A stone cold performance from Emma and the goose is cooked where Ryan is concerned. Any attempts to recreate the chemistry of so-called Hollywood golden classics it attempts to emulate are a weak fizz.

Slow and contrived, the plot is weaker than a cup of tea made from a tenth dunk of the bag. An imminently forgettable score appears built around one pleasant enough motif but is bashed beyond compare. There is richness in the jazz that underpins it all but much like its syncopated rhythms, this one misses the beat. No more so than in the much hyped opening scene: I was hoping someone might get some road rage and move the story on.

The critical hype is clearly written by those with their heads firmly placed in la la land.