There's one unlikely reason why I fell for The Hard Word, a new "hip" Australian crime thriller that owes more than a debt of gratitude to one Quentin Tarantino, and works as well as it does: Rachel Griffiths.

In case you've been under a rock for the past six years, Griffiths - that always-dependable actress - seemed to come out of nowhere with a solid turn in Muriel's Wedding. That was followed by an Oscar nod for Hilary and Jackie and a Golden Globe for HBO's Six Feet Under. She is an impeccable, detail-rich actress; who just by being on the screen seems to up the quality level of everything in which she appears.

The Hard Word is such a case. Griffiths has only a supporting role in the film, but in every scene she steps into, she pulls the rug out from under everyone else and us.

The Hard Word, a clever riff on the now-familiar comic caper film pioneered by Tarantino and littered with countless ironic imitators including Guy Ritchie, is certainly nothing revelatory or even new. What is special about the film is the brazen energy and flamboyance writer and director Scott Roberts brings to the table, and a darkly violent and satisfying final act.

The Twentyman brothers, Dale (Guy Pearce), Mal (Damien Richardson) and Shane (Joel Edgerton), are petty robbers doing time in a Melbourne jail who get paroled as the film opens. Seduced by their hardboiled lawyer Frank Malone (Robert Taylor) into pulling off another job, they end up right back in the can. Meanwhile, Dale's sexy and mysterious wife Carol (Griffiths) is carrying on a steamy affair with Frank, the suspicion of which is driving Dale crazy.

After their second release from jail, Frank convinces them to pull of a big job - biggest ever in Australian history - in broad daylight at the Melbourne Cup. The heist, staged with a comic and violent gusto, goes off as planned, with a few bloody hitches. It's what happens next that's surprising.

There's a superb and confident energy in the film, and it moves well, is technically accomplished and very funny. There's also a lot of jolting and sudden violence to temper the comedy, and the film is unpredictable in tone and direction right up to its final scene, which is a killer (literally).

Guy Pearce is spot-on in his first good role since Memento (which was his first good role since L.A. Confidential). He obviously relishes playing a petty criminal who is only half-hardened, on the take probably in spite of himself, enjoying the thrill of the boost too much to let go. And though he's still ruggedly handsome, he's let his dreamy youthful looks (Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and L.A. Confidential) fall by the wayside in favor of a grizzled, weathered visage that seems most appropriate here and in other hard boiled roles of late.

There's no denying the slickness or entertainment value of The Hard Word, and the cast performs in surprising and offbeat ways that keep you interested. There's also a genuine and unexpected sweetness to a brief and platonic love affair that develops between softhearted Mal and a drunken sweetie who agrees to drive the trio, on the run, from Melbourne to Sydney.

But it's Griffiths, in a relatively minor role, decked out in a hot blonde wig and oozing oversexed power, that steals this show. We're never, ever sure of her shifting motivations - though the $20 million in question might be a bit to blame - even at the end of the film. Her Carol is a smart, sexy woman, fully capable of using her sex as a weapon more lethal than her pistol, concealing her loyalties even in the most lurid places of the script.

In a relatively small amount of screen time, Griffiths creates a femme fatale like we don't see much anymore. Like I can't remember since Kathleen Turner mined similar terrain in Lawrence Kasdan's 1981 Body Heat, and Lena Olin kicked up the heat nearly a decade ago in Peter Medak's Romeo is Bleeding. She easily outdoes a Hollywood-hollow babe like Sharon Stone's Basic Instinct cipher, and walks away with the film.