In Russia she's known as the homegrown Julia Roberts, but the rest of the world has yet to fall for Dina Korzun's charms. Now the award-winning film Last Resort could change that - unless she gives it all up to play the dutiful wife.

Dina Korzun's alabaster features still flush with indignations when she recalls her first few moments on British soil. "I felt like a criminal," she says, digging her hands deep into the pockets of her gray greatcoat. Russia regards the 29-year-old actress as a national treasure, in stage terms, at least, the Julia Roberts of the Urals. Yet arriving here last spring to make her English-language debut in the BBC-made feature film Last Resort, she found Heathrow immigration officials had neglected to roll out the red carpet. "I have travelled to many countries, America, for instance. But I never felt so stupid. I felt like I had no rights", she says of the aggressive grilling she encountered, even though she had a valid work visa. "I couldn't even remembered who I was. Even though I knew I wasn't doing anything bad I began shaking."

Her sense of disorientation was only heightened by the fact that life was mirroring art in the eeriest of ways. Korzun had travelled here to play a Russian woman who arrives in Britain and finds herself in the bureaucracy of a Kafka-esque immigration system. In the midst of her interrogation , she even wondered whether she'd been set up by her director, the Polish documentary-maker Pawel Pawlikowski.

"I knew Pawel was going to film in documentary style, so I was afraid a crew was hiding somewhere. I was waiting for something to happen immediately," she says, with another wince.

As it turned out, the drama was all too real, and the cameras were nowhere to be seen. A year later, Korzun has grown used to the suspicions of our immigration officers. "Even now, coming for the fourth time, and with the right to be here, I don't feel sure they are going to let me in," she smiles, 24 hours after arriving here for her latest visit. "Each time they interview me they look like they wonder if I am a dangerous Russian who might want to do something crazy."

At least now she can take solace in the knowledge that the VIP lanes should soon be opening up to her. Even before Last Resort arrives in British cinemas, it has already pulled off a remarkable - and possibly unique - feat. Following awards for the film at festivals in Spain, Greece and Edinburgh, and in the face of intimidating competition from the likes of Billy Eliot duo of writer Lee Hall and the Oscar-nominated director Stephen Daldry, Pawlikowski won the Carl Foreman award for most promising British newcomer at last month's Bafta film awards. The film was also nominated as best British film, lost out to Billy Elliot.

Korzun herself was overlooked in favour of the usual suspects - Julia Roberts, Juliette Binoche et al. Yet no one is in any doubt that the film is hers: dominated from first frame to last by her combination of luminous beauty and restless, inquisitive energy.

Until Pawlikowski invited her to star in his film, Korzun never even thought of coming here. Her impression of Britain was based almost entirely on Queen songs. "Freddie Mercury was my idol when I was young. I loved that song I Want to Break Free. England to me represented a kind of freedom," she says, settling into a leather sofa, sipping a mineral water and crafting her answers in a slow, thoughtful but impressive English. "But then after I came I realized that was not true," she adds, with an extravagant arch of an eyebrow.

Korzun's unsettling experience at Heathrow was only the beginning of her difficult introduction to the UK. Pawlikowski's approach to film-making is from the Mike/Ken Loach school. Apart from the bare bones of the story, the action was improvised. "I kept asking about the script. But the was no script. Pawel told me it would be unusual work, we would invent everything," she says. "He kept saying, "I don't want you to play a character. I want you to play yourself.' I was completely lost, and had the feeling this was completely crazy. I don't know why I said yes," she adds with another of her frequent laughs. "Now, of course, I am grateful to Pawel. It was a great opportunity."

As she settled into the role of Tanya, she soon recognized a woman after her own heart. With her ten-year-old son, Artiom (played by Artiom Strelnikov), Tanya has com to Britain to be reunited with her English fiance. When he fails to appear at the airport she applies in desperation for political asylum. The movie follows her as the dream of a new life turns into a nightmare and she tries to escape from a soulless immigration detention centre in a south coast resort, with the help of arcade owner Alfie (Paddy Considine). "It was very Russian, to risk everything for love. A Russian woman can be crazy like this," she says with a knowing smile. "She is a woman who is motivated by love. I understand that very well."

