Though life is too short, it seems to drag on interminably while one is watching a bad film. The moment during a film when I begin to question my very existence is the moment I decide to head for the exit. It is when I abandon any cool critical assessment. All I know is that my senses and intelligence are being abused by the ugly and stupid sights and sounds on the big screen.

If it were in my nature, I would pity the poor critics who have been sent to review a film and are obliged to sit through it to the bitter end. Or are they? Are there ethics involved? Is it fair to review a film that one has seen only a part of? Perhaps a critic should be honest and reveal that they walked out half way, which is a defiant act of criticism in itself. Yet, you can bet that a colleague will tell you afterwards that "the second half was a vast improvement on the first". I reckon that unless it was directed by someone other than the one who directed the first half, there is no way it could have improved much.

{niftybox background=#8FBC8F, width=360px} Though life is too short, it seems to drag on interminably while one is watching a bad film. The moment during a film when I begin to question my very existence is the moment I decide to head for the exit. It is when I abandon any cool critical assessment. All I know is that my senses and intelligence are being abused by the ugly and stupid sights and sounds on the big screen. {/niftybox}

There are those who question my sanity because I walked out about 20 minutes into Titanic, even though I explained that I had that sinking feeling long before any of the participants. Nevertheless, there is a protocol involved in walking out. If one has to leave a film because of a very busy schedule, which happens most often during festivals, or if there are people in the audience involved with the film in some way whom one has even met and doesn't want to insult, one walks backwards slowly up the aisle looking at the screen all the time, shaking one's head regretfully and looking at one's watch. If, however, one disliked the film, then one should have no compunction in storming up the aisle towards the exit banging the door loudly behind one.

Of course, it is always difficult to decide at what moment one is going to walk out. I often wait until the end of a sequence, having given it the benefit of the doubt after hoping that it might be better than the preceding one. One thing I never do, however, is walk out during a particularly passionate sex scene, which is just the moment when I would most like to, because I don't want to give the impression that I was shocked by it.

A few years ago, at the Locarno Film Festival, I decided that I should see a film called Calendar Girls, which was showing in the Piazza Grande. However, as there didn't seem to be any seats available, I asked an attendant if he could find me a seat. Looking at my accreditation badge, he insisted that a young man make room for me by sitting on the floor. I protested, but he insisted. So there I was seated in the middle of a row, in front of the director and some of the cast. No more than ten minutes into the film, a coy female version of The Full Monty, I wanted out. However, I stayed stupidly suffering throughout, merely because I thought it would be discourteous to people I would never see again, and who either wouldn't notice my departure or care.

{niftybox background=#8FBC8F, width=360px} Of course, it is always difficult to decide at what moment one is going to walk out. I often wait until the end of a sequence, having given it the benefit of the doubt after hoping that it might be better than the preceding one. One thing I never do, however, is walk out during a particularly passionate sex scene, which is just the moment when I would most like to, because I don't want to give the impression that I was shocked by it.{/niftybox}

Sometimes, though the body remains in the film, the mind finds a means of escape, whether by thinking of something completely different, such as chores undone, or by sleeping deeply. But, although I've seen many a critic happily ensconced in the arms of Morpheus during a film, how many actually admit to it in their review? In reality, sleep can descend unbidden at any moment, unrelated to the quality of the film.

There was the story of the critic who rarely lasted beyond the first five minutes, although he would sometimes manage to catch some sequences between naps. Upon these sporadic impressions, and his reading of the plot summary in the press pack, he was able to build a whole review. This was based on his long career as a film critic, during which he prided himself on the belief that he could tell the overall quality of a film within the first few minutes, or from several unrelated sequences, any of which would betray the style or lack of it. But his most interesting reviews were those in which he confused what he had seen on the screen with what he had been dreaming while asleep. In general, this confusion in his mind made the film sound more interesting and surreal.

I have derived a foolproof method to avoid all these problems. If one can, one should avoid walking into most films in the first place.

Ronald Bergan