The Thursday Murder Club ★★★

There’s something rather lacking that persists throughout the movie. While Celia Imrie is laugh-out-loud funny and endearing, stealing every scene, and David Tennant gives us another scenery-chewing panto villain in developer Ian Ventham, the rest of the cast don’t seem to realise they are in a cosy crime and fail to bring any fun to the proceedings. While Elizabeth is meant to be commanding and authoritative, Mirren needs to deliver a lightness of touch with her character. With the exception of an incongruous visual gag riffing on one of the actress’s previous film roles, there is such a seriousness to her portrayal you could be forgiven for thinking she is giving us Jane Tennison: The Senior Years. Kingsley is given nothing to do as the order-loving psychiatrist – and he delivers exactly that!

As for the woefully miscast Brosnan, he earns the horrified reaction that readers gave to his casting announcement. Red Ron is meant to be rough and ready. The only red that debonair, handsome former Bond is delivering is a heavy-oaked Bordeaux. You know that cushion you hid behind when he sang in Mamma Mia? Dig it out – you’ll need it.

Chris Columbus, a director not known for visual flair, delivers another bland movie when it should be irresistibly frothy and compelling. Where Osman’s novel was an addictive page-turner, the screenplay by Katy Brand and Suzanne Heathcote meanders with a disappointing lack of urgency until they realise the end is in sight, which they rush through at such a lick, no emotional weight lands.

If the best that can be said about a cinematic adaptation of a popular best-selling book is that it’s watchable, then something has gone badly wrong. Prepare for your whelm to be under.