I forgot just how good Johnny English is.

This is a film that critics largely dismissed on release, yet still managed to gross around $160 million worldwide. Not bad for a film described by one reviewer as a “tame spy spoof that elicits infrequent chuckles.”

More than twenty years later, it feels as though audiences may have been onto something.

Johnny English occupies a strange space. It is part children’s farce, part family comedy, and part spy thriller. On paper, it should be a tonal mess. Instead, it becomes one of the rare spoofs that understands exactly what it is parodying. The film does not simply mock the Bond formula. It embraces it wholeheartedly before letting Rowan Atkinson loose inside it like a wrecking ball.

The more I watched, the more I realised how carefully constructed many of the jokes actually are. This is not a film firing random gags at the screen and hoping something lands. There are delayed payoffs, visual jokes that develop over several scenes, and recurring gags that reward attention. Even the infamous Archbishop of Canterbury tattoo subplot, which sounds ridiculous when written down, is set up and executed with surprising precision. The reveal remains one of the funniest moments in the entire film.

There is an intelligence to Johnny English that many spoofs lack. The physical comedy is absurd, the situations increasingly unlikely, and yet it all remains oddly grounded because everyone except Johnny appears to think they are in a genuine spy thriller.

One particular laugh gets me every time. As Johnny proudly declares he is entering “the most secure location in the whole of England”, the film immediately sets about proving otherwise. What follows is one of several funeral-related disasters that suggest Johnny English has a recurring fascination with undermining institutions that are supposed to be beyond failure. There is a theme here. All the best jokes die in this film.

Not everything works. The final act loses momentum after the intervention at Pascal Sauvage’s reception. Up until that point, the film barrels forward with impressive confidence. Afterwards, it occasionally feels as though it is trying to cram every remaining joke and plot point into the runtime before the credits roll.

The exposition becomes cumbersome. The pacing sags. There are moments where the film stops being funny long enough for you to notice the machinery underneath. Yet just as you’re preparing to hold it against the film, another joke lands. The revelation about the Archbishop. The coronation chaos. English’s gloriously ill-timed announcements. The film repeatedly rescues itself from its own weaknesses.

That may be Johnny English’s greatest strength. It keeps getting away with things that should not work.

There are also moments that feel unmistakably British. The nation appears remarkably relaxed about the interruption of a coronation. The villain’s grand scheme hinges on constitutional absurdity. Even the sight of One Canada Square, digitally duplicated to create the film’s climactic setting, evokes a specific moment in London’s history. I still cannot look at Canary Wharf without imagining Johnny scaling down the side of the tower. Watching it now, I genuinely found myself wondering whether there had ever been two towers.

The cast deserves far more credit than it often receives. Rowan Atkinson is, of course, the main attraction, but Ben Miller, Natalie Imbruglia and John Malkovich all commit fully to the premise. Nobody appears embarrassed to be there. That sincerity is vital. If the cast winked at the audience, the entire film would collapse.

Perhaps the most refreshing thing about Johnny English is its runtime. Eighty-seven minutes. Do you remember when films were allowed to be eighty-seven minutes? Before every blockbuster became a two-and-a-half-hour epic burdened by universe-building, exposition and sequel setup?

Johnny English arrives, tells its story, makes you laugh, and leaves.

The final gag, launching Natalie Imbruglia through a car sunroof, remains perfect. It is stupid. It is unnecessary. It is exactly the right note on which to end.

Most importantly, Johnny English never feels like a franchise starter. It tells a complete story and gets out of the way. Ironically, we eventually ended up with two sequels anyway. I say that having seen neither of them.

Watch this space.

Johnny English is not flawless. The pacing stumbles. The plotting occasionally strains credibility. Some jokes land harder than others.

None of that really matters.

What remains is a thoroughly entertaining comedy that is far cleverer than its reputation suggests. In an era where Hollywood seems convinced every film must be epic, sweeping and endlessly self-important, Johnny English serves as a reminder that there is absolutely nothing wrong with having fun for the sake of having fun.