It started with the shot.

The hum rolled around Edgbaston, bathed in bright sunshine, and we grabbed our popcorn and nestled in to our seats for the marathon screening of the Men’s Ashes: 2023 edition. It took all of one delivery, one glorious crack of Zak Crawley’s bat, to unhinge jaws and leave no doubt this movie would be a rollicking ride.

The opening scenes of England’s high-octane batting had fast and furious energy, Australia revving their engines just to keep up. And just as we prepared for an intermission and a loo break, Ben Stokes shoved us back in our chairs with a declaration plot twist that even the scriptwriters didn’t see coming, Joe Root’s unbeaten century left dangling and sparking the first of many ‘what ifs’ that would rumble around the cricket world.

The two sides traded blows in extended fight scenes where it was tough to discern who was on top as they somehow landed knockout punches while simultaneously sagged on the ropes.

From Usman Khawaja’s bat-flinging century to Scott Boland’s thunderous spell under gloomy skies; through David Warner’s customary capitulation to Stuart Broad around the wicket and the reminder that Stokes is human after all when he dropped Nathan Lyon in the game’s final stanza. So strong was the feeling this encounter showed the best of Test cricket that, after Pat Cummins fulfilled his leading man’s duties with a winning boundary, there didn’t seem to be a loser. England certainly felt that way and shrugged off suggestions the declaration had handed Australia the early advantage.

To Lord’s and a change of cast. The gory subplot of Moeen Ali’s shredded finger left him on the cutting room floor but it was Australia’s off spinner who would bow out of the series entirely, swinging his bat while hopping on one leg, in a development that would have significant repercussions on the narrative to follow as would the departure of Ollie Pope’s shoulder, taking him with it. Josh Tongue barely put a foot wrong in his first Ashes showing and was unlucky the casting directors denied him a recurring role.

It was time for the villain to be introduced and whether it was Alex Carey or Jonny Bairstow depended on whether your 3D glasses were red and white or green and gold. In reality, it was neither; the real baddies were the buffoons of the Long Room, more bile-filled twits than cat-stroking Blofelds.

Steve Smith played his greatest hits and box-office Ben donned his cape but couldn’t save the girl, despite reciting the same lines of his Headingley drama. Australia had watched that film – Justin Langer made sure of that – and wrote a new ending. Never mind, said Stokes, we’ve got them right where we want them. The sensible viewers tittered as they slurped on their soft drinks.

You should never attempt to remake a classic and sequels are rarely as good as the original. But, while Headingley ’19 was a standard flick until the extraordinary final day, Headingley ’23 was a thriller from start to finish.

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Mitch Marsh emerged from the wings to take on the character previously played by Cameron Green and nailed the performance so well, Green was never again seen. The miracle of the Manuka honey balm saw Moeen resurrected and promoted while England’s buddy cops waltzed in and stole scenes, Mark Wood warming up with his dog-impersonating exercises before flinging thunderbolts from his fingers and hooking with abandon, Chris Woakes politely taking wickets and affably hitting the winning runs.

The players dispersed for their mid-series mini-breaks. Warner tried to forget his Broadway nightmare in Disneyland, Carey escaped the spirit of cricket preachers on the fairways of Scotland and Harry Brook was chillin’ with his missus in Ibiza.

Armed with a fresh round of snacks and at least eight different weather apps, we reconvened at Old Trafford.

A year earlier, before the second Test against South Africa, England had trained in the nets to the soundtrack of Brendon McCullum’s boombox. There were no real bangers, just feel good tunes for this vibey gang, with an occasional and somewhat startling ballad.

Crawley stood in the fast bowler’s net, impervious to the raging critics who had questioned his place from the moment he was given it. Jimmy Anderson charged in and let fly, shattering Crawley’s stumps as Foreigner’s I Want To Know What Love Is blared from the speakers.

Baz and Ben felt the Crawley love, though, and he showed why he deserved it as he rode his luck early and then punished Australia with impunity, flaying an attack that appeared anything but refreshed by the break.

If he’d softened them up, it was another player who had copped his share of criticism throughout the series who finished them off; Jonny Bairstow pummelling every negative word uttered in the media into the stands along with the hapless ball.

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But here the scriptwriters failed. With no giant bucket hat floating above Old Trafford to keep it dry, Australia’s retention of the urn in pelting rain felt flat and spurred the biggest wave of ‘what ifs’ the series had seen. Frankly, it was a bit shit.

It also robbed us of a winner-takes-all showdown at the Oval, but the thrills of the final instalment were still tangible, the emotional whiplash between despair and ecstasy relentless. Hugh Jackman was in the house but the greatest showman was on the field for the very last time, Stuart Broad tearing up the script and ad libbing his way to a bail-fiddling, left-hander-destroying adieu. Will we ever see a greater exponent of jazz hands again?

When Stokes dropped Steve Smith off a ragger from Moeen (human, again!) just before the rain arrived, it seemed to be curtains for England. But everyone knows you never leave a Marvel film or an Ashes series until after the credits have rolled.

It was the Brummies wot did it. Moeen and Woakes – two men who would probably give the best lines to someone else, just to be nice – slicing through Australia before Broad, naturally, bowed out with all the fanfare. There may not have been a decisive result but that should matter not.

From the first shot to the final wicket we couldn’t tear our eyes away. England’s irresistible force met Australia’s immovable object and the outcome was an Ashes series deserving of all the Oscars and leaving us counting the days until we can do this all over again.

Rating: FIVE STARS