I agree in principle with Fiona Murphy, aged 7, who wrote to this paper during the week complaining that adults should not be allowed to review children's movies because they often "judge them wrongly", writes Frank McNally
The slight weakness in her argument is that it is not just children who watch these films. In my experience, seven-year-olds are reluctant to go to the cinema on their own, especially if it involves driving. Parents usually have to attend the movie with them and, as Fiona probably knows, our attention spans are very short. We need to be entertained constantly, or else we start climbing on the seats and making faces at the people behind.
The obvious compromise, I suppose, is joint reviews. Perhaps there should be a new "CG" certificate, whereby any film critic over 15 must be accompanied to the media screening by a child. If the reviewer doesn't know any children, the cinema would have to provide one from a panel of approved freelances.
Come to think of it, this system could be extended to restaurant reviews - at least for the sort of restaurants you might bring children to. Obviously, child food critics would require firm guidance. If let, most seven-year-olds would go to McDonalds every time and review the chicken nuggets ("57 different ingredients! How does the chef pack so much goodness in?"). But the current, adult-only restaurant reviews invariably omit issues relevant to parents and children alike. For example, I have yet to read one that mentions what conditions are like under the table - even though, as every parent knows, this is where your child will spend much of the meal.
Well brought-up children will sometimes remain seated until after the main course. But sooner or later even these will start to sag, flopping on their chairs before sliding out of sight. Just as some adults like to retire to the drawing-room after meals for port and cigars, young children like to retire to the floor. They may not have a choice. I suspect that the interplay between the earth and the underside of a table creates some kind of force-field into which small people are inexorably drawn.
The point is that, when this happens in a restaurant, you as a parent will be every bit as interested in what's under the table as your children are, and maybe more. It might be hard to reach an adult-child consensus on what constitutes ideal sub-table ambience. To cite just one issue, the discovery of fossilised chewing gum on the underside of a table fascinates many children, while repelling adults. But knowing about the gum beforehand would at least inform a parent's restaurant choices.
Getting back to movies, Fiona's particular complaint was that our review supplement, the Ticket, gave Night At The Museumonly one star, whereas she would have given it "three or four". If it's any consolation to her, such differences of opinion occur frequently between adults too. And part of the problem is that, although popular with readers, the one-to-five star system is a very blunt instrument.
I recall that a British theatrical bigwig, Sir Somebody, complained in a letter to the papers a few years ago about the crudeness of star-ratings for plays - drawing a brilliant riposte from Daily Telegraphcolumnist Craig Brown. Brown suggested he should not have used his title in the letter, since the honours system was essentially a way of star-rating people. A knighthood suggested the recipient was "not to be missed"; an OBE meant "highly recommended"; a CBE was "only if you must", and so on.
That Fiona mentions the star rather than the substance of the review probably underlines the point that the titled person was trying to make. But the good thing is that, despite its rating, she went to see the film anyway, and was thus able to disagree with our critic. This is democracy in action.
As to the qualifications for reviewing, well, rather than dismiss the opinions of adults entirely, I'm sure that a sophisticated seven-year-old will concede that advancing age does confer a certain amount of discernment. We can illustrate this point with something Fiona may remember from her distant youth: Teletubbies.
For those of you not familiar with the TV series, I should explain that Teletubbies is a kind of The X-Files for two-year-olds. The cuddly characters - Tinky-winky, Dipsy, La-la, and Po - lead an idyllic life in Teletubbieland. But they are frequently subjected to strange occurrences, usually emanating from the sky.
In my favourite episode, a hat appears in Teletubbieland and the characters take turns to wear it before it disappears again. In another, slightly darker instalment, the demented vacuum cleaner, Noo-Noo, swallows the Tubbies' ball, and they have to say "naughty Noo-Noo!" about 20 times before he coughs it up again. Of course, not all the plots are as complex as this.
For my 19-month-old son, Teletubbies is TV drama at its riveting best. Maybe Fiona was once riveted by it too. But I'm guessing that the Tubbies' failure to grow as characters - or to grow in any way - limits their appeal for a seven-year-old.
I mention this only to hint at the challenge that faces adult reviewers trying to be fair to children's films. Having said that, I take Fiona's general point, and I promise to have words with the Ticketeditor. At the very least, a reviewer attending such a film should be accompanied by his or her inner child.
Where the inner child is sick, on holidays, or otherwise unavailable, the company of an outer child should be compulsory.