It feels cruel to be dismissive about a low-budget British movie that clearly took some effort to bring to the screen, but this really is difficult to recommend. Set in a north London retirement home, it focuses on three generations of a Jewish family. Grandfather Ron Moody is the sprightliest of the bunch, although he's upstairs dying in bed. His daughter, Rula Lenska, runs the establishment with a firm grip and a wardrobe full of Thatcher-style power outfits. Her son Keith, who also works in the home, is grappling with his Jewish-African heritage, and the fact that he has no life to speak of.

The main problem is that this wants to be everything all at once: mordant comedy; teenage romance; family farce; exploration of identity - even a girl with a gun is thrown in. But these strands tend to cancel each other out, and the result ends up being rather glum and painfully amateurish.