This film's title could easily evoke a couple of scenarios: a comedy set in the seventies, involving a straight-laced family having a party and having their punch drink laced with drugs leading to a spot or two of hilarity; or perhaps a down-and-out boxer, brought back into the ring for an easy pay day, as long as he hits the canvas, which he agrees to but at the last minute changes his mind and wins the fight with either tragic or hilarious consequences depending on the director attached.

Rather selfishly, director/writer Eran Creevy decides to take it in another direction. His loss.

During a bank heist in London's swish Canary Wharf area, cop Max (James McAvoy) ignores his orders and gives chase to the criminals. He gets close – too close in fact – and gets a bullet in his leg for his troubles from gang leader Jacob Sternwood (Mark Strong).

Three years on and still suffering from his injury, Max is still being eaten in side by the events that took place that night. But when something happens to Sternwood's son in the capital, Max believes he'll come out of hiding to see him. And true enough he does. With Max driven by revenge, he begins to hunt Sternwood down. The closer he gets however, the more unsavoury evidence he uncovers that has far-reaching implications.

OK McAvoy, was it you who farted?

Welcome to the Punch is a very slick-looking thriller; It's only Creevy's second film and yet he oozes confidence with the camera, making it very polished – literally – with all the shiny glass and chrome on show.

He's also attracted an impressive British cast that also includes Andrea Riseborough, David Morrissey and Peter Mullen to name but a few; certainly enough to fill a minor awards ceremony. But in its attempt to look über cool, the film suffers from the flimsiest of scripts.

Creevy may have a good eye, but on this evidence, he certainly needed some helping getting more believable words on paper. It's a script that takes itself far too seriously without anything to show for it. Take Strong's character; he's a bad 'un, apparently, but we don't really know why. Sadly far too many of the characters are dull clichés with nothing much else to offer. Let's just hope that Strong in particular gets something akin to Clubcard points every time he plays a baddie, because at this rate, he'll never have to buy groceries ever again.

Creevy proves that he has a future in film directing, just as long as someone wrestles his laptop away from him and writes it for him.