'Summer Nights'

Long gone are the times when Catholics monopolized the notion of guilt. Don't get me wrong, having been raised as a Catholic myself, I still get invaded by oh, the shame, the shame in having a second piece of chocolate mud pie. However, in late modern times, there seems to be a universalizing tendency, a true democracy of guilt. As such, don't ever, ever admit to:

-reading the Sun on a Sunday,

-eating an egg that isn't free-range

-being anything other than a social smoker

-ignoring a queue

-Miso soup tasting like dishwater

-not ever having seen Three Colours Blue

The contemporary moving through a societal nexus presents numerous pitfalls and being a film critic the general rules seem to be as follows:

-Obscure is always better: someone made a film with a home camera from the back of their tractor in Uzbekistan? Hit that shit! Here's the formula: Modern alienation meets heart-warming portrayal of unusual friendship!

-lament the selling out of brilliant European director in moving to Hollywood, formula: glimpses of former edge in close-cut editing, softened by the compromised Hollywood ending.

-Hollywood goes political: the one niche where it's alright to like something coming out of Tinsel-town, formula: praise the modern aware beings; Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robert Redford and until the 'empty-chair'-incident, Clint Eastwood. Here, be careful about George Clooney, it's advisable to stay vague, in the lines of, and I quote: 'Not quite there yet! Promising Beginning! Raising awareness while slightly flawed structure' La-Di-Da...

Here's the thing though: It's summer! The one time where it's alright to have a glass, alright, alright, half a bottle, of wine every night (hey, if the Italians can do it, we can). It's not alcoholism, it's Fellini in a bottle. While most people enjoy the balmy summer nights, barbecues, swimming pools, intermezzos with the neighbour, I hit the cinema.

A well-loved classic under the fairy-lit skies of the open-air cinema? - not interested. A slow, beautiful portrayal of a middle-aged woman going through a divorce under the Tuscan sun? - get a grip. Another French pseudo-intellectual bromance? Fuck it.

No, give me the empty, air-conditioned, intellectual tumble weed of the Cinemaxx any time! I'll say it loudly and proudly: in the summer, I'm a Blockbuster-bitch!

The Avengers? Like a buy-one-get-four-for-free voucher! The consumer in me can't resist.

The Dark Knight rises? Man, let him rise! And take me along on the ride!

The Expendables? Switch off those politically correct tendencies in favour of Chuck Norris jokes! ( Ever notice how Word Spell Checker underlines the name Fellini as faulty, while perfectly knowing Chuck Norris?)

The Bourne Legacy? Jeremy Renner – What a revelation!

Don't get me wrong; I have seen more Antonioni films than I can remember, I have developed a near-obsession with Jarmusch and cannot remember what my life was like before seeing '400 coups'. - In spring, autumn and winter, that is! But, the reason we all get into film in the first instance? : Star Wars, pure and simple.

In summer, I want simple moral fables. I want action-fuelled car chases. I want to gorge myself on chocolates while watching handsome people do awesome things. It's shameful, really, but someone needs to take a stand for all those out there who sneak into the cinema to see Arnie blow things up, only to avoid looking into the mirror by the time they get home, tucking the experience away in that mental box named guilty pleasure. Here's the thing though: you wouldn't eat a grilled, fair-trade Halloumi wrap with organic rocket at Alton Towers, now, would you? The summer blockbuster has the same effect: it's mental chips and cheese, you wouldn't admit to it being your favourite, but, oh, it makes you deliciously happy!

By the way: if you see me in autumn, I have never written this article!