What a remarkable mess. Its sole redeeming features are the initially interesting shots of London. After 10 minutes of nothing but however I found myself desperate for some actual drama and character interaction.

Not in this film you don't! Armed with a woefully clumpy and cliched script, the actors manage the impressive task of actually worstening it in the delivery.

Philips chooses to adopt random unconvincing shouting as his tactic of choice, often cunningly contrasted with whispers, presumably to try and shake any remaining audience from the inevitable coma they will have slipped in to.

Meanwhile the usually dependable Hassan vainly tries to rough it and gritty up the tension a bit, only to realise he's inexplicably trapped in a film thats so soporific, it not only couldnt fight its way out of a paper bag, it would shatter every bone in its frail lifeless body upon the slightest hint of contact.

The only thing that actually piqued my interest (sadly for all the wrong reasons) was Mawson's turn as Henry. His ridiculous panto sloshing and bizarre facial extremes were only enhanced by his delivery of every line as if he were shortsighted and reading it off a cue card for the first (and hopefully last) time.

This is tripe that gives stomach lining a bad name. As a nation we supposedly produce the finest actors and writers in the world, so what are these gormless half-wits doing on the big screen gleefully kicking this festering equine corpse?

Avoid this film, unless you are either related to someone associated with it, or suffering from insomnia. Cynical maybe, but then so is a c- grade short stretched to a feature, with Danny Dyer hired to front it, whilst playing less of a prominent role than the girlfriend of its creator. Lord have mercy.