Heineken's The Entrance aired globally last year but, like a Hoxton dandy fashionably late to the party, hit UK screens this week.

Its impossibly suave social polymath (the sort who only exists in ads and on the staff of The Grocer) wows eclectic guests with his electric eccentricity, in a party that unfolds before us like the legendary Goodfellas tracking shot of Henry Hill arriving at the cabaret.

Crucially, our star is a goggle-eyed oddball with a dodgy Euro-beard rather than a ringer for the Greek god of cheekbones. And he's no Ron Burgundy on the jazz flute. So yes, we relate.

But this party was dreamt up by ad-men for ad-men, not the millions who turn up to parties with a blue plastic bag of whichever lager was on six for £6 at the host's local corner shop.

It's spectacular and slicker than a salamander's gizzards. But most drinkers would soon be on the Tube home for Match of the Day.

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