When tasked with reviewing the new Cars, I groaned internally. Not, as you might imagine, because I feared looking extremely dodgy sitting on my own in a cinema full of kids with a notebook, writes Kilian Doyle
Rather, because I assumed it was solely about Nascar racing, the most boring sport ever, bar none. Formula One? Crown green bowling? Tortoise racing? None are even close to being as arse-numbingly boring as Nascar.
Honestly, where is the appeal in spending a day sitting on bleachers surrounded by 200,000 rabid American rednecks in trucker hats and Lynyrd Skynryd T-shirts watching 20 cars drive around in circles for 400 miles? I'd rather boil my underpants in sulphuric acid. While I'm wearing them.
To tell the truth, so turned off by the whole Nascar element was I that I wanted to report that Cars is vile propaganda for this heinous sport. But try as I might, I can't bring myself to do it.
Yes, the plot is sappy beyond belief. To summarise, rookie Nascar racer Lightning McQueen is on his way to California for a championship tie-breaker. He is sponsored by the small-fry hicks of Rust Eze, a company that makes a "rear-end" ointment (cue the first of many sniggers from the adults in the cinema) but fancies himself as new King of Nascar.
In his stubborn-minded efforts to climb the steps of stardom, he gets in all manner of bother, ending up under arrest in a one-horsepower town in the middle of the desert. Cue arrogant big city guy finding the meaning of life and inner peace in Nowheresville. It's a transformation unseen since the last movie with the same plot, Doc Hollywood.
Lightning even falls in love with a foxy little attorney in the form of a Porsche with a slut-map tattoo hidden under her rear spoiler. You can guess the rest.
The cars themselves are very unsettling. Their cutesy bulges and funny voices fail to hide the fact that they are staring at you with glazed, emotionless eyes. It starts to get creepy after only a few short minutes. Mrs Emissions, whom I took with me as cover, said they looked like fish. Albeit cute fish.
Cars is littered with teeth-curlingly dreadful car-related puns, most of which fly over the heads of children and under the tolerance of adults. Some of it is very funny, but, perhaps predictably, not the bit where Michael "Laughing Boy" Schumacher makes a cameo as a Ferrari and tries to crack a joke. I had to hide behind my hands. There were times I confess I drifted off and spent my time marvelling at the intricacies of the outrageously beautiful computer-generated animation rather then following the plot, such as it was.
And yes, it was all horribly implausible. For some reason, the world of Cars is devoid of humans. Why, we are not told. I'd like to know the secret. It would aid me greatly in my quest to become Emperor of the Universe.
I found myself wondering why, if there are no humans, do the cars act and talk exactly as humans? Why aren't they off doing what a car in this world of reality does when there are no humans about, like sitting around rusting? And who made them and everything in their world? I'd like to see a car build an internal combustion engine with no opposable thumbs. So there.
So laden is the film with the message of Christian family values I genuinely expected a "Jesus Loves You. (PS Islamists Hate You.)" announcement to spring up at the end.
So you see how tempting it was to trash it.
Instead, I found it hugely endearing. The childlike ability to suspend reason and logic that was beaten out of me by the pressures of adulthood gradually returned, shoving my bitterness and cynicism aside and allowing me to simply enjoy myself. I forgot I was a grown-up for two hours. And that, you'll agree, is worth the price of admission.