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Rampling, who appeared in Ozon's haunting "Under the Sand" last year, plays Sarah, an extremely successful British mystery writer who's run out of red herrings. A chilly, snappish woman, Sarah may be saying more than she intends when she brushes off an adoring fan with a curt, "You must've mistaken me for someone else. I'm not the person you think I am."

Just what kind of person she truly is becomes the subject of this compelling, sometimes darkly humorous character study.

Sarah's oily editor, John (Charles Dance), knows exactly the person he wants Sarah to be -- the kind who keeps churning out lightweight moneymakers. But her most recent visit to his office finds Sarah needier and edgier than usual. Evading her protestations of neglect (she sounds like a scorned lover), he suggests she recharge her batteries by spending some time at his summer house in the south of France.

Sarah accepts. Once there, she luxuriates in her sun-dappled privacy -- setting up her laptop overlooking the villa's covered pool, picking out fruit at the market and lingering over a midafternoon glass of wine, brought to her by the hunky waiter at the local cafe. In fact, Sarah is uncharacteristically blissful, until she hears the roar of a car's engine, announcing the arrival of Julie (Ludivine Sagnier), John's luscious 18-year-old daughter.

The tastiest teen imaginable, Julie is everything Sarah is not -- wanton, sensual, confidently assertive (as opposed to Sarah's spinsterish squalls) and apparently without a serious or useful thought in her lovely head. Julie immediately orders the pool uncovered and cleaned and settles into a routine of daily nude sunbathing and nightly lovemaking with a constant stream of whomever's available. Thus begins a primal battle of wills that takes as many unexpected twists as Julie takes lovers.

Not since the Coen brothers introduced us to "Barton Fink" has writer's block been so persuasively presented in a movie. On the surface, "Swimming Pool" is a provocative thriller, complete with murders and motives. But underneath, the movie is suffused with psychological undercurrents. Julie knows exactly where to hit Sarah -- right in the loins. Sarah responds by appropriating Julie as a character in her new book. Both use weapons they've carefully honed over the years.

At the same time, Ozon hints that what we're seeing may not be what's really happening.

Because her role is central, the picture ultimately belongs to Rampling. Still, as every woman's nightmare, Sagnier is a marvel. That is, the heedless yet crafty temptress with a mean streak, a child-woman who knows her desirability makes her dangerously powerful -- and therefore dangerous -- to other women.

In the ongoing war of girl-power, Julie is a star. Ozon films her in pieces -- a thigh here, a breast there. Yet she's never objectified. The director is a collaborator, not a voyeur, and Sagnier's performance is absolutely riveting.

Rampling is even stronger. Her seductively hooded eyes are at odds with her frumpy clothes and self-imposed severity. Sarah's a deeply angry woman, with an even deeper hunger for the kind of tactile recklessness that comes so easily to Julie. Even Julie's naked sunbathing is taken as a personal affront.

The two actresses reflect off each other as blindingly as sun on shimmering water. And while the ending will be too obvious for some, not obvious enough for others, they and their clever director have pulled off a knockout pas de deux.