The death of a wealthy artist brings together some of those whose lives he has touched, as they travel south from Paris for his funeral in Limoges. The journey is the backdrop for some revealing insights into the tangled web of relations he has left behind, and for a glimpse of the old man's mischievous nature.

On board the train are friends, relations and former lovers of both sexes. All are coming to terms with life without this powerful patriarch and are adjusting themselves to relationships that exist between those who are left.

As their train hurtles to its destination, so Jean-Baptiste the artist travels to his final resting place, in a parallel journey aboard a Peugeot station wagon. He was a contrary old git by all accounts so he would probably have wanted it this way.

Unfolding like an autopsy on a collection of flawed, apathetic or deeply unpleasant characters, "Those Who Love Me...". is earnest and heavy, a plodding drama that throws light into corners some of us would prefer not to look in.

But the acting is solid and convincing, the writing wordy and the direction painstaking. Yet it all seems so self-conscious and contrived, a film that revels in the foibles and flaws of the people at the heart of its story. It's as if French audiences find a cathartic quality to films such as this, where somehow the viewer will be better for watching it.

That tradition is somewhat different from typical British film-making, and miles away from the Hollywood style. Which is not to say that it is bad, just that like some other French delicacies, it will not be suited to all tastes.