Its easy to get angry when reading articles by Nigel Andrews, the all but movie-hating cinema critic of the FT (that FT, not this FT), but he’s really mined a hollow seam this week. Given a two-page spread in the magazine to discuss sequel mania, he retreats to his annual rant about the juvenilia of movieland, and by inference the decline of cinema, and as good as points to the young as the guilty party.

I am no longer young, but on their behalf I am infuriated. Teenagers work hard to keep the movies they like in the cinema. They plan their summer weekends around the releases of the summer blockbusters, carefully noting and discussing trailers months in advance, gathering gangs of their like-minded and like-clothed friends to travel in convoys to the out-of-town multiscreen. If they’re moved by a film, they don’t mull over their ideas at dinner parties and in colour supplements, they get on their skateboards and go and see it again, sometimes dragging a whole new audience with them.

And they don’t give up their support when its cinema run has finished either. These splendid young folk pay attention to the advertising on the sides of busses – ignored by so many so called buffs – renting and buying the DVDs the moment they’re allowed. Not for them a handful of classic titles, half of which are by Robert Altman: they nurture vast libraries of special editions and additional features, lapping up the music videos and hanging on the every word of the never-before-seen interviews with the stars. So the studios, quite rightly, return the compliment.

Grown-ups can’t have it both ways. Going to the movies takes dedication and commitment – if you’re not putting the effort in, you can hardly blame cinema for ignoring you. Teenagers should be a role model for you all.

Oh, and while I’ve got you here, their enduring sense of alienation and social ineptitude are your fault too. Thank you very much.