The original Bean was a hit back in 1997, when Cool Britannia was piping hot and New Labour had yet to prove itself Old Tory.

With those heady days long over, Mr Bean’s Holiday seems out-of-place and out-of-time, particularly now big-screen Brit-coms such as Hot Fuzz have raised the bar so high.

But, this latest Bean caper pretends The Office and Shaun of the Dead never happened, despite having League of Gentlemen’s Bendelack behind the camera, and assumes Atkinson’s now slightly creepy man-child will elicit titters even when not doing anything funny.

The first thirty minutes contrives a plot involving Bean separating a Russian filmmaker’s son (Baldry) from his father (Roden), and having to go cross country to the Cannes Film Festival to reunite them.

En route Bean enrages a pretentious Hollywood actor / director (a show stealing Dafoe) and unwittingly woos a French ingénue (de Caunes, daughter of Eurotrash’s Antoine).

Including such hilarity as Mr Bean gagging on oysters in a swanky restaurant, this first part will test the patience of even the most die-hard Blackadder fan.

But, like any holiday, once the unpacking and settling in is over Mr Bean’s Holiday actually becomes tolerable bordering on occasionally entertaining.

Small throwaway jokes such as a running gag about calling wrong numbers when trying to find the boy’s father consistently raise a smile, even if Bean confusing "Merci" and "Gracias" grates after five or six airings.

When Bean arrives in Cannes mid-festival and sabotages Dafoe’s hilarious vanity project, the film pull off a minor miracle by managing to salvage the whole shebang.

A barrage of sly industry swipes and well-executed sight gags are a reminder of the pedigree of those involved.

Director Bendelack is clearly after a modern day M. Hulot’s Holiday, shooting with a primary coloured, sun kissed palette, and taking full advantage of the French scenery.

Baldry is not too dislikeable as the kid and Dafoe is man-of-the-match as an actor turned director so in love with his own image his cinematic love-letter to himself is comprised solely of close-ups or slow-mo running shots.

But, Atkinson relies on gurning to wring easy laughs from a lazy script, and literally has Bean here and done this many times over. Let’s just hope Johnny English Vs Johnny Foreigner never happens.

Rob Daniel