You take your seat in the theatre, the lights go down down, the curtains open; the lights focusing on a single chair in the middle of the stage.

From the wings, out walks Steven Spielberg, who proceeds to remove his belt, lower his pants, take a squirt from the moisturiser bottle and takes a seat.

He proceeds to spend the next 2.5 hours vigorously choking the chicken, whilst staring directly into your eyes before climaxing without comment and running around the stage for a victory lap to a standing ovation.

This is 'The Fablemans'.

This movie left me questioning when Spielberg last truly lived up to his reputation and adoration.