Robbie Williams has made noises about wanting to be the next James Bond. Doubtless he fancies himself something of a nouveau Sean Connery - simmering, laconic, devilishly roguish. In truth, he is more like Roger Moore - hammy, slightly preposterous, impossible to dislike.
Sporting a peroxide Mohican haircut that wouldn't look out of place on a classic Bond villain, Williams treated 40,000 ecstatic fans to a slick, spirited greatest-hits set at Lansdowne Road on Saturday night, peppering his stadium vaudeville with protracted, semi-incoherent rants against the media and his former Take That bandmates.
Williams pulled his mum on stage, invited an audience member to bare her bottom (she did) and danced like a dervish, that 100-watt Cheshire Cat grin burning brighter as darkness settled in.
The sell-out crowd swooned and cooed; a volley of shrieks threatening to drown out syrupy showstoppers such as Let Me Entertain You and Kids.
Williams's bubbly anthems perfectly suited the stadium-rock environment.
She's the One and Millennium were gargantuan slabs of good-time theatrics, unencumbered by any delusions of "authenticity".
An estimated 80,000 people attended the Friday and Saturday night concerts. Gardai said both events passed off smoothly with no disturbances and little drunkenness.
It's tempting to conclude this piece with a lazy Bond reference, a pat line about Williams leaving his audience "shaken and stirred". But the cocktail allusion won't wash. Williams is a human alco-pop; lurid, fizzy and going straight to your head.