Often, when I have seen a movie, my younger sister asks me what it was like. “Well,” I say, “I wanted to like it, but-”

“No!” she says, “Don’t say that you wanted to like it, or that it had interesting themes, or pro-imperialist undertones! Just say was it a good movie or a bad movie? Good or bad? Yes or no?”

So in that spirit, I am going to start reviewing movies again and keep the reviews very short – when all else fails, I will try to remember to use The Bucket List as a bench mark.

NB. Bad does not necessarily mean it was badly made – it’s just nine words shorter than “didn’t do anything for me but you might like it” and therefore more likely to be accepted by my sister.

Bright Star: Good. Romantic with a capital R, but then no-one does Romantic like the Poets. Great scene of individual reactions to new books (right: smell the pages). Cheryl was staying with me and we came home and read poetry after (no Romantics).

Bran Nue Dae: Good. Flimsy, but with the flimsiness with which musicals generally translate, but with bonus Ernie Dingo being awesome (worth price of entry for him).

Up in the Air: Bad. What’s it all about, Alfie? bleak.

Edge of Darkness: Bad. Almost funny. Impenetrable accents. Mel Gibson loses everyone he loves, goes mad and kills lots of people but I’ve got a theory every movie he makes ticks at least two of those three.

Invictus: Good. Music distracting. Probably problematic but very watchable and this is meant to be brief.

The Road: Good. True to the book. You have been warned. (For my money: ending is hopeful, but I am basing this purely on a beetle and the breed of dog in the final scene).

Valentines Day: Good if you read this review first: Valentines Day. Worst. Movie. Ever. But I couldn’t remember exactly what there was to like after it finished.

The Wolfman: Bad. Not bad enough to be funny. Also, I kept wanting to mutter to Deb, “Zese are Transylvanian moons – zey are zee fastest moons in zee world.”

Shutter Island: Bad. Not a horror, not a delicate psychological study, I guessed the twist from the preview (there was at least a reason for the poor acting), and although on the strength of 2.5 films I maintain DiCaprio can act, he didn’t. Or he was playing a 12 year old.

There. Done. I feel all sullied and judgemental now, but at least I can look forward to reviewing 11 books for February.