Although this well-made British film is ostensibly about the Irish Question, the only question most viewers are likely to find themselves asking is how long it will take mournful, guilt-obsessed John Lynch to get into farm widow Helen Mirren's bed. He drove the car, you see, for the assassin who killed her husband, and thereby hangs the irony. Outside this central issue, the film paints a probably justifiably bleak view of Belfast in the troubles as they were in 1984. Alas, it can offer no answer, only at best a cry of anguish in an abrasively-scripted film which remains watchable even if all concerned seem to be having a thoroughly miserable time.


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