Art House?

I love movies! Not in a cuddly "what's on this week, maybe we can see a fillum" kinda way but more in an obsessive "it opens on Friday, I've got tickets for the 6.05 am performance " kinda way.

My custom made Purves & Purves DVD cabinet is busting at the seams. It's all there, from Angel A (Luc Besson Dir) to Zoolander (Ben Stiller Dir) and Anderson Paul Dir (Resident Evil) to Zwick Edwin Dir (The Last Samurai, Blood Diamond). See what I mean? Moreover, I'm an equal opportunity movie nut, I can wax just as lyrical about Blades of Glory (Will Ferrell 2007) as I can about The Beat My Heart Skipped (Romain Duris 2005).

IMDB (Internet Movie Data Base) is on the drop down menu of my browser and each new issue of Empire magazine is greeted with the same sort of fervour I used to reserve for Playboy when I was 13. Doesn't matter how many times I've read that last sentence it still seems so wrong!

Being a cinephile, yes we do have a name, I know nothing beats the experience of actually going to a cinema to feed ones habit. Being a Dad with two kids with a 13 year age gap between them, also means that I have had constant "movie buddies" for almost thirty years. However, there are limits to what you can subject your kids to. Consequently my fixation with "world cinema" has been limited to receiving suspect little brown paper packages containing the latest Haneke or a Director's cut of "Betty Blue".

Nevertheless, the local multiplex has served me and the "teenager" well. If you arrive before 4pm on the weekends two tickets are about £8. The large nachos (with extra jalapenos), container load of popcorn and a gallon of Pepsi Max will add another tenner and "we're good to go". Once inside the appropriate "screen" we can sink into voluminous seats that slide back and forth and immerse ourselves in pristine sound and vision. Admittedly, there are some slight negatives. The dubious looking hoodies hanging round the bottom of the escalators and the inevitable hip-hop ring tones followed by " Whassup Bruv, yeah I'm in the pictures. Laters G", add a certain edgy frisson.

In recent months I have been "dating". A lovely lady, great personality and wonderful sense of humour. She is by profession a highly qualified and respected English and Drama teacher. As you can imagine her profession predisposes her to have an interest in all things cultural, including, of course, cinema. Unfortunately, anything featuring loud explosions, car chases or death counts over a dozen or so, don't float her boat. What will get the dinghy bobbing are angsty, moody, languorous art house movies, or anything featuring Liverpool (she's a Scouser).

You would think that having read this far that this should suit me down to the ground. The "teenager" to accompany me for this week's latest blockbuster and the "lady friend" to obviate the need for the brown paper packages. Well, not exactly.

It's not the films, it's certainly not her company, it's the bloody cinemas. You have to book in advance 'cos they are invariably small. Two tickets that'll be £21. Two Fair Trade coffees in recycled paper cups, a portion of Patagonian trail-mix in a knit it yourself container and one wheat free, gluten free, nut free, taste free flapjack £16. Right on! Then you go inside.

Now, if you've been paying attention you'll know that I'm not exactly what you'd call trim. However, whilst I'm more than happy to take responsibilty for my breadth, my length lies squarely on the shoulders of genetics. I take an aisle seat to maximise leg room. The only problem with that is that the rows are so close together that I have to swivel on my butt to get my legs out. This of course results in either a severe case of "numb bum" or the person sitting behind me playing "spot the screen" due to my constant wriggling. Invariably, the person behind me is not a dwarf either and spents the majority of the programme replicating my movements and kicking the back of my seat. This might just be bearable if I'm watching Jason Statham destroy a few buildings and jump a car over a 100 yard ravine but if I'm straining to read the sub-titles and cherish the nuance of the directors multi-layered sub-text.........it sucks!

So there you have it, my love of movies continues, the "lady friend" stays and the "teenager" can rely on me springing for a "slushy" for a while yet but the next time I see Kristen Scott-Thomas she will have been delivered surreptitiously to my door.