In Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part One, there’s a scene where Ethan Hunt, played by Tom Cruise, drives a motorcycle off a cliff and into the abyss. Cruise is 61 years old and performs all his own stunts, and in behind-the-scenes footage drip-fed ahead of the release, the sense of tension among the cast and crew is palpable, and the relief when Cruise re-emerges genuine. It’s then that he says, “I think I can hold to the bike a little longer” and asks to do another take. And so they go again, and again.

That, more than anything else, is what it feels like watching this England team. They leap into the void, and you grimace when they shatter an ankle and cheer when they stick the landing. Then they do it again, pushing it further and further each time, and while they are in the air, you can barely watch.

England’s raison d’être is to entertain, but how much of watching them this series has been actually enjoyable? The first hour at Edgbaston, yes, when Zak Crawley was god, the Aussies looked mortal, and 5-0 felt possible. This was the opening scene of the action movie, reintroducing us to the core cast, filled with quips and japes, with the stakes just that bit lower.

Mark Wood on day one at Headingley was a different kind of thrill, totally at odds to everything that had come before, the tone change after the darkest night. This was the character from a previous film whose fate you wondered about, the Deus ex Mackem (okay, Geordie) who might yet save the day.

But beyond that, how much of this series have England fans watched with smiles on their faces and without a care, and how much has been caught through the fingers in a mixture of dread and hope. It’s pure, gut-wrenching anxiety, the kind that keeps you rooted to your seat even as you can’t bear to watch, that leaves you forgoing bodily functions and human necessities just in case that’s what prompts the next wicket. How can you go to the loo or for a sandwich if there’s a chance that it costs England the Ashes?

This is the tragic beauty of the English cricketing fandom, many of whom still don’t trust Bazball despite everything it has brought, and yet they keep coming back for one more ride, because what if this time is the time? With a solid action thriller, it helps to ease the anxiety to know, deep down, that the good guys will win, no matter the odds. But in sport, your good guys are someone else’s bad guys. There are no guarantees, and no ending is happy for everyone. And all we can do is watch.

Before this all started, there was even a certain safety in England’s batting collapses, a wry comfort to be drawn from them failing in an identical fashion over and over again. ‘Same old England’, would go the refrain. But this isn’t same old England. This feels different, is different. How they play matters, but so, now, does the result. Come up short, and the last 12 months will lose much of their meaning. Win, and anything will seem possible.

All the cast members have added to the drama, but the key to this all is Ben Stokes. Has any sportsman ever possessed such a sense of the moment? The cliche is to ask, who writes his script, to which the obvious answer is, well, he does. But he’s not just the writer/director of this franchise, he’s the action hero, the guy who will take blow after blow and keep on coming, because the fate of his world is at stake. He could do this all day. And yet, at Headingley, even he found himself in the position of the powerless spectator. Or rather, non-spectator.

“I didn’t actually watch the last 20 runs being scored,” he said after play. “It’s a completely different place when you can’t do anything, you can’t influence the game any more, you’re left watching and hoping things are going to go your way.” Welcome to the club.

England are at the point of stillness in the arc of a pendulum, the moment when all energy is purely potential. The top of the bat swing, the instant when you find out if a skied ball will sail into the stands or settle in the hands of a fielder.

Everything in this series has been set in motion, but now we pause, waiting for the next swing. The narratives are drawn, the one-on-one duels are being decided. Enjoy the stillness while you can. Now is the time to draw breath, or at least release the one you’ve been holding since day one at Edgbaston. Part one is over. The sequel starts in seven days’ time.