If it did not have so much formidable talent attached to it, Being Julia could be easily dismissed as a mildly amusing yet mediocre comedy of manners.

But the story, a 1930s English period piece set in the theatrical community, was written by Ronald Harwood and adapted from the W. Somerset Maugham novella, Theatre.

The director is the Hungarian veteran Istvan Szabo, whose Mephisto (1981) remains a European classic for its staggeringly complex portrayal of an actor corrupted by the Nazis. The producer is Toronto movie mogul Robert Lantos, who worked with Szabo on the finely wrought epic Sunshine, a drama that personalized anti-Semitic racism in Hungary.

On screen in Being Julia, there is Annette Bening in her ripe middle age playing a bitchy, aging actress named Julia. Ever the diva, Julia seizes the opportunity to take a young lover and wreaks revenge when her romantic plans go awry.

Julia's husband is played by Jeremy Irons, a smooth tactician. Adroitly, he takes a promiscuous cad and makes him utterly charming, bringing class even when being crass.

In addition to good performances from support players such as Canadians Bruce Greenwood and Sheila McCarthy -- because the film is a co-production of Canada, Britain and Hungary -- Being Julia also features consummate British pro Michael Gambon as a ghost and young Lucy Punch in a sexy, career-making turn as the scheming ingenue.

So the ingredients were in place to cause a sensation, one that would warrant the film's honour as the opening night gala of the 29th Toronto film festival in September.

Oops! It did not quite make the grade. In terms of energy and flow, Being Julia begins beautifully and ends with a giddy air of frivolity. But the middle act is hard slogging.

Even Bening, who is excellent and even delicious for the climax, is awful in several scenes in the middle, resorting to annoying girlish giggles to depict her emotional state.

Either Harwood's screenplay did not sustain throughout or Szabo's soft direction was too indulgent of the actors' whims. The air hisses out of their balloon.

Szabo, with his extensive career in heavy drama, was an odd choice, anyway. Being Julia needed a light touch, a modern equivalent to genius Ernst Lubitsch in action on Trouble In Paradise (1932). Szabo's film would have benefitted from a dose of the essentials of old-fashioned screwball comedy: Fast pace, staccato delivery and the excising of any scene that stopped the relentless forward momentum.

Instead, in Being Julia, the pace changes abruptly along with the mock-serious tone, dialogue careens from breezy to leaden and the momentum never gets going until the finale. There are even some disasters, such as Maury Chaykin's wrong-headed performance as the loutish playwright.

It turns out that the inconsistent Being Julia, for all its array of talent, is less than the sum of its illustrious parts.

(This film is rated 14-A)

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