The mood is one of sadness, nostalgia, what might have been: an elegiac view of a recent past, a time already no more than a memory, beautifully filmed, full of haunting images.
It is not an attempt at realism; the interpretation relies heavily on symbolism, a shorthand to convey two decades of British social history.
It starts with a young man, Paul (Damian Lewis) of working class background who has made a fortune in property speculation in the 70's. Like any young man who finds himself wealthy beyond expectation, the power it gives him to indulge all his flights of fantasy leads to excesses and he is busy squandering his genius, cultivating a motley gathering of friends and hangers-on who come `like pigs to the trough' to gorge themselves on the riches he makes freely available to them. Against the background of his splendid house and uniformed servants he introduces anarchy as an antidote against the self-importance of the aristocrats, politicians and bishops who are his guests.
His genius is his prescience for future developments, and lounging around with his friends he is planning the future, accumulating ideas like so much junk, awaiting development. He employs a young secretary Lizzie to bring order into the chaos of his life. Lizzie is an ambitious young woman and Paul's lack of discipline frustrates her. His behaviour with his girl friends and his parties so outrages her she tries to leave, but the prospect of what they could achieve together persuades her to stay ?? until the day he says: "it's done. The future is all here, planned and costed." All in a large leather-bound book.
At this point the real dynamic reveals itself. Lizzie is simple-minded enough to believe Paul. Paul knows bright ideas are not The Future. So he disrupts any prospect of actually having to act on them by throwing another party so extravagant, it is the party to end all parties. The aftermath is the total collapse of the world he has built up. When the book containing the future is destroyed he says: it's only paper.
Their paths continue to cross over the years as Lizzie makes a good career in the City. One of the best passages of the story is when Lizzie tries to get Paul into her world of corporate teamwork, predicting future trends and investment opportunities. A scathing commentary on such endeavours, quite brilliantly staged and acted. After five months of playing the maverick as a "team of one" in his own corner of the open plan office Paul presents the assembled company with one bright idea. Fiasco.
Another great scene is when his turns up with a couple of the other so-called losers (the minor characters are equally brilliant) at Lizzie's magnificent copy-cat wedding celebrations at his old house, to be the ghost at the feast. He remains superbly dignified and all his sycophantic ex-friends are thrown into a panic to get rid of him.
Lizzie learns, too late to avert disaster, that Paul's ideas are the ones that have a real future. The ending is beautiful but one wishes that Jodhi May as Lizzie was more convincing as a high-flying woman in a man's world. She fails to convey why a man like Paul who is not sexually attracted to her should persistently pursue her as the one to make his nebulous ideas take form. Damian Lewis needs an edgier woman as foil to his laid-back, ironic charm. All credit to Poliakoff for a lovely, funny, sad story. With a great Lizzie it would be a great film.

It seems to me that viewing this particular work of Poliakoff is similar to being escorted to an exclusive first night art exhibition by an elitist clique of positively pre-disposed critics. You will be told that you are about to behold an undeniable work of genius, which only a philistine could fail to appreciate. You will then gaze long and hard at the work on display, at first nodding your head sagely... but after a while... perhaps half an hour... wondering if there's something you're missing under the continuous dull hum of the display lighting.

Surely you're being stupid... it's probably a matter of finding the right perspective...any moment now you'll see the light, the beauty will reveal itself.

But no - try as you might, no epiphany... instead, the dull background drone begins to sharpen into a nagging voice laughing at you, telling you, louder and louder that you've been duped into wasting all this time staring hopefully at an overblown canvas covered in intricate doodles, brightly coloured sploshes and drunkenly weaving lines of varying length and thickness - presented in a glossy frame in a suave, stylish boutique which really has no discernable message or merit at all.

Ok - some pretty good actors were doing a pretty decent job with some pretty forgettable dialogue, but all in all, this sumpuous visual feast was a meaningless waste of my viewing time which ultimately left me feeling empty.

Anyone who has a soul will find this film to be one of the most brilliant pieces of TV drama ever filmed. It is like entering a dreamworld, from which you awaken enlightened, provoked, and profoundly moved. Damien Lewis is extraordinary, as is the actress who plays Lizzie. The story will resonate with anyone who lived through the last 3 decades. The score, by Adrian Johnston, is achingly beautiful, and stays with you long after the film has ended. But the true genius here is Stephen Poliakoff, from whose remarkable imagination this amazing story came to life.

This film should be a classic, it looks at past attitudes, the thatcherian era, the dot com bubble, whilst not even coming close to being a business related film. It looks at romance, self-destruction and changes in society.

Stunningly beautiful to look at but strangely empty at its core.

There seemed to be too many jump-cuts between scenes, and I, for one, would have appreciated knowing what years the successive scenes were supposed to be set in (if only to guage the passage of time better). There are only two mentions of "time" - when Paul reminds Lizzie that she has worked for him for a year and in a later scene when Lizzie tells Paul "but that was 18 months ago". Perhaps, the drama would have benefited from being longer than its 100-odd minutes. There was just too much to squeeze in! Robert Lindsay (among others) was wasted in this production. "Our Friends in the North" it ain't!