Ed Power

If Howell lacks Spacek’s ethereal creepiness, she comes into her own wearing a tiara while covered in gore. .... [Mike Flanagan] displays a tin ear for the source material by making its implicit feminist message preachily explicit, and keeps changing his mind about whether Carrie’s mother is a monster or a misunderstood heroine. Worst of all, Prime’s karaoke Carrie isn’t remotely scary.

But a decent cast and lively accent work cannot compensate for this hackneyed late entry in the genre of overcooked hitman comedy or for the stonking lack of originality that oozes from the show’s every pore.

The last thing a new addition to the Reacher-verse should do is take itself seriously – and Neagley soon finds its groove as a wham-bam romp and lands its punches with verve.

Once again pulls off the perfect balancing act between dark humour and misanthropic spy-craft.

Provocative, spooky and with Stevens mustering a decent New York accent, it ticks every box on the bingo-card for a top-tier chiller.

It is understandable that Lindelof and HBO would wish to bring some grit to the genre. But in darkening the tone, they’ve also muddied the waters. In the worst tradition of Lost, Lanterns suffers from a fatal lack of illumination.

Lean into the camp, as Cruise did in 1994, and the series might have gone somewhere. But this retelling is short on mischief and, amid the fountains of gore, it lacks a pulse, much less a heart.

Lucky’s joyless capering is an awkward fit – a roll of the dice that ends badly for all involved.

The flashbacks are fast-moving and paranoia-soaked in the tradition of the best political potboilers. There’s a great cliffhanger ending, too.

It’s a shame that gravity finally asserts itself and the series is dragged down into sci-fi silliness and a convoluted plot. .... When it plays it straight, this neo-noir treat serves up the black stuff with style.