This is the story of George Jung, a smalltown boy whose pursuit of the American dream lands him the plum role of America’s biggest importer of cocaine, happily just in time for those ‘70s coke-fuelled disco bashes.

George (Depp) decides early in life that he would rather avoid the hum-drum world of construction opted for by his dad (Liotta) and heads west for California and the lucrative world of marijuana importing. He puts together a crew of stereotypes (the fat guy, the gay guy, etc.) and soon he and his girlfriend (Potente) are enjoying the literal and proverbial high-life. Inevitably, George fucks up for the first of many times in his life, and winds up in jail while his missus dies of an unexpected illness.

Jail-time, however, proves not entirely unproductive, as George gets connected to a Colombian, whose trail eventually leads to Pablo Escobar, for whom George assumes the role of chief American contact. A flurry of dollar bills, white powder blitzes and parties later, George finds himself sitting pretty with a shrill Colombian trophy wife (Cruz) by his side, a fleet of vintage cars and more ‘friends’ than he has zeroes in his Panamanian bank account. Unfortunately, a couple of double-crossings, bad decisions and one snort too many leave George stripped of all aforementioned assets and right back at the bottom of the food chain, seeking that ever-elusive last big score.

With Depp’s central protagonist doubling as narrator, plus extensive use of zoom-ins and freeze-frames, Blow vey quickly establishes that it quite desperately wants to be Goodfellas, even going so far as to cast Ray Liotta as Depp’s improbable father in order to evoke Scorsese’s classic still further. The problem, of course, is that director Ted Demme lacks Scorsese’s flair, and the story of this serial loser just isn’t very compelling. Hence, by inviting Goodfellas comparisons, Blow only serves to highlight how shoddy an exercise it truly is.

In fairness, the ‘drug movie’ is a difficult genre to pull off effectively, and Blow – like so many other entries in the genre – plays like the cinematic equivalent of a drugs bore. It’s also hindered by its hagiographical nature, almost entirely echoing the version of events given by Jung’s defence lawyer, and portraying the man through coke-tinted lenses (message: everyone is to blame for George Jung’s misfortunes except George Jung).

Depp puts in a characteristically amiable performance, but while his overall career strategy (avoiding Hollywood lead-man roles in favour of more experimental fare) may be commendable, you have to question his seemingly insatiable appetite for odd-ball roles, which has of late seen him appearing too often in undistinguished muck like this.

Still, they got the title right.