Like many young artists, Australian writer-director Elise McCredie may be trying too hard to make her work capital-S Significant. Her feature debut, Strange Fits Of Passion, begins as a subdued, introverted romantic comedy, and works well enough on that level. But as the story progresses, McCredie seems determined to force an incongruous level of depth and meaning into her simple premise about an awkward single woman fumbling to lose her virginity. Michela Noonan does a fine job projecting waves of panic, loneliness, insecurity, and brittle determination; she comes across as a less artificial, less packaged Bridget Jones as she longs for a manual or a class to teach inexperienced women how sex is supposed to work. As she lurches from encounter to encounter, deciding in turn that she's a poetry-obsessed romantic, an intellectual feminist, or a lesbian, she comes across as a bit too self-absorbed to be likable, but still hapless and hopeful enough to evoke sympathy. Mitchell Butel, meanwhile, brings class and humanity to the thankless, formulaic role of the gay best friend with all the romantic answers. (At least this version of the stereotype actually has some semblance of a sex life.) Even Noonan's would-be deflowerers, including a timid but pretentious poet (Sam Johnson) and a self-assured Spanish teacher with a secret (Steve Adams) offer up nuanced, low-key performances that make the film believable as well as gently funny. McCredie can likely take credit for their restrained performances, given her own restrained, personal directorial style, which reduces Melbourne to a dim, backgrounded Anytown, insignificant in comparison to the characters' developed internal lives. But late in the game, McCredie seems to decide that the small tides of Noonan's development aren't interesting enough, and hits her with an emotional tsunami instead. Strange Fits Of Passion's unaccountably grim ending not only squanders its early intimacies in a cheap ploy for grand profundity; it also warps the characters in ways that are impossible to swallow. Which is particularly unfortunate, given that so much of McCredie's debut rests so easily and lightly on the palate.