There’s a misconception about Mike Leigh that his films are entirely naturalistic, unvarnished reflections of reality. They’re not. At their best, they capture moments of truth and perfectly observed aspects of everyday life, but the performances have always been heightened to some extent. Think of Brenda Blethyn’s seminal turn in Secrets & Lies, Alison Steadman in Abigail’s Party, or David Thewlis‘ magnificent, excoriating performance in Naked. These are all extraordinary pieces of acting, authentic but exaggerated, from Blethyn’s repeated cries of “Sweet’eart!” to Thewlis’ relentless speechifying. Leigh finds authenticity through his characters, but that doesn’t mean they’re always entirely realistic.

Tender Loving Care is purportedly Leigh’s final film as director, and his reception at the London Film Festival was as warm as you would hope. He addressed his standing ovation unassumingly, with his characteristic modesty, telling the audience: “Well, you haven’t seen it yet!” Thankfully, the film is largely a success: at once exactly what you’d expect from Leigh, while introducing a couple of elements that feel refreshingly different.

As ever, the plot is secondary to the characters. Social worker Amy (Kate O’Flynn) moves back in with her best friend Rosie (Alice Bailey Johnson) following a messy break-up, while regularly visiting her elderly parents (Marion Bailey and Paul Jesson), who are approaching the final stages of their lives. The result is an intermittently moving examination of friendship, family, grief and the varying ways we care for one another as human beings.

Kate O’ Flynn, currently on a roll after her Emmy-nominated turn in Widow’s Bay, gives a warm, poignant and natural performance, as the social worker determined to stay positive despite the trials that life throws at her. She’s never as relentlessly ebullient as say, Sally Hawkins in Happy Go-Lucky – she always feels like a real person, and some of her most impressive acting comes in the non-verbal moments. The scene where she needs to tell her parents about her break-up but clearly doesn’t want to is beautifully observed, her reluctance and anxiety about sharing the news conveyed subtly and naturally.

Alice Bailey Johnson is less subtle, and while she often injects some much-needed levity and energy into the film, her exaggerated mannerisms and raunchy anecdotes occasionally just tip slightly into caricature. It’s not a bad performance as such, but it feels a little affected, and it’s a rare case where you can tell that someone is acting in a Mike Leigh film. I think what it comes down to is that we never get a moment of vulnerability from her – there is the sense that her confident personality is to some extent a front, but the film never really digs into this, leaving her feeling a little one-dimensional.

Both actors are at their best during the film’s workplace vignettes, which recall similar moments in Secrets & Lies. These all feel like little films in their own right: a recluse seemingly obsessed with “shit”, a younger social worker struggling with the emotional demands of her job, and an abrasive Irish woman whose nap in the park is mistaken for a medical emergency. Yet perhaps the most affecting moment comes when a friend of Amy’s parents visits, with Tilly Vosburgh delivering a quietly devastating snapshot of grief, remorse and self-loathing.

As the drama gathers momentum, the performances deepen considerably. The final scenes are particularly affecting, with O’Flynn finding real pathos in Amy’s increasingly difficult circumstances. The second half also takes an unexpected turn towards the work of Terence Davies, particularly Distant Voices, Still Lives. The first occasion on which the older characters break into song feels almost jarringly out of place, but the subsequent singalongs are among the most touching moments in Leigh’s career. There’s something of The Royle Family episode “Another Woman” in the way music brings families together, allowing them to express feelings that ordinary conversation cannot.

The film isn’t entirely successful in getting there. At times it feels like Leigh has perhaps lost his touch, particularly during a lengthy political discussion that feels rather on-the-nose. There’s nothing inherently wrong with its sentiments, but the scene occasionally presents an idealised version of reality in which everybody’s politics conveniently align. But then, just when you think he’s lost his grip on the rope, he pulls it together in the touching final act. And yet, just when the film threatens to become a little too gentle and sentimental, Leigh delivers a final shot that completely recontextualises what has come before.

Having depicted a painful but peaceful farewell, surrounded by loved ones, Leigh allows his characters the dignity of withdrawing from the scene as the final moments approach. But if I thought it was all getting a little bit twee, the final shot completely undid that. The final shot offers a grim corrective to the previous scenes – a stark reminder that not everyone is afforded such comfortable final moments. It’s the bleakest final shot of Leigh’s career, and if this is indeed his final film, it’s a fitting image to bow out on. Compassionate, imperfect, deeply humane and ultimately unsentimental.

Tender Loving Care is in UK cinemas on 12 February 2027