The first surprise of The Tinder Swindler, Netflix’s hit film and the only documentary to have topped its global most-watched list, is that anyone is still using Tinder.

The “swindler” of the title is preposterous in every way, but he chose his victims well: women in their early 30s blinded to the absurdity of a “billionaire’s son” using that dusty old dating app, which has no door policy. The second thing to say about this engrossing film is that any online dating scam that results in a woman merely being defrauded of her savings, rather than robbed of her life, practically qualifies as comedy.

‘Catfishing on a whole other level’: the shocking story of the Tinder Swindler

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In fact, there are comic episodes. The story unfurls like a jaw-dropping, real-life version of Catch Me If You Can. “Simon Leviev”, the eponymous villain, looks like a member of the A-Team who just emerged from a costume shop wearing that timeless ensemble Heir to a Diamond Fortune. It’s testament to the suspension of disbelief that drives so much online dating that photos of a man posing on a yacht, in a helicopter or leaning against the bonnet of a sports car inspire some women to think, “He looks nice!” rather than, “That’s clearly fake.” Or, more helpfully perhaps: “He looks like an arsehole.”

It’s not just about the money. After the story blew up, online commentators pegged Leviev’s victims as gold-diggers who got what they deserved, but the reality is much sadder. “Oh my God, animals,” says one of Leviev’s victims, remembering the Tinder profile that reeled her in. “A handsome man with a cat? You can’t go wrong.”

It’s hard to write in detail about the scam without spoiling the film. But what it says, broadly, about the (straight) dating market confirms truths about men and women that, in more optimistic moments, one might have thought out of date. It is revealing that the one woman in the film who is not, apparently, defrauded, is a 22-year-old, whom Leviev was “lucky” to snag in the first place. Most of us know this simply from being alive: that something happens in online dating when straight women leave their 20s, and which I have watched friends go through with horror.

One said to me recently, in despair, “Realistically, I’m looking at widowers, mid-60s and up”. (She is 47.) The only man in her age group who engaged with her sent a photo of himself sprawled on the hood of a Ford Discovery and asked if she was interested in travelling to New Jersey. She’s not flying to Bulgaria with a guy after a single coffee or handing over her passport details if he asks. But the vulnerability that comes from years of exposure to men her age looking for women at least 10 years her junior can put a finger on the scales of one’s judgment.

Yet, even with this in mind, the sheer size of the red flags over Leviev make one yell at the screen. What is the point of doing all those “Am I dating a narcissist?” quizzes if, when it comes down to it, you don’t clock the oversharing and love-bombing on the first date? “Very quickly, he became very personal, and that’s what I liked about it,” says one victim, and you know she’s in for it, even before she says, “Here’s this kind of person that you want to save.” (I have dated people I wanted to save and, to a woman, they have all been nightmares, but watching this I felt only relief. Women are awful – but have you met men?)

The frightening thing about some stripes of conmen is the degree to which they believe their own bullshit. It feels like one of those truths handed down the generations from woman to woman, like never corner a squirrel in an attic; or, in this case, never confront a deluded man with evidence of his delusions, or he is liable to fly at you, eyes popping. Thank God for the heroes of this story, a team of Norwegian journalists who track Leviev halfway across the globe, and a Dutch woman who, on discovering precisely what she is dating, pulls off a counter-scam that you can hardly believe you’re seeing. This woman should have a statue raised in her honour.

Instead, the conclusion is a little underwhelming. In fiction, a Wicker Man-type fate might await Leviev. One can imagine what a writer like Fay Weldonwould do with him. In reality, public exposure will have to suffice. Having served two short prison sentences – neither for the crimes alleged by the women in the film – he is currently living as a free man in Israel. For a man who apparently doesn’t feel shame, this doesn’t seem adequate. Still, there are downsides. As the popularity of the film soared this week, Tinder announced that Leviev was banned from its app.