It's easy to be cynical about James Joyce. Like the face of Ché Guevara staring from t-shirts and posters, the image of Joyce has become so ubiquitous that it has lost all meaning. For many people, the bespectacled caricature is familiar an icon rather than as a writer. Images of Joyce are as common as pubs in today's Dublin, while the impending Bloomsday centenery is set to make a pageant of a novel that was once abhorred and is still frequently misunderstood. Joyce's Dubliners was once burned in Dublin; today's Dubliners are more likely to respond with scornful dismissal or affected lipservice.

The idea that no-one in Ireland has actually read Ulysses is what reportedly led Sean Walsh to make Bloom. The posters advertising the film tell us that Bloom is the story of James Joyce's Ulysses, and this is certainly true; but is the plot of Ulysses suitable material for a film? The events of the average novel can be comfortably boiled down to a screenstory, but (to state the obvious) Ulysses is far from average.

Taking into account the difficult nature of the undertaking, first-time feature director Sean Walsh does an admirable job. He steers the viewer through the novel's key events while retaining some of its cross-referenced, non-linear approach. Unfortunately, most of the key locations are no longer suitable for shooting in, but some well-made choices render the logistical jigsaw seamless (to non-Dubliners, at least).

It is regrettable that Bloom's largely narrative approach results in the loss of many of the novel's most enchanting sections. The absence of 'Aeolus' and 'The Sirens' are keenly felt, the excision of the majority of 'Eumaeus' and 'Ithaca' less so. The nighttown episode 'Circe' (the longest in the book) is creatively presented, and allows the always-excellent Stephen Rea to display his range. The film begins and ends with segments from Molly Bloom's stream-of-consciousness section, 'Penelope'. These scenes cast Angeline Ball in a new light; her Molly is one of the film's treats.

Although the action presented in Bloom ('Circe' aside) is reasonably straightforward, the film is better for its lack of showiness. Attempts at cleverness have marred other screen-versions of 'difficult' works, such as the Reisz/Pinter The French Lieutenant's Woman or Greenaway's A TV Dante. Walsh avoids the temptation of being playful with sections such as 'The Oxen of the Sun' in favour of presenting a tighter, more coherent narrative.

While Bloom exists as a film independent from its source material, it will doutless have to endure many more comparisons with Joyce's novel, and serve as training-wheels for readers of Ulysses. Although Bloom may lack the polish of John Huston's immortal The Dead, or the prankish glee of Mary Ellen Bute's Finnegans Wake, it is a well-made film featuring some noteworthy performances.