This movie does a wonderful job of representing the undertow of confusion and stuckness that threatens to pull people under. It cuts among interlocking stories that each center on someone who is about to dive down beneath their established life, and for entirely normal, believable reasons. 45 minutes into the film, all the main characters have thrown themselves into the vortex, creating the uneasy fear one feels for people who are about to risk everything they've deliberately built up in order to end a sense of suffocation that is much less concrete than the secure surface of their lives, but somehow more real. This is strong suspense film about that crucial question of whether or not our own happy lives actually make us feel alive.

The movie covers an updated version of Cheever territory - the despair beneath the comforts of American suburbia. "Little Children" is better than "American Beauty" and "The Ice Storm," and is intelligent about the effects of thwarted desire in the way of Todd Haynes's "Safe." It has the eerie disorientation of "The Swimmerj" It's particularly shrewd about the original source of romantic yearning itself. The film's real "LIttle Children" are the parents from two different families who fall in love with each other. They are the stay-at-home Mom and the Mr. Mom who re-marry each other informally at the neighborhood pool where they spend every summer day taking care of their adorable kids. Together they are as bland as they are in their actual marriage. Their interest in each other doesn't unearth some suppressed power or depth in themselves, which is always the assumption behind the affair. It reflects their mutual wish to recapture the unrestricted experience they associate with childhood - no bar exams, no dissertations to finish, no spouses with budgets or habits of Internet wankfests at the work computer. You can see the affair coming with the first encounter between these two fair-haired parents who are the bored and aimless and also subordinate to their focused and competent spouses in each of their marriages. Unlike the breadwinners, these two are still looking for what they want to do in life. When they seem to find that thing in their daily poolside parenting and then later in their daily sex, they are put by the film into strict parallel with their preschool kids sharing their afternoon naps. It's a nice dream - play and sleep, play and sleep, all feeling unforced and unchangingly attractive, every day happily the same. As if.

The other true thing about the movie is that Sarah and Brad (Winsett and Wilson) resolve to run off together and then chicken out and chicken out accidentally-on-purpose, in ways that allow them to go "home" to their focused, successful spouses who are capable of taking care of them, and yet go home without acknowledging to themselves that this is what they really want. Sarah concocts a panic attack when her child wanders out of her sight for five minutes in the nighttime park where she had gone to meet Brad. Brad interrupts his trip to destiny to fulfill his wannabe skateboarder dreams, injuring his beautiful body and giving himself the perfect excuse never to try anything again. Lots and lots of us finally stand up for ourselves only to take this kind of dive right away, as soon as we decently can. One reason is that we stood up for the wrong thing, even though it took us forever to do so.

So can the problems be overlooked? Well let's inventory them. The movie polarizes straight and sensitive suburbia in a phony way. The other moms are stereotypes of sexual repression, living on the edge of hysteria. When Brad and Sarah first kiss in front of them (on a jokey dare from Sarah), the moms grab up their kids and flee just as the neighborhood moms do later at the pool when the registered sex offender is found swimming around with a mask and snorkel. The same false polarity infects the original marriages: the dominant spouses are so disconnected from their partners that you wonder how they could have been married for even a few weeks: why would a phony, money-grubbing "brander" ever have married a failed English lit PhD student, or vice versa, and why would a smart documentary maker ever marry the pretty but super-dull Brad, whose soul can be filled through the camaraderie of night-league football? In the film's clunkiest moment, Ronnie, the sex offender, has a date with an attractive, clinically-depressed thirtysomething (played well by Jane Adams), bonds with her in a sympathetic, fraternal way, and then as she's praising their conversation in the car starts to jerk off and threaten her like a possessed maniac. The moment destroys the analogy between criminalized and "normal" perversion that had helped to humanize Ronnie (his mother is the film's strongest single character, played brilliantly by Phyllis Somerville). His auto-mutilation at the end just reproduces the suburban sexual hysteria the film supposedly critiques. Equally implausible is that his tormentor, the other unloved man, ex-cop and night-league loser Larry, turns into his rescuer: this is the kind of instant redemption that the basic intelligence of this film would rule out. The problem is the film undermines the quasi-heroic struggles of their flawed main characters - Ronnie, Brad, and Sarah - so that their weak and pathetic ends make the earlier dramas seem unreal in retrospect. If they fold THIS easily, then what were we watching the previous two hours.

The men in this film - ouch. They are useless and dangerous by turns. The women are suffocated and unhappy. The American middle-class comes off badly - spoiled, unfocused, and without the strength to save itself or anybody else. We are, the movie says, the little children of world.

'Little Children' is one of those movies set in suburbia that explores men and women dealing with strained marriages, the politics of parenting, inertia, loneliness, fidelity/infidelity and dangers lurking beneath the surface. When not done well, films like this can appear to be overblown soap operas. When done right, like this one is, it is something to sink your teeth into and enjoy.

