With a wave of Omicron infections now in full flow, Disney may wish they’d stuck to their original slot. But, in a way, the timing feels spot on.

“Important men, born of privilege, must lead by example,” says the Duke of Oxford (Ralph Fiennes) in a weirdly topical opening sequence. Will Boris and his party-mad pals be watching? We live in hope.

Unusually, The King’s Man doesn’t follow on from the first two instalments. Instead, it’s a prequel that details how the secret society of posh Arthurian-themed secret agents came to be formed in a Savile Row tailor’s shop.

The Duke delivers his speech at a British concentration camp in South Africa during the Boer War. It’s the immorality of his aristocratic pals in government that seeds the idea of reviving the age of chivalry. After the gleefully juvenile previous instalments, the serious set-up feels jarring. Then we jump forward 12 years and everything goes a bit mad.

It turns out the Great War wasn’t caused by arms races or empires but orchestrated by a shadowy, goat-obsessed Scottish supervillain (seen only in silhouette) who runs Rasputin, Lenin, and Mata Hari as part of a crack team of secret agents. So the Duke assembles his own gang, his son (Harris Dickinson), his African manservant (Djimon Hounsou) and his sharp-shooting governess (Gemma Arterton).

As they attempt to take down the supervillain and his accomplices, Vaughn stages his action scenes with verve, while creating wacky alternate versions of historical events.

An entertainingly hammy Rhys Ifans is great fun as the mad Russian monk. But Vaughn never settles on a tone.

One minute, we’re experiencing the horrors of the trenches, the next, Rasputin is dancing on tables and licking the Duke’s gammy leg. Bad taste comedy needs to be smarter and funnier than this.