Jude Law and Jason Bateman playing brothers could easily be met with outcries of ‘but they look so little, if even remotely at all, alike!’

That might be the case, but in  Netflix’s new vice-laden thriller Black Rabbit, the eight episodes so quickly run off with your attention that you soon forget.

Coming to you from the grungy, dank New York nightlife scene that treads the line between intoxicating and grim, Jude Law’s suave Jake owns the hottest bar-restaurant-hangout spot in town.

How many guesses does it take to land on the place’s name

Jake is on the brink of taking the Black Rabbit’s dishy reputation to the next level, with all teetering in the balance of a prominent food critic’s visit.

But best laid plans go thoroughly awry when his gambling addict brother Vince (Jason Bateman, playing spectacularly against type) comes steaming back into town, with dodgy debt-collectors in tow, looking to his brother for a do-or-die fix.

It isn’t chump change he’s borrowed, but hundreds of thousands of dollars, from gun-toting mafia types who are prepared to chop off fingers or toss a steaming kettle your way if their pockets remain empty. Violent scenes ahead.

But it turns out that Jake isn’t sitting on quite the goldmine the restaurant seems to be. If The Bear hadn’t shown audiences, even nightlife spots on the up and up can be money pits.

It leaves little in the way of mafia cash lying around, but still, Jake promises to help Vince out of the hole.

Where does this lead? Nowhere good. The show’s opening scene sees the restaurant ransacked by balaclava-clad hoodlums, before we flashback.

(This type of now-stale opening manoeuvre should be treated with an automatic points deduction, The White Lotus being the only exception.)

Co-created by Zach Baylin (Oscar-nominated for writing King Richard, of Will Smith’s Slapgate) with his producing partner Kate Susman, Black Rabbit draws on the real-life couple’s decade-plus living in New York.

The city is brilliantly captured, largely because its scenes were actually filmed on the chaotic streets, as opposed to a cold sound stage imitation. Managing Law, Bateman and the accoutrements of a Netflix  TV show on a pavement in downtown Manhattan is a feat this show makes worthwhile.

As for that star wattage, it’s hard to imagine them playing two brothers more at odds. Maybe Cain and Abel. Or Oasis, pre-dynamic pricing.

But it’s the sibling dysfunction between Vince and Jake that gives this unlikely Netflix original a springboard to put it above your generic Uncut Gems-y crime thriller.

Despite Bateman having made a name playing the quintessential type A goodie-two-shoes – in Horrible Bosses and Arrested Development – he is faultless as hurricane Vince.

He’s both the last person you want to see coming and the only one you want to hang out with. Plus, Bateman wanders behind the camera to direct two episodes.

Without that performance the show would run away from itself, because you would be fixated on why Jake hasn’t cut this guy off. As it is, that thought only strolls into view at odd intervals.

Much like the restaurant at its centre, the miniseries teeters like an irregular Jenga tower. Without this precarious arrangement of pieces, it would not be as watchable as it is.

For one thing, at eight episodes with several toppling beyond the 60-minute mark, the hind legs on this thing are too long.

Instead of making total use of that runtime, there’s a decent chunk of wheel-spinning on the same faecal-fan-hitting plot points. The sight of Vince squirming out of his debtor’s grasp becomes less entertaining with each iteration.

Then there’s the chaotic flow of the storylines, which might be intended to mimic the New York living experience, but in tele terms feels a bit like being shuttled from pillar to post on a jittery bus.

That being said, Black Rabbit has twists, style and star power. I’m sure a few kinks won’t deter viewers.

Black Rabbit is available to stream on Netflix.