Julian Barratt brings forth the Apocalypse of Justice.

For someone with such abundant talent, the fact that it’s taken this long for Julian Barratt to be coaxed from the comedy shadows is nothing short of ridiculous. As one half of the surrealist brain behind The Mighty Boosh, Barratt’s quiet and self-deprecating manner would often mean that his wry, subtle comedy style would often get lost when placed opposite walking, talking quirk Noel Fielding.

In the years since the delightfully oddball stylings of The Mighty Boosh launched him into the spotlight, however, it appears Barratt has actively gone out of his way to regress from the spotlight, clearly ill at ease with taking centre stage. Recent roles, such as his parts in the bleak comedy series Flowers and Ben Wheatley’s Civil War psych-out A Field in England, however, have seen a clear evolution in Barratt’s style, which makes it an infinitely intriguing prospect to see where things go from here. As his first starring role in a full-blown feature film, if Mindhorn is anything to go by, things are about to get very interesting indeed for the man formally known as Howard Moon.

Decades after abandoning his wife and moderately successful detective show, Mindhorn, for the bright lights of Hollywood, Richard Thorncroft finds himself at a personal and artistic dead end. With work all but evaporated, Richard must settle himself with losing out on orthopaedic sock advert and attending humiliating auditions for Jamaican gangsters. With his trademark eyepatch a distant memory, things are looking bleak for the 80s semi-icon. This is, until the Isle of Man police come calling. Drawn into a murder case worthy of Detective Mindhorn himself, Richard eyes an opportunity to reignite his dwindling career by assisting the police in catching a delusional criminal with an unhealthy obsession in his old show. Relishing a chance for publicity, Richard dons his legendary turtleneck and goes to work solving the case, saving his career, and rekindling an old romance. With superhuman levels of political incorrectness, lethal capoeira moves, and a well-stocked arsenal of awful one-liners; Mindhorn is well and truly back and ready to bring forth an Apocalypse of Justice.

As comedy vehicles go, Mindhorn is a Jaguar XJ-S of a film. It has the feel of a British classic about it, driven with style by its star, but it’s certainly prone to the occasional stall. This is a Julien Barratt film from start to finish, as the comedian works tirelessly to carry the entire thing on his shoulders but, considering his relative lack of experience as a solo comedian, it’s a risky venture. Such overreliance on one single, untested performer always brings with it an element of danger but, against the odds, Barratt draws deep from his box of comedy tricks to pull out a career-high performance and a clear indication of a bright future on the big screen.

Pulling together the world-weariness and wry surrealism that became his Mighty Boosh trademark, while emitting the kind of escalating desperation that’d make Basil Faulty proud; Barratt hits all the kind of loveable loser beats that have become a British comedy institution. Taking a lead from classic comedy losers David Brent and Alan Partridge, Richard Thorncroft is a hard character to empathise with on the surface but, as with Ricky Gervais and Steve Coogan, the character’s likability is entirely down the empathy instilled by Barratt’s performance. To syphon empathy from inherently disagreeable personalities is an incredibly tricky act to pull off for any actor but, by getting to the tragic root of Thorncroft and infusing him with a sadness that belies his arrogance, Barratt keeps his character likable and the film rolling, even in its shakier moments.

While the film’s central gag of an over-the-hill TV personality taking one more stab at fame is far from original one, but it largely lands, thanks primarily to the enthusiasm and energy Barratt puts in. Co-written by the man himself, there’s a clear love and affection towards his character that allows Mindhorn to escape the confines of its well-worn premise.

The film is just witty and engaging enough to get by without pushing any boundaries, but when things click they click and the result is often hilarious, particularly when Barratt gets to unleash his inner Boosh. It’s in Mindhorn’s most surreal moments that it’s able to take a welcome step or two outside its comfort zone and, as the film skids into its frantic finale, the oddball comedy from which Barrett made his name, gets dialled up to eleven. Replete with eyepatch and caked in unhealthy levels of bronzer, Thorncroft spends the film’s final act running around looking like a cheap, cosplay version of his character and it’s in this truly bizarre creation, that the film finally finds its feet with the kind of offbeat comedy rhythm that Julian Barratt nails so definitely.

With Noel Fielding nowhere to be seen, this really is an acid test for Barratt to prove to both himself and the world at large that he can fly solo and, while its largely a success, there’s still a lingering feeling that he’s a performer that operates best when operating with a partner. Although Mindhorn’s supporting cast do a steady job of backing up their star, with many working as adequate stand-in partners for Barrett as various points, none come close to recreating Barratt and Fielding comedy dynamic and the film suffers as a result.

The closest Mindhorn gets is in the introduction of the film’s co-writer and fellow Mighty Boosh alumni Simon Farnaby. Putting in a characteristically zany performance as Thorncroft’s former stunt coordinator, Farnaby is a rare memorable note amongst Barratt’s co-stars and, with the duo’s obvious comedic chemistry, their on-screen riffing produces many of the movie’s funniest moments. Outside of this, Mindhorn’s cameos are plentiful and prestigious (including, but not limited to, Kenneth Branagh, Steve Coogan, and Simon Callow) they become pure window dressing and add little of substance to the film’s comedy. Mindhorn was, of course, designed primarily as a vehicle for Barratt’s many talents, but it’s a real shame that there’s not more comedy mined from his ability to riff with others.

Although Barratt does an admirable job holding everything together, the film’s central conceit struggles to keep itself from running out of steam. Starting with a single idea and working backwards from there, with little substance to back yourself up, is rarely a recipe for success and, while there are enough laughs in Mindhorn to keep things chugging along, the film’s plot falls woefully flat.

Reminiscent of so many big screen sitcom adaptations, the film’s narrative consistently fails to pack enough substance around a central premise that, while it may work well on the small screen, is left hanging in an extended running time. In Mindhorn’s case, this feels particularly odd as the film has the distinct air of a classic feature-length sitcom adaptation that struggles desperately to recapture its TV magic for the cinema - despite the fact we’ve skipped the first part of the equation completely.

In hindsight, a theatrical release feels like the wrong place to exhibit Mindhorn’s particular qualities and, in many ways, it would have operated far better as a sitcom. Considering Julian Barratt’s abundant TV experience, and the ample comedy potential on display, there’s every chance that the sitcom trend will work in reverse and Mindhorn will blossom in his own series. Odder things have happened.

Oddly provincial and overtly lacking in cinematic quality, Mindhorn’s overstretched narrative and distinctly televisual appearance make it difficult to justify the film’s existence as a cinematic event, however, it’s primarily through Barratt’s unique and surrealist comic talents that it doesn’t fall flat. In his maiden starring role, Barratt is the glue that holds the entire film thing together, as he successfully blends the surreal comedy of The Mighty Boosh with the kind of awkward, escalating desperation that I’m Alan Partridge nailed so effectively. While It’s hard to escape the fact that Mindhorn feels like a premise best suited to television, it’s through some smart writing and Barratt’s seasoned comic touch that makes the film worthy of your attention and an effective platform to demonstrate the comedian’s star potential.