SPECTRE REVIEW: James Bond bores living daylights out of us

Daniel Craig’s licence to kill as Ian Fleming’s suave secret agent comes full circle in Spectre, a robust yet emotionally underpowered tale of espionage and dark family secrets that ends with a series of whimpers rather than an almighty bang.

If Skyfall popped a cork on a muscular new era for 007, becoming the highest grossing film of all time in Britain, then Spectre is the morning after, when the champagne has gone flat, leftover snacks are starting to go stale, and someone is still asleep face down on the sofa.

That could be any of the four screenwriters, who doze off after the tour de force opening sequence at a Mexican Day of the Dead parade, and allow plot holes and lapses in logic to pock their narrative.