Directed by the acclaimed Ken Loach, 'Looking for Eric' is an uplifting, funny and at times gritty tale that ultimately attempts to show that it is never too late to right one's past wrongs.
Firstly, for those of you who may be put off by the presence of Eric Cantona in this film, there is little need to fear.
As a Liverpool supporter of 21 years standing, I too worried that I would be subjected to endless clips of the Red Devils' success during the Frenchman's four-and-a-half seasons at Old Trafford.
There are montages of some of his greatest moments, but thankfully they are not what the movie hangs on.
The focus instead is Eric (Evets), a middle-aged Manchester postman whose personal life is in tatters. Following two failed marriages, he finds himself struggling to cope with the upkeep of his house and the care of his two step-sons inherited from the second relationship.
To further complicate matters, he resumes contact with his first wife Lily (Bishop) when the pair are forced to share baby-minding duties of their granddaughter.
Finding himself on the brink, Eric turns to smoking the marijuana his son Ryan (Kearns) hides under the floorboards. As the drugs take effect, his mind conjures up a life coach/therapist in the shape of his footballing hero Cantona.
The two men share joints, discuss the hero's illustrious and controversial playing career and, most importantly, philosophically plot Eric's way out of the quagmire that his existence has become.
Both Evets and Cantona excel in their roles, and special mention must also go to Henshaw, who is brilliant as Eric's friend 'Meatballs'.
Though it is primarily a story of personal redemption, it also touches on other issues such as gang crime.
But football does play an integral part in the movie and the gentrification of Premier League football in England is examined. Eric and many of his friends can no longer afford to attend games, and yet Ryan's thug of a friend owns a corporate box at the 'Theatre of Dreams'.
While Man U fans of a certain age will no doubt get nostalgic for the glory years in the 1990s, they will also have to lament the fact that the number seven jersey their flawed French genius used to wear is now donned by someone far less likeable and much more arrogant.