This plods along in an almost Alan Bennett-esque fashion. It doesn't ever catch fire, but is well written and does seem to accurately reflect the routine and repetitive way of life for both Lowry and his largely bedridden mother. The principals gel well, and we do get a sense of what their relationship might have actually been like in a relatively poverty-stricken industrial Lancashire in the 1930s when Lowry acted as a rent collector. Once you get an understanding of the mundanity of this existence it helps make a little sense of both why it took so long for his art to become recognised (incl...