Korzun's life has been filled with grand - and at times painful - passions. Her father deserted her mother, Olga, when Dina was just a year old, leaving them to eke out an existence in a commune in Smolensk in which six families shared a kitchen and living quarters. Olga, an engineer, worked tirelessly to support her, but at home displayed all the symptoms of a stage-mum.

"She was teaching me good things. Be honest, be serious, don't be lazy and be first. But it was quite difficult. I never had a childhood handing around. I was always doing extra classes in dance or music or painting," she says.

At 18, she met a Moscow theatre director, Ansar Xalilunin. "I ran away from home with him. He was a symbol of freedom, of something different," she says. Within a year she had given birth to a son Timur. Two month after he was born, her life was changed when she was accepted into the Moscow Arts Theatre.

Along with the Bolshoi Ballet, the MAT is at the epicentre of Russia's cultural life. It is the RSC, the BBC, the National Theatre and a mini-Hollywood studio rolled into one. Film companies pay the MAT for the hire of their of their stars. Generally, no one leaves.

"It was like a miracle. To be accepted you have to be beautiful, charming, talented - many, many things. I had no helpers. A lot of people have protectors who push them," she recalls. "I asked my teacher what he saw. He said I was a paradox, I was so open and so naive. I was open, kind and warm, and Moscow is not like this. People was shocked."

Within two years, Korzun's blend of beauty and spirit had marked her out as a talent to watch. As a third-year student she starred in MAT's biggest productions. "For me, hard work was pleasure, maybe because it was habit. I worked more than other people. Maybe I had some talent," she says with understatement.

Her international break-through came when she played a deaf cabaret dancer in Valery Todorovsy's The Land of the Deaf. The film was well received at festivals all over Europe and brought Korzun a Nika, Russia's equivalent of Oscar. Since then she has become one of only a handful of artists to be given an award for a lifetime contribution to Russian culture. President Putin is among her legion of admirers. Such is the esteems in which she is held, of Moscow found her a new apartment, a home she now shares with her son and mother.

Chief casualty was her marriage. "I left. I took only my child and my bag," she says of the way she left Xalilunin. "I was either brave or crazy. But I was not afraid of suffering. I never regretted any of the steps I have taken."

Her maverick temperament had also caused her problems. "I was like the wind. I was a master of myself, I would say yes or no even it was not logical or correct. Inside the system I broke all the laws and everybody was shocked" she says.

The biggest shock of all came recently when she quit the MAT. "I wanted to leave the system; they make you a total slave," she says of the move.

She admits she would not have been able to summon the courage to break free without the support of her new partner, Louis Franck, a Swiss-born director she met in Moscow five years ago. "The first time we saw each other we felt this incredible love," she says of Franck, who is with her in London. "We both felt like we had met a person who could be everything in our lives."

Franck and Korzun were "married" in Belgrade while he was directing a film. "The ceremony was an improvisation based on Romeo and Juliet," she explains. A formal marriage will happen soon, thus helping Korzun to move more freely within western Europe.

It would be wrong to assume she is assembling all the pieces in preparation for a move to the West and a career over here, however. "I am not so stupid. I understand very well that I am still Russian, I have a different soul," she says. (Most Western actresses don't have much soul at all, according to Korzun. Ask her to name her favourite Hollywood actress and she says Cate Blanshett. "I think she is the best in the world. She has soul, quite unusual for a Western actress.")

"If I was very snobbish and thought that English people would be happy that I was here I would have to change myself from inside and become English. Then I might get more interesting job," she says. "But I will never do this. I respect myself more. I want to be myself."

Indeed, she doesn't rule out another change off tack. Her marriage to Louis Franck is now her top priority. She has given up everything in the past and would do so again. "Love is when you can sacrifice something very important to you," she muses. "I don't want to be the best actress in Russia. I want to be Louis's wife and a good actress if possible. But if necessary I will just be his wife."

But part of her - surely - must be intrigued by the idea of an American career and of pulling in the $20 million a movie that her Hollywood counterpart Roberts now gets? "No, no," she says. "You get nothing for nothing."

For a moment she sits motionless on the sofa, mulling this over. "I think I am happier than Julia Roberts," she says eventually, with the wisest of smiles. And you cannot but believe her.

Interview by Garry Jenkins