I’ve seen films recently. Lots of films. Show me a sci-fi space station and I’ll show you where all of the perilously placed switches are.

I can see where a bad guy’s monologue is going to land him into trouble before he’s even started saying it.

And I’m worried that Hollywood has given up on the car as a serious actor. I say worried – that’s not quite the right word. I’m beyond worry or denial or anger, or any of the other emotions associated with grieving. I’ve reached a desperate stage of acceptance that there’s never going to be redemption for film cars because it’s official: Hollywood doesn’t respect your puny cars or motorcycles any more. It sees them as tools, amusebouches, methods of placing actors in ludicrous situations or moving them from one fight to another. The best you can hope for a film car these days is that it plays no significant part at all, beyond being a mere accessory to the scene, like a table, or a sandwich, or a cigarette nobody finishes.