A suicide might just have been prevented. A woman crouches to pump up a bike tyre next to tracks that lead straight over a cliff edge. Escape into oblivion has been postponed by a banal and fortuitous leak of air. It's a pathetic, farcical scenario. Frances Kearney sets up photographic tableaux that look like paintings. Her disoriented protagonists would feel at home in settings more typically created by such painter-enigmatists as Balthus or Paula Rego.

It has long been a convention for photo and video artists to eschew the clear-cut obligations of documentary and emulate the painter's innate ability to create perceptual ambiguities that are truer to life. Kearney is more convincing than most. Susan MacWilliam contrives artful half-truths to look into the predictably ambiguous realms of the occult. Video clips capture actors swooning, fainting and chomping on fake ectoplasm. Close-ups of bound and wriggling hands are shot in melodramatic black and white. It is difficult to see how such images say more about the veracity of psychic recordings than would clips from any number of countless silent ghost films. But MacWilliam's 3D images of a woman lying in the undergrowth are something else. The voyeuristic furtiveness of viewing through 3D glasses and the super- focus of the effects add up to something both disturbing and enchanting.

Sarah Tripp, the third artist in this mixed, vaguely themed show, has been commissioned to present a documentary on a real-life mystery. The film tells the story of Methernitha, a reclusive Christian community in the Swiss Alps that claims to have invented a perpetual motion machine. The Methernitha folk, free from alcohol, nicotine and drugs, say they will not release the blueprints until the rest of humanity meets the purity of their beliefs. How they have communicated this intention remains unclear, as they never seem to speak.

So, does the future belong to a bunch of eco-friendly fundamentalists? And how are we to believe that the machine actually works? The film offers no answers. Even more crucially, does the projection of such a short, inconclusive film belong in a gallery rather than on Channel 4 or 5?

· Until November 4. Details: 0161-200 1500.