To be fair and judge it against the summer competition - the ragged and rank Mummy, the malodorous Matrix - finds a film no better than the latter but certainly no worse than the former. But, I suppose, we could at least claim for The Matrix an attempt to be clever, and for The Mummy that, however heavy handed, it does make gestures towards humour. The Phantom Menace (anyone care to explain the subtitle?) is about as po-faced and easily digested as populist cinema gets. Lucas might make claims for his kiddie audience, but in upping the crap creature content and downplaying anything like intelligence, he is selling out those who remember the original film the first time around. He wants both their loyalty - and dollars - and to hook a whole new generation. It’s about as cynical a marketing move as a film-maker has ever made.

Having personally paid for it all himself - the ultimate indie-flick - Lucas must carry the can. And, as The Phantom Menace makes explicitly clear, he simply doesn’t have the talent for the job. He can’t write. And that’s by his own admission. Even the performers howled the first time round at his artless techno-babble and cod-spiritual wank, but this is, if anything, much much worse. If The Phantom Menace has humour then it’s entirely unintentional and spewed mostly by ostensible star Liam Neeson and the likes of poor Sam Jackson as some kind of Jedi big-wig. At least Yoda is a puppet. And just as rubbish a puppet as he ever was. Jar Jar Binks, the first entirely computer generated character in motion pictures (except, of course, that he isn’t), despite rumours from across the Atlantic, is no more or less irritating than his compatriots romping through this ridiculous pantomime. No, if anyone deserves a slap it’s the cloying and arrogant (now there’s a combination) Jake Lloyd as Anakin Skywalker. And quite what the usually useful Ewan McGregor is doing is anyone’s guess.

And therein perhaps lies the biggest flaw of all. Anakin Skywalker, as even the most casual fan knows, grows up into Darth Vader. Meaning, one, we know that he’ll never be in any real danger. And, two, that we can never sympathise with him. Lucas either refuses to recognise these basic facts or simply thinks Lloyd is cute enough to carry it. Think again, Georgie. The scenes between him and his mother are without doubt amongst the very worst you will see this side of Spielberg.

The plot? The plot doesn’t matter. It’s simply about joining the dots - getting from Planet A at the start to Pod-Race B in the middle to Big Battle C at the end - and making the requisite toilet stops at service stations en route. You will not have seen such a remarkably linear piece of storytelling since those old black and white Flash Gordon serials. It’s a narrative bulldozer, demolishing character, personality, subtly and wit before it. It matters not a jot that the CGI effects are actually quite good or that Darth Maul is a fun villain - the former are always at the mercy of Lucas’ crude plot, and the latter gets less than ten minutes screen-time.

I suppose we should have expected it really - the original trilogy are hardly exemplars of classic film-making - but the sheer shoddiness of The Phantom Menace on any level other than merely technical simply beggars belief. There is no enthusiasm and no commitment. It doesn’t try to be anything more than it needs to be: a two and a quarter hour merchandising advert. And think on - we have at least half a decade more of this crap to come.