And on and on and on.

But, then, something wondrous happens. After a brief silence, the movie I’ve come to see emerges full-blown onto the screen. There are people yelling and cities exploding and oceans flaming and a planet blistering.

I smile contentedly and sink into the dark, air-conditioned cocoon of that loud obnoxiousness known as the summer movie.

Finally, I think, settling in, it is summer and all is right with the world — assuming, of course, that the hero saves it from imminent disaster.