After a long wait for a distributor, Christie Malry's Own Double-Entry finally gets a release, albeit so limited that it is unlikely to reach the youth market that could make it a success. Which is a shame, because this sump-black comedy is a one-off, an antic, amoral portrait of psychopathic fantasy that might be the Billy Liar of its generation. Based on the cult novel by B S Johnson, it tells the story of a nerdish young man (Nick Moran, in flat-toned mockney mode) who discovers the joys of the double-entry accounting system and translates its credits and debits into a one-man terror campaign against society, starting with small acts of vandalism before graduating to bombs and poisoned reservoirs. You'll never make fun of an accountant again. In between, a subplot recounts the invention of the double entry by a monk during the Italian Renaissance. While there's no faulting the director Paul Tickell for ambition, this manic, scattergun farce occasionally strays into incoherence, and one wonders if some judicious cutting might not have enhanced its prospects among the distributors. Then again, this isn't a film made with compromise in mind, and its rough edges are perhaps inseparable from its appeal. Try it, if you can find it.