Simon Pegg turns the knockabout mugging up to 11 in this resistible British indie pic whose myriad quirks swiftly become a liability. For much of the time, it’s a solo turn as Pegg’s struggling, super-scuzzy would-be writer finds his subject matter (a history of gruesome Victorian slayings) gradually filling him with creeping paranoia. Getting a meeting with a movie exec is his big break, but can he make it across town…or even manage a trip to the launderette? Granted, it sounds intriguing, but this first feature stands or falls on whether we buy into the protagonist’s fears – and we don’t. Pegg is allowed to play it for broad caricature rather than sympathetic character, while the would-be chilling home-alone horror frissons make little impact, leaving us trapped with a hyperactive nutter who keeps telling us what’s happening on screen, though we can see it perfectly well for ourselves. Exasperation eventually morphs into unrelenting pain, and there’s not a single, solitary laugh to be had.