Whether it's a thirty-something slaving over their grad school film criticism or slouchy couch potatoes who enjoy Criterion Collection's extra features more than the films themselves, there's a considerable number of us "cineastes" (that's what pretentious people who love movies call themselves) who love the movies no one else can love. When you ask what kind of movies we love, we don't reply with action or anything Jennifer Aniston. We'll answer, with confidence, Italian Neo-Realism, D.W. Griffith's silents, the Iranian New Wave, or Third Cinema. I'm starting to bore myself. Whether or not you're a populist; whether or not Steven Seagal's tiny eyes represent the epitome of badassness; whether or not you wish the Hugh Grant rom-coms of yore would resurface with new-found relevance, you're allowed to love the movies you love. And you probably love them even more for having seen the following films, dubbed classics, that you otherwise thought to be the celluloid version of a general anaesthetic...