Flashy but hollow...

With a shoes-clicking-on-marble start that’s pure Burn After Reading, and some saucy surveillance games that reminded me of Sneakers, Ritchie plans his menu with familiar ingredients.

The film is mostly content to watch Statham perform some nifty beat-downs before introducing us to a scene-and-movie-stealing Hugh Grant... as a buffoonish arms dealer apparently slathered in Donald Trump’s fake tan.

Further sign that Ritchie is settling into a routine where his films are all about him, and hopefully his audiences, having fun, not taking anything particularly seriously and, when in doubt, sitting back and letting Hugh Grant do his stuff