Three years after the debacle of Revolver, writer-director Guy Ritchie returns to the mean streets of London, as captured in his iconic debut Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels, for this serpentine gangland thriller.

He needn’t have bothered because RocknRolla is of fleeting style and no substance, with a plot that quite literally goes around in circles.

A minimalist sex scene of quickly edited sighs and a comical chase involving a pair of indestructible Russian goons picks up the slackened pace, suggesting Ritchie may have saved the best for last.

Regrettably, the film ends with a whimper rather than a bang and the very real threat of a sequel as end credits disclose that surviving players “will be back in The Real RocknRoll”.

The introduction of a gay character serves no dramatic purpose other than to be a sitting duck for homophobic jibes (“He’s a flamer. Sausage and beans all day long!”). As a counterpoint, another leading protagonist spouts xenophobic obscenities at all and sundry.

The foul-mouthed bigot in question is Lenny Cole (Wilkinson), an old-school mobster with visions of grandeur far above his station, who is keen to forge business ties with shady Russian billionaire Uri Obomavich (Roden).

East meets west on a lucrative property deal, which requires seven million euros of Uri’s cash and a nod and a wink from a corrupt councillor (Mistry), who guarantees planning permission.

Unfortunately for Uri and his associate Victor (Micanovic), the investment money is half-inched as part of a get rich scheme orchestrated by sexy accountant Stella (Newton) and a pair of petty thieves, One Two (Butler) and Mumbles (Elba).

Meanwhile, Lenny has problems of his own — to retrieve a stolen masterpiece, entrusted into his care by the Russian entrepreneur.

“That’s his favourite painting, his lucky painting!” Lenny tells right-hand man Archie (Strong), who enlists the services of One Two, Mumbles and pal Handsome Bob (Hardy) to track down the thieves and return the canvas.

RocknRolla leans heavily on the slow motion and the plot hangs together by a thread, using the stolen painting as a MacGuffin to draw together the characters for the inevitable, blood-soaked final showdown.

Dialogue doesn’t ring true (“Think before you drink before you drive me mad”) and a couple of flashbacks reduce pacing to a crawl.

Butler and Newton generate sparks of sexual tension in their scenes, including a ridiculous dancefloor seduction, but their characters don’t develop at all.

Wilkinson could play his kingpin in his sleep — considering he wears dark glasses for most of the film, perhaps he does.

We’re likely to join him in the land of nod before the end credits roll when Ritchie reveals what really happens when notorious ladies man Handsome Bob propositions a stunned One Two: “I don’t want the strippers, I want you!”