It's often been said that to produce truly great work, an artist must suffer for his or her art.

If that's true then Frida Kahlo must have been in absolute agony; a tram crash left her spine, ribs, pelvis and collarbone shattered and a steel rod impaled in her hip.

Months of painful recovery followed...but the interminable convalescence bed-bound unleashed her latent talent for painting.

The isolation of her condition spurred her to pour out her feelings through her art on a specially constructed easel.

However, her loneliness would not last long after she hassled renowned painter Diego Rivera (Molina) for a professional critique.

After half-jokingly dismissing easel-based work as "bourgeoise elitism", he warmed to her fiery ambition and sultry beauty.

A serial womaniser, Kahlo would later remark that she had two major accidents in her life - the trolleycar and Diego. "Diego was the worst."

In 1920s Mexico, Rivera occupied the position of a sort of South American Bono - an artist with political pretensions. (It could have been worse - he could have been Sting.)

For the next 25 years they weathered a stormy but essentially strong marriage - he indulged in numerous affairs and she was openly bisexual.

Hayek brings a playfulness to the role of an artist regarded as the world's greatest female painter although, until the latter stages of the film, Rivera's professional life dominates.

Taymor's decision to bring Kahlo's significantly autobiographical works to life is a surreally winning stroke and used sparingly.

It's a long haul and there are a few jarring moments - the accents slip north of the border and the dialogue trips up a couple of times.

But as a portrait of the artist, there's a lot to be enjoyed, particularly the father of modern communism (Rush) in a rather fantastic cap.

Tim Evans