Going to the movies is a treat – a time to escape the horrors of the real world as we immerse ourselves in a pretend one. It’s even more pleasurable where a bog-standard blockbuster is involved. No thinking required. Going to the movies can be a miniature holiday for the mind.

But when Hollywood film-makers mess with the tried and tested formula, it makes me want to take that imaginary holiday cocktail I’m drinking and splash it in their faces.

I reached the end of my tether at a recent screening. It was the usual thing. There was the faffing at the ticket counter as my movie partner and I did the whole “I’ll pay”, “no, I’ll pay” dance with its regular finale – both of us thrusting our wallets into the face of the poor guy serving us and paying separately.

We each purchased an oversized bag of chocolates to go with our unnecessary bucket-sized drink of sugary cola. And once seated, 200 people tried and failed not to fiddle with their phones, unwittingly guiding any stragglers to their seats without the need for an usher.

But two hours into what was a reasonably pleasurable movie, bodies began swaying as if a gusty northerly had entered the cinema. Legs were scratched. Yawns stifled. The punters were getting restless. Yet we still had a full half hour to endure.

I don’t know about you, but unless a movie is a deep cinematic journey on which I’m learning grand lessons about life and humanity, I can switch off for approximately two hours max, at which point, like a hypnotherapy subject, I’m magically back in the room, wondering what the cat would like for dinner.

I’m happy to indulge a crappy film premise but I simply can’t pay attention to a crappy plotline for 150 minutes – let alone 180. Some stories deserve more time. If it’s worthy and has some intellectual weight, I don’t have to force myself to sit it out. I’m in the moment. But it’s time to call time on the bloated blockbuster.

If the role of Hollywood is to tell the same story over and over – reward, rinse and repeat. That story doesn’t need to get any longer. I’ve seen all generations of Planet Of The Apes (including the 60s versions) and I know out how that baby drives.

I assume that film-makers are spending more time on exposition and character development because of their current competition: the long-form TV series. Try telling that to the poor bloke who downed a beer before the movie started and another while it’s playing out. That extra battle scene hurts him on the inside. What works in our living room – with its close access to the bathroom – does not translate to the multiplex and its long toilet queues.

And that guff about it being our short attention spans to blame? Going to a big, dumb movie should not have to be an exercise in mental agility or physical endurance. Last time I checked, neither of those were on my holiday bucket list – just a litre of Coke Zero, thank you very much. Even on holiday, there’s only so much time we can spend being big and dumb before we want to go home.