THE GHOST OF GREVILLE LODGE (2000) ** No one tells a ghost story quite like the English, which is worth considering, given the national inclination towards understatement. Ghosts tend to speak loudly enough for themselves, no matter how softly they whisper, and so it's often enough to acknowledge their existence and let matters unfold at their (un?) natural pace from there. On the other hand, when you're shackled with a leaden lead, in damn near every frame, there's probably something to be said for giving the people a bit more of what they want. The early stages of this film, which last through to the closing minutes, are not unbearably dull. Niall Johnson offers enough of a travelogue of a beautiful home on plenty of acreage near a quaint village to keep things ok. There are also, for afficianados of "Fawlty Towers," which is to say the most sophisticated people in the world, irregular glimpses of Prunella Scales, playing quite nicely in a grandmotherly sort of way. She seems so much more at ease without that Basil around, but I digress. There are no doubt true ghost stories, and I'm willing to believe that they might play out something like this. But what's the demographic for a realistic ghost story? Not much happens, even the jolts a preter-naturally gentle; no explosions, car chases, or orgies; and no one calls the Ghostbusters. Ghostly communion, then, must be something of a personal affair. No reason to go on flailing it about before possible vulgarians. Tasteful musical selectios keep things going to the end, and Johnson ensures that there's drama enough there for even comic book enthusiasts.