The eagerly-anticipated and inevitable big-screen adaptation of the virtual chick who launched a thousand rapid wrist movements, Tomb Raider is now finally upon us, and unquestionably our rich cultural tapestry is all the better for it. (Well, no, not really).

Pneumatic, intrepid archaelogist Lara Croft (Jolie) who has spent most of her existence as an orphan, discovers a magic clock (bequeathed to her by her late father), which when re-united with the long since broken and scattered pieces of some magical artefact or other, will allow the clock to control time. The plot takes Croft to Cambodia, in order to prevent the technology falling into the wrong hands. Naturally enough, there are others equally keen to possess it, including an evil secret society and a rival adventurer, who may or may not have been romantically involved with Lara.

Will good triumph over the insidious forces of evil? Will Lara beat them all to it as she travels to a host of exotic locations? Will humanity survive? Can mere words convey how difficult it is to give a flying fuck? OK, Tomb Raider may be a more prestigious (that is, expensive) entry in the video-game ‘now a major motion picture’ oeuvre, replete with state-of-the-art special effects and massive set-pieces, but there’s little by way of quality to separate it from the likes of the insufferable Mortal Kombat.

Jolie, with her blow-up doll anatomy, was practically born to play the role, but you could just as easily say the same about Bob Hoskins and Mario the plumber, and the results of that particular cinematic enterprise (Super Mario Brothers) are best forgotten. The same applies here.

There are enough legions of teenage boys to ensure a box-office killing – let’s just pray there aren’t enough of them to ensure a sequel.