Some films sacrifice the engagement powers of narrative for the sake of crafting atmosphere. Their success is inevitably a limited one, which is not to say that they’re necessarily less ambitious.

Mark Romanek’s Never Let Me Go is slow, languid and contemplative. Your opinion of the film may very well depend on how you feel about those adjectives. It uses a pastel-colour palette of subtle browns and greys which belong on trees and stones. Its characters go on many walks in the countryside, take long pauses in conversations with each other, and gaze into the distance with unbearable melancholy. The musical score is almost omnipresent, letting the longing and regret linger, filling the spaces in between silences and softly-spoken words.

The film is based on the acclaimed novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, whose reserved style is echoed by the production’s delicate tone. The story involves classmates Kathy, Tommy and Ruth who grow up at Hailsham, a seemingly typical English boarding school. They wear electronic bracelets and are forewarned about leaving the school grounds on the pretext of what happened to those unfortunate enough to attempt it in the past. Kathy is the kind soul, Ruth the jealous beauty. Tommy is awkward and sensitive. A love triangle ensues. One day, a newly appointed teacher decides to reveal Hailsham’s dark secret to her students: their lives will be short-lived, because their sole purpose in this world is to become organ donors.

The subject matter is certainly intriguing, but Romanek’s film isn’t interested in exploring its possibilities. It’s all about evoking a dreamy mood of muted emotions. The performances certainly impress. Carey Mulligan plays Kathy with dignity and grace. Andrew Garfield, who was rather effective in The Social Network, makes Tommy a believable scapegoat for Ruth’s whims. For the role of Ruth, Keira Knightley does her usual skeletal pout, except here it’s put to good use on a character that deserves it.

Never Let Me Go fails to excite or emote, but it achieves a certain kind of aesthetic perfection. The screenplay, visuals and music evoke the sensation of incompleteness—that most familiar aspect of the human condition. Regrettably, the film itself feels like it’s missing something.