So, time to settle down with Knocked Up, Mr Apatow's big hit, in order to get a feel for this auteur's theory and practice.
The theory would appear to be that if you create what seems to be a funny situation – slacker impregnates WASPish career girl – that you don't need to spend any more time on the script.
The practice seems to be that ten minutes is more than enough time to work out the camera angles and the lighting, and to get the actors to rehearse.
The result is dire in the extreme. Are there no cinema critics – as opposed to cinema writers – who are able to stand up and say what a steaming pile of ordure this is?
I gave up after 40 minutes. My wife boldly stayed to the - inevitably saccharine, not bitter – end.
It feels so good – so liberating – to have gotten Mr Apatow's cinematic oeuvre out of one's personal space.