On one hand, it’s quite an admirable thing for Jason Statham to have done. After all, he’s mingling with the likes of Stallone now and his Hollywood action flicks mean that his name is now one of those that can command a queue around the multiplexes by youthful action-flick seekers. So hats off to him for making this low-key Brit thriller set on the crime-ridden streets of London.

On the other hand however, we really wished he hadn’t.

It’s difficult to understand why, but the Metropolitan police seems to be a breeding ground for maverick cops. Its latest enfant terrible is Brant (Statham); Not only is his maverick status defined by the fact that he’s never read the law book (it’s clearly been used too often as an object at hand to throw at him), but he fragrantly abuses police protocol by wearing a cardigan. That’s how hard he rolls.

It soon comes to their attention that there’s a cop killer on the loose; in an attempt to catch them quick, by-the-book Sgt Porter Nash (Paddy Considine) is brought in to find the culprit. Nash is most definitely the chalk to Brant’s cheese.

Despite their differences however, they make an interesting team. And they need to be, as the killer (Aidan Gillen) has his sights on more than just the one copper.

Yes I'd like to report a crime; I'm walking down the Old Kent Road and someone has just stolen the shirt off my back.

It’s easy to understand why this film was given the sexy title it has, for if it was given its proper title: The Bill: The Movie, it would probably struggle to draw a crowd. The fact of the matter is, this feels like an extended episode of any UK crime drama. Even the usually kick-ass Statham is unusually subdued; the most physical he gets is to prance around a lot in his cardie. It’s a sad day indeed when you pray for Statham to just hit someone/thing hard.

It’s based on Ken Bruen’s novel; but if the film is anything like the book, then it’s a very dull read. From beginning to end it’s just one lump of a clichéd mess.

To make matters worse, director Elliot Lester has made it feel as if the film was shot entirely in the eighties, despite it being set in modern day. One of the great things about crime films in New York City is that the city itself becomes almost a major character within the films shot there. For the most part, when London is used in a film, it’s almost apologetic by its contribution. In Blitz however, it’s just downright embarrassed. Every corner you turn, you’re greeted with another wall of grey. Never has a colour film come so close to looking so black and white.

It’s probably an attempt to hark back to the glory days of the likes of The Long Good Friday, but with TV now delivering more mature and darker content, this film just looks and feels like this is not its time.

The real shame is that of the talent involved. Both Considine and Gillen deserve a whole lot better than this, giving heavier performances far excelling the weightlessness of the film. It’s almost worth seeing for their sparring characters; almost, but not quite.

And yes, as odd a statement as this might sound, even Statham deserved better. If anyone could pull off a maverick cop on the streets of London, he’s definitely the man. But asking him to act all the way through a flimsy excuse of a film like this, without punching and kicking on a regular fifteen minute basis, is a very tall order indeed. And in a cardie to boot. The shame.

This would have been the perfect vehicle for Danny Dyer, making its merry way to the direct-to-DVD market. As it stands, no-one involved should be surprised when Blitz bombs not just in London, but around the world.