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For those who like getting swept up by the raw emotion of grand, soul-piercing romances that bring a lump to the throat, more than a few tears to the eye, and a wistful, sniffled murmur of "They don't make 'em like they used to," here's some great news: Oh yes, they do. Or at least, Neil Jordan does. The End of the Affair, Jordan's evocative adaptation of Graham Greene's 1951 tale of obsession, jealousy, and sacrifice, is nothing less than a heartfelt ode to the power of cinema's esprit d'amour, and to the era that seems to typify it best: the 1940s. With cool elegance, sophisticated style, and searing passion, Jordan's gorgeous film restores one's faith in adult movie romance.

Ralph Fiennes smolders as Maurice Bendrix, a cynical young English novelist who can't quite escape the drama of his own fevered imagination, even when confronted by a more fantastic reality. Haunted by a passionate wartime affair that ended mysteriously two years earlier, Bendrix offers a strange service to old friend Henry Miles (Stephen Rea, bringing grave dignity to an atypical stuffed-shirt role), who suspects his wife, Sarah (Julianne Moore), of infidelity. Realizing that Henry's gentleman ethics will never allow him to make inquiries, the less morally encumbered Bendrix hires a detective (Ian Hart, in a deliciously earnest supporting role), who gradually turns up more than either man wants to know about the unexpectedly enigmatic Sarah.

Adapted almost faithfully from Greene's novel (the slight changes help tighten the material), The End of the Affair expertly weaves suspicion and doubt through gradual revelations, hopping through time to reveal Bendrix's fixation on Sarah and Henry. A prisoner of his obsessions and tortured imagination, Bendrix can only gauge love by the jealousy it inspires; his own faithlessness destines him for the kind of peculiar twist of fate for which Greene's thought-provoking tales are noted.

Meticulous set design by Anthony Pratt (who was responsible for the exquisite detail of Jordan's little-seen Michael Collins) and impeccable costumes by Oscar-winner Sandy Powell (who teasingly places Moore in "stop and go" colors—all red or all green) create a period atmosphere so rich, the film could have been made at the height of the studio era. Fiennes' Bendrix glowers and lusts with an attractive, tortured maliciousness reminiscent of his performance as Count Almásy of The English Patient. The picture belongs to Moore, however, who goes British faultlessly, combining elegance and sensuality in a stunning, textured performance as a woman capable of the greatest selflessness and sacrifice. Despite a couple of melodramatic plot devices—or maybe because of them, as they're yummy in that old-movie sense—The End of the Affair feels much like a visit from a long-lost friend, thrilling and much welcomed.