Sarah (Winslet) and Brad (Patrick Wilson) are both one-child, stay-at-home parents with a lack of focus or drive in their lives and a lack of connection with their spouses. Sarah is more frustrated - unwilling to just have a healthy fantasy life like the the other park mothers, while Brad drifts around and broods. They use their children as an excuse to spends more and more time with each other. Both actors give very bold performances here, their characters' emotions radiate off their bodies even when they're not saying much. Winslet is particularly good, managing to give Sarah an earthy sensuality. Her character feels so trapped that her lust for a purposeful and happy life becomes a rebellion. Winslet makes Sarah so in touch with her emotional needs and gives her such a charged urgency that I found her alluring, something I haven't felt towards her in her past performances, through she's always been an attractive and extremely good actress.

In the other story, a recently-released child sex offender (he exposed himself to some kids) named Ronnie (Jackie Earle Haley) tries to exist in a community that is being taught to fear him. Haley really shines in his role as a man acutely aware that his dark urges are wrong but is still in their grip. Haley is far more deserving of the supporting actor Oscar than Alan Arkin was, for his by-the-numbers 'Little Miss Sunshine' performance, but I guess they wanted to give him some sort of lifetime achievement recognition.

The movie slowly, piece by piece, becomes more gripping as everyones' lives become more desperate and tangled. This is sort of like 'Desperate Housewives' except more mature and less quippy. The script and direction manage to maintain focus on what is important. A criticism I have heard of this movie is that Brad and Sarah's spouses (Jennifer Connelly and Greg Edelman) are not developed enough and only serve to justify the two leads. Even though this may be true (Sarah's husband is pretty much a cameo) I have mixed feelings on this. The filmmakers' clear intention was only to feature the spouses in a way that gives you an idea of the relationship they have with the main characters, and to further flesh out the main characters. In other words, less is more. While this may or may not have been fine, it is only the ending of the film where it becomes a relevant problem. The film ends for Sarah and Brad in a way that calls into question the exact state of their current marriages. Since the spouses are underwritten, the viewer is left with a bit of an empty feeling. We've come to know the characters very well, but the information isn't quite aligned with the questions the ending raises. Also the film shows its literary roots through its heavy reliance on a narrator at the start, which (don't worry) becomes rarer as the film progresses. Much of what the narrator says is unnecessary as the actors are often already doing such a great job acting out the narrated text.

However, all this aside, 'Little Children' is clearly engaging, entertaining, carefully made and doesn't struggle to find things to say. I highly recommend it, if, like me, you're of those people who are constantly looking for something meaty in terms of acting, story and dramatic conflict.

Relationship drama is on the menu and Todd Field is the waiter, with expert skill and neat presentation. 'Little Children' zooms in on suburbia, navigating the world of desperate housewives and husbands. The dish proves a pleasant diversion, with crisp performances and a tasty centre.

So tasty, in fact, that Little Children is one of the most interesting films of recent years. It is far from the greatest, and is not devoid of faults, but a genuine evocation of interest should be attributed to Field's story. Every character unflinchingly demands our attention. We want to know more about precisely everyone in the community. In the front row for fascination sits Ronnie, the resident child molestor, who pends between likable and freak. He is the overriding nominator for 'Little Children' – and his presence greatly upsets the parents.

Yet most salience is given to Kate Winslet and Patrick Wilson as Sarah and Pierce – two lonely, bored and desperate housespouses who, in the midst of having nothing to do, innocently begin an extramarital affair with each other. Through calm narration, the film introduces Sarah as an anthropologist and remarks how she is different from the contingent of housemoms. However it becomes apparent that the director is the anthropologist and not Sarah. Indeed Field studies human relationships accordingly, interweaving loneliness, desperation, jealousy, lust and betrayal. Sarah, in fact, loses her 'objective' stance and melts in with the rest as she indulges in her passion with Brad.

It needs to be said that 'Little Children' often tips over into comedy and it is this refreshing edge that bumps it up to 8/10 on my scale. It treats serious subjects, such as pedophilia, infidelity and loneliness – but it does so with the spark in the eye. A consistent cloud of laughter seemed to hover in the air of my theatre at the Stockholm Film Festival and Kate Winslet was undoubtedly the catalyst. She gives a fine performance with excellent emotional transparency, layered skill and above all with an inherent funny bone that translates to a goofy woman. The humour is surprisingly in-tune even with the other characters with all their quirks and afflictions, such as child-molestation and online pornography.

Toward the end, 'Little Children' patiently crafts a sense of impending doom that deserves much credit. Nevertheless, the ending isn't the best imaginable. The film could benefit from being slightly shorter. Lastly the use of cute kids as tearjerkers is a disappointing cheap-shot used a little too often, and seems mostly a tiresome American phenomenon. Yet as a whole entity Little Children is a very interesting film that makes the best possible use of characters, relationships and suburban drama. Throw in a few exceptionally neat steadicam shots – Scorsese-style – and the experience is complete.

8 out of 10