Now, to begin with, a bit of context.
As we made our way down the stairs to the screens on the Fulham Road, before was a man of middle-years, signet ring on little finger of left-hand, you know the type, and a pensioner couple of unstable footing, each with walking sticks, accompanied by their daughter who was guiding them step by step. The man of middle-years was chatting to the threesome. 'I know the writer, but the actors are unimportant'. 'Except Redford, of course', retorted the female pensioner.