So, picture the scene: A desperate Hollywood film exec scans his child’s bedroom. He senses potential inspiration and plunges his arm, elbow deep, into the nearby toy-box and draws a Transformer. “Already done”, he murmurs dejectedly. He tries again, ignoring the various superhero figurines – he’s not stupid – only to retrieve a flaking fragment of the cardboard box containing Hasbro’s board game “Battleships”. “Hmmm, what if….”, he says, eyes widening. He turns, briefly eyeing the poster of Rihanna, and heads giddy downstairs to his living room. Embracing his hot wife, with big tits, he espies Independence Day and his Dad’s Army box-set on the DVD shelf. Suddenly, as so Saul on the road to Damascus, his spirit beholds a great enlightenment. Breathlessly, with great effort, he speaks; “Honey, tomorrow I’m gonna pitch ‘em a doozy!”//Picture, if you will, the scene the next day: The words bounce around the cavernous office; “A film based - on a board game - you say?” booms the huge studio boss, sucking his teeth and respiring after every few syllables. “Umm, yes. Yes, sir.” the exec says, head low and cap in hand. “How much - will it cost to - make this film - absolutely - adequate?” the crapulent behemoth slurs. “Please Sir, about two-hundred and nine million dollars, Sir.” “And people - will pay - to see this – you say?” There is an echoing pause. The exec slowly raises his head, puffs out his chest and says, proudly, “We think so, yes. Rihanna’s in it”.//And so a film is born. But you know what? It’s OK. It’s good, dumb fun; there’s a few decent chuckles and the effects are predictably amazing. However, this begs a question: When our filmmakers are furnished with a budget that would make a small country blush, don’t we deserve more than box-ticking, string-pulling eye-candy? Is that even the question? No, it’s not. B-2 or not B-2? That is the question.