BASED on Kyril Bonfiglioli’s novel “Don’t Point That Thing at Me”, “Mortdecai” is a romp of comedy, excitement, secret intelligence, beautiful women and caricature of the modern British class system.

For Johanna (Gwyneth Paltrow) the “thing” is the new moustache grown by her art dealer husband Mortdecai (Johnny Depp, one of the film’s producers).

For him, it is whatever weapon that people are brandishing who want him to reveal the location of a hitherto unknown, now missing, Goya looking suspiciously like the Maja Desnuda. Giving Mortdecai a rock/hard-place choice, Martland of MI5 (Ewan McGregor) threatens to activate his file of Mortdecai’s dodgy business transgressions unless Mortdecai finds the painting, which carries information about the location of a huge stash of Nazi cash.

The film gives best value when Mortdecai’s gentleman’s man, valet, housekeeper, chauffeur, protector and mega-Gauss babe magnet Jack (Paul Bettany) is in the shot.

Only a blind simpleton would classify David Koepp’s filming of Eric Aronson’s adaptation of Kyril’s work as great cinema. Rushing headlong in many directions, the plot suggests that Kyril borrowed ideas from Wodehouse, Fleming, Charteris and middle-of-last-century minor British novelists.

I’m often scornful about films that use stupidity to generate laughter. “Mortdecai” uses silliness. There is a difference. Stupid makes me groan. Silly done with wit makes me laugh. Which I did several times during “Mortdecai”. Despite inconsistencies, continuity errors, gaffes and other little bloopers, it’s fun.

At Hoyts Woden, Capitol 6 and Limelight