The year end reviews seem to be having a nerd-gasm over The Social Network, which I figured out finally—thanks to Edgar Wright’s roundup for a ‘gentleman’s magazine’—is all about “geeks as gangsters” and not the merits of a very uneven film with an often choppy script. I realise any film that allow genteel suburban white guys feel a surge of vicarious toughness will be a hit (hence the career of Guy Ritchie). Bond films are just romances for men and let’s not even go to the fantasy world that is Apatown.

Women usually get the statues for dying or hooking, so it seems significant that the most stunning—though seemingly little trumpeted—parts went to young women who were not bravely succumbing to a mortal disease or providing eye candy for a male audience who can revel in their eventual downfall because it’s all the women’s fault for arousing them. No, they were adolescent but no Lolitas. They were suffering, but not in silence. They were victims, but they were not victimized.