and self-important affair, in which we follow the fortunes of three youngsters at Hailsham boarding school, somewhere in the English countryside. As one who long harbored a secret wish to attend Mallory Towers, I have no complaints about the boarding school-based storyline. The junior versions of our protagonists -- winsome Kathy (Isobel Meikle-Small), spoilt Ruth (Ella Purnell) and doltish Tommy (Charlie Rowe) -- are very well played by the respective child actors, and it is through the kind offices of a sad-eyed new teacher Miss Lucy (Sally Hawkins) that we learn exactly what is the role of these school kids: they are clones, made only to be later harvested for all of their useful parts. True, a slightly expository title card had flashed up at the beginning of the movie, hinting at medical breakthroughs with which the children were somehow related, but this… no, I didn’t quite expect this.

What I further didn’t expect was that the children, far from being kept in the dark about their purpose in this world, already knew. They knew they would be allowed to grow up only until their parts were needed; they knew they would one day “complete” and their purpose in life would then been fulfilled. But in the meantime, against the backdrop of all the moral implications and the potential for misuse, maltreatment and (surely) uprising, we zero in on Kathy, Ruth and Tommy.

Tween Kathy loves Tommy, you see, and Tommy quite fancies her back. But Ruth is one of those girls who finds a boy interesting as soon as she sees that her friend does, and she sets out to foil their innocent romance. Cut to young adulthood, and away from the school, with the role of Kathy now taken by the enchanting Mulligan (I totally get it now), Ruth by a shrewish Knightley, and Tommy by the stultifying Andrew Garfield, who has garnered much praise for his work here; I just don’t see it, but maybe I am being unfair. Tommy is by far the most infuriating character in this movie, and it may be that I am simply confusing the one for the other and assigning blame to Garfield that belongs elsewhere.

Anyway, Kathy’s love of Tommy has continued unabated, despite his long years dating her best friend (and general ickiness); when Ruth later confesses that she went after Tommy merely out of jealousy, he actually has the gall to be mad at her for standing in the way of his being with his true love, instead of, y’know, owning up to being a dick. He is weirdly passive, twitchy and so childlike as to be completely repellent, and yet we are supposed to believe that both Kathy and Ruth -- remember: Carey Mulligan and Keira Knightley -- cannot live without him? (Did I mention I have real problems with his character?)

There is talk of the wider world; we meet clones raised at other schools and hear that the expense of such education is no longer being carried out, but instead the younger organ donors are being raised in “battery farms” -- to which no one seems to make much of an objection. Kathy, forlorn over her lost love, becomes a collaborator in her fellows’ deaths, working as a Carer, her job to facilitate institutionalized murder by keeping donors in a state of blessed unconcern. She runs into Ruth, from whom she has been long estranged, they go and find Tommy, Ruth confesses her sins, and then the reunited eternal lovers have possibly the least sexy sex ever depicted on screen. There follows some stuff about trying to delay their “completion”, that perhaps they will be able to invoke some kind of “true love” clause and be set free of their physiological obligations, but we know this is not to be. How do we know this? Because the movie started with Tommy lying on a table, looking soulfully at Kathy through the observation window, clearly about to undergo surgery. It doesn’t take much of a leap to realize it will be his last.

Look, I’m not saying this isn’t an interesting concept. Based on a Kazuo Ishiguro novel (whose name you might well recognize; he was also responsible for the source material that lead to the equally stagnant Remains of the Day), and written for the screen by Alex Garland (yes, the guy who wrote the backpackingest novel ever, The Beach, as well as 28 Days Later and Sunshine), the story -- if nothing else -- beautifully illustrates the difference between British and American sensibilities. In a Hollywood version of this film, there can be almost no doubt that the clones would stage a rebellion and free themselves from their genetic slavery (a la, The Island); in an American-penned version of this novel, there can be almost no doubt that the status quo would be at least challenged, if not successfully overturned (a la Anna to the Infinite Power). But the clones here are so accepting of their fate, and the larger population seemingly so disinterested in even basic human rights, that the moral quandary posed is both more thought-provoking and more depressing than either of those examples (and the many others of their kind) could offer up.

Did I like this movie? No, not at all. But have I been able to stop thinking about it since I saw it, more than a month ago? No to that, as well. And who knows, maybe over time I will come to like it; will find its themes more compelling than I find its strangely washed out cinematography, glacial pacing (plus, Tommy) annoying.

After all, if this movie has proven anything, it’s that it is a slow-burn.

   -- Rachel Hyland