This dreary, slow, humourless film, supposedly making a social comment on how violence breeds violence and to give love you must first know love, (even in the East End), left me impatient and bored.
I didn't expect Mary Poppins, but I felt more empathy with Hannibal Lecter than with the wooden performances given by a cast who generally gave me the impression they could not wait for each day's shoot to finish when they could get home to their comfortable beds and a nice cup of tea.
Best performances? Definitely Kathy Burke, followed to my pleasant surprise by Laila Morse, who tries her best to cope with her dreadful family - though I don't know why she bothers.
Favourite moment? Listening to Eric Clapton's original music, and a songstress in a tatty club who sings a snippet of My Heart Belongs to Daddy - (is this meant to be irony?).
Worse moment? Grandma singing Can't help Loving that Man of Mine - no reflection on her, just embarrassment at the heavy handed, smaltzy attempt to make them all appear victims of circumstance and warm, loveable misunderstood people really.
Score: 4/10 - BAFTA Awards - are they serious?
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