Kate Winslet clearly saves her histrionics for acceptance speeches. Her performance as a thwarted Fifties housewife in Revolutionary Road is a masterpiece of understatement. She fully deserves the plaudits for her moving, nuanced acting in this film and The Reader: those two Golden Globes that made her all gushy, and nominations in the Bafta and Evening Standard Awards with Oscar nods sure to follow.

The only surprise is that her co-star, Leonardo DiCaprio, hasn’t been equally lauded. The low-key intensity he shares with Winslet is what makes the sudden eruptions of rage and panic so shocking. It couldn’t be further removed from the duo’s first pairing in the bombastic Titanic.

This is a subtle, elegant and enclosed study of suburban disenchantment, based on an acclaimed novel by Richard Yates. Directed by Winslet’s husband, Sam Mendes, it feels like a companion piece to his first film American Beauty, another artful tale of middle-class anguish.

We first see Kate and Leo, aka Frank and April Wheeler, at a party bolstering their mutual attraction by hinting at rich and interesting inner lives. Next thing you know, they’re 30 and married with two children in suburban Connecticut. Frank goes off to the job that apparently killed his father, selling adding machines in the city, while April simmers at the stove. Occasionally they snap at each other, big time. They can’t see how golden and special they look to others’ eyes.

Briefly, the couple invest their hopes in a romantic dream of escaping to Paris, where — radically for the time — April will work and Frank will discover himself. But circumstances conspire against them. It doesn’t end well.

On the red carpet at last night’s premiere Edith Bowman called the story “heart-wrenching”, while Sophie Ellis Bextor opted for “depressing”. They’re both right.

The story is merciless in its concentration on Frank and April. Their neighbours and Frank’s workmates are there as counterpoints or exemplars of the couple’s misery.

The Wheelers’ children appear on screen for the first time, tellingly, after Frank has engineered a shabby afternoon tryst with a trusting secretary at work. The most vivid supporting character is Kathy Bates’s estate agent, who sold them the house in Revolutionary Road.

Mendes and his cinematographer Roger Deakins present a sort of distillation of the Fifties, the dream and the nightmare. The colours are warm and attractive, Kate and the cars pleasantly curvy. The men wear skinny ties and sharp suits, and pregnant women restrict themselves to two Martinis and a pack a day, à la Mad Men.

I didn’t actually see a picket fence, but metaphorically it’s there as a sign of security and imprisonment.

Mendes deliberately shuts out the wider world: the Cold War, segregation, teenagers, rock music. His decision to shoot everything on location, even cramped arguments in kitchens, adds to the sense of stifled claustrophobia. The haunting, recurring piano theme in Thomas Newman’s score underlines it. When Frank’s temper flares, or April jiggles disloyally on a dancefloor, it’s devastating.

This is, then, a beautifully crafted chamber piece, and a chance for both Winslet and DiCaprio to display their range and skill.

One quibble. I get a bit annoyed when people like Mendes — very talented, married to a beautiful film star — make films about how awful it is to be ordinary. Much as I enjoyed the depiction of yearning and frustration in this film and American Beauty, I kind of hope he’s not planning a trilogy.