At first glance, the prospects for this film are tantalizing: director Danny Boyle's first feature, a flamboyant starring role for Christopher Eccleston and a presumably hip look at English street culture. So why is this film so awful? Details, details. Sort of an urban fairy tale about an unlikely couple's rise to rock 'n' roll stardom, "Strumpet" is so naive in its plotting that it defies being taken seriously. Eccleston is "Strayman," a half-mad cretin whose fringe lifestyle supplies the film's two notable visuals: a room of walls filled with manic poetry scribblings and an adopted pack of stray dogs who flank him everywhere like soldiers escorting their general. Strayman comes across a down-and-out girl who calls herself Strumpet (Jenna G., apparently answering a "Must be willing to prance around in your underwear or less for no reason whatsoever" casting call), and takes her in like just another orphaned pooch. Strumpet trusts him because he's not interested in sex, and the two soon combine her vacant guitar noodling and his poetry into a spontaneously created "song." The song (two basic chords, and grating screams of "Get it out!") is awful. Just awful. And neither of them can sing well. But somehow, a hyperactive lad next door overhears their tune and is convinced it's bound for greatness. So, with him installed as their eager manager, the three casually truck off to allow a local label to release it and send them all to "Top of the Pops." Not even remotely plausible. A shame, because Eccleston gives the part everything he has and Boyle's direction is already impressively confident and polished. See "Starstruck" or "Breaking Glass" instead.