Gives Glasgow a bad name you would think everybody in Glasgow swears all the time.

To me, this is one of those films, whose scenes linger, almost haunt long after the vague and slightly off-putting title is long forgotten.

Mixing raw emotional drama, worthy of any work by Lars von Trier and the Catholic-induced fantasies that Neil Jordan fused so well into the grime and poverty of modern society this is one hell of a bumpy, but rewarding cinematic ride. In Jordan's case, Ireland, in this, Scottish director Peter Mullan is mid 90's Glasgow.

There's a gutter encrusted language that refuses to shock as it seems so much a part of the angst and misunderstanding of a modern society losing its religion but that same religion has never been more needed. In the same way of Mullan's 'My Name Is Joe', (in which he takes lead part) life is sheer hell at times and grasping onto what you know and rely on is paramount. Whether that faith be in alcohol, drugs, the church or family. Or all four.

So, the mother of the family dies and everybody is highly overwrought. Scotland's finest actors, often only seen in more lame films (Douglas Henshall, for instance is outstanding in this) or the current gritty Scots TV D.I 'Taggart', who ends up not in quite as much control as he's used to. Stalwart actor Gary Lewis (Full Monty, Brassed Off) is the lay priest and brother who tries to keep his family united as well as his church and when a storm hits...

On this, my third viewing, those scenes are worthy of anything - and more - that Hollywood can do. Truly making me goose-bumped and, frankly, perspiring as the score, the focused direction plus performances as good as anything you'll see ably pumps up the melodrama. A revenge plot for a stabbing that leaves Henshall running for cover, injured, blood- soaked and delirious leads him screaming for Sanctuary at his estranged brother's church. Will the Will of God allow personal bitterness to be overcome?

Unusually, another lead - and thankfully, without mawkishness, is a sister to the brothers and who is severely disabled with cerebral palsy and in an electric chair. The sort of plucky girl who thanks people for calling her a 'spastic'. Totally un-PC, but she's grateful for their full frontal honesty. Don't expect a shrinking violet...

'Orphans' might well not be as topical as Mullan's most well known film 'The Magdalene Sisters' and hasn't got the fantastic fantasy and hip- soundtrack of Boyle's Trainspotting. But, for my money, in its own ways it sits up there with the two as some of the very finest Scottish set, or originated, films, ever.

With his third film as director Neds seeing release just recently, the previous two films of Peter Mullan were given a back-to-back television showing. I managed to catch his first, Orphans, having never before heard anything of it.

Meeting to mourn the loss of their mother, four Glaswegian siblings gather in a pub. When an inconsiderate group laugh at the lugubrious singing of the eldest, one of his brothers retorts physically and is stabbed. The remaining brother vows to avenge this whilst the handicapped sister finds herself stuck in a darkened alley, her wheelchair broken.

Orphans begins with a solemn scene, the four siblings gathered around their mother's coffin. Some gentle humour is created through the siblings' confusion at their elder's request that they place some hair in the coffin. This introduces us to the film's primary structure: scenes of genuine heartfelt drama lined with a subtle comedy to balance the mood. As things progress, we begin to see in increase in this comic factor, the film's clever blending of its contrasting elements creating a wonderful dichotomy. The true beauty of the film, however, is in its juxtaposition of its constituent elements. Many are the scenes which Mullan allows to play out, drawing us in with a barrage of riotous laughter, before effortlessly turning this on its head with a disarming simplicity and forcing us to comprehend the dramatic implications of the events unfolding before us. In a simple moment, we go from laughing at something to considering its grim seriousness. It is a stunning effect, one often attempted but rarely realised so fantastically as here. Mullan ends his scenes by inviting us to reconsider what we have just seen; we find ourselves looking at events with a melancholy when just moments ago they had us reduced to breathless laughter. He allows us to indulge ourselves in the fantastic comedy his writing engenders before showing us that these scenarios are in fact tremendously dark and dramatic. We may chuckle at Michael's determination to pass off his stab wound as an industrial accident, but we quickly reevaluate the true humour of this when we realise that he is slowly dying, his lightening pallor eventually quite frightening. This is just one example of the many such twists Mullan throws at us, showing himself to be as dramatically dark as he is ingeniously funny.

A truly fantastic combination of drama and comedy, done in a subversive way which forces us to reevaluate what we thought of a scene just seconds before, Orphans is a fantastic exploration of the closeness of drama and comedy. Splendidly supported by fantastic, hilarious, and realistically authentic Glaswegian performances, this film has certainly proclaimed Peter Mullan as a masterful director.