Cockney geezer Sirus (Nathanael Wiseman) is a part-time taxi dispatcher, part-time drug dealer who gets high on his own supply. He and his associates, a mix of soulful Afghan refugees and comic-relief Welsh-Jamaicans, fall foul of a pair of corrupt coppers intent on garnishing their latest shipment of smack. After lots of gabby exposition and scenes where the affable junkies lark about chasing the dragon, it’s time for a gory docklands shootout. Clearly, this is the sort of disposable fodder designed for inebriated lads to half-watch together after a night on the lash, but even on its own terms it’s a shockingly lazy effort, and plays like the runner-up in a film-school competition to make a Guy Ritchie parody. But what’s really galling is that, despite the title, the film has zero sense of place and could have been shot anywhere with Victorian housing stock and a multiethnic cast.
