Unless a movie is a sci-fi flick that takes place in outer space, a cartoon, or one of a small handful of other genres, it will always have a rain scene. Trust me. You can count on it. Why? Who knows? Perhaps it’s the law.

Movies with a larger budget also have a dog scene, though why the cost of production is determinative is a mystery to me. Unless the dog is named Lassie it can’t command a very high salary. The pooch may have a prominent part or just be an extra somewhere in the background, but look for him. He’ll be there.

Seldom, however, will you find a cat in a movie, unless it’s absolutely essential to the plot. That’s because dogs are natural-born actors (Lassie or the Taco Bell Chihuahua, for example.), while cats are just too darned independent to be a success in show business.

Lately, a considerable number of films have featured a mens room scene, with one or more actors standing in front of a urinal discussing something. There’s a reason for this schtick—so the audience will learn who the good guys are. The good guys always wash their hands afterwards; the bad guys don’t. Hand-washing is every bit as reliable an indication of the virtue of a character as the white hats–black hats code was in shoot-em-up westerns.

If there’s a master sergeant or chief of police in the film, these days he will be a person with dark skin. You can take that to the bank. And, if a villain is running from the hero, he’ll inevitably try to escape by going up to the roof of a building or climbing a tower—as if once he reaches open air, he can jump off and fly away safely.

People used to believe that all movies were made in Hollywood. In actuality, most movies were not. MGM Studios was located in Culver City, Warner Brothers in Burbank, and Universal Studios in Studio City, a San Fernando Valley suburb. Come to think of it, Hollywood doesn’t even exist as a legal entity. There is a Beverly Hills, a Glendale, and a Pasadena—but not a Hollywood. Hollywood is merely one rather nondescript neighborhood that’s part of the sprawling city of Los Angeles.

In the old days—say the 1950s or before—most movies were filmed in a sound stage on the studio grounds. Outdoor scenes may have been shot on the studio’s back lot or ranch. On rare occasion, motion pictures were made on location. That was not usually a viable option because of the expense of transporting equipment, and housing and feeding cast and crew.

These days, a majority of outdoor scenes (and many interiors, as well) are filmed hundreds or even thousands of miles from the studios. Utah and Arizona are great locations for westerns. For a while, many movies were made in the Seattle area. Now, an increasingly large number of films are shot in British Columbia or near Toronto. Apparently it’s less expensive to make movies in Canada. Perhaps the Canadians work for lower wages than Americans.

My wife JJ and I play a little game. We try to guess where a movie was filmed. It isn’t always possible to tell by where the action is assumed to take place. For example, the small town in a low-budget made-for-cable film titled Murder in a Small Town was supposedly in New England, but the film was shot in Toronto. Because Toronto looks like Connecticut? Naw, to save money, of course. Generally, the locations are listed in the closing credits. That’s me you see sitting in the theater after the movie is over and everyone else has headed for the doors, verifying the accuracy of my assumptions.

No, it’s not fair to proclaim that a movie was filmed in France if you can see the Eiffel Tower in the background or New York City when there’s a panorama shot of the Manhattan skyline or Las Vegas when you see a blaze of neon lights. That’s too easy.

It takes real skill to identify a location from the mountains in the background, housing styles, the types of trees and other foliage, even the cloud formations. But, it can be done with a high degree of accuracy, even if you’ve never been to an area but have seen it only in photographs.

I cannot watch the popular TV series CSI. Though supposedly filmed in Las Vegas, the outdoor scenes (except for quick flashes of the Las Vegas Strip) are obviously filmed in Southern California. The mountains in the background, the trees, and the housing styles all pinpoint Santa Clarita, where the series is shot. For me, that destroys the suspension of reality so thoroughly that I cannot enjoy the acting or the plot.

There’s a little trick to identifying a location. First, decide where a place isn’t. If everyone drives down the left side of the road, chances are that the movie wasn’t filmed in Kansas. If the streets are lined with Washingtonia palms, you know it isn’t Maine. And, if you see high mountains in the background covered with pine trees and six feet of snow in the foreground, you are safe in saying the movie wasn’t shot in Puerto Vallarta.

You’ve got to be quick with your declaration if you’re going to play the game fairly. You can’t wait and ponder, stalling in the hope that you’ll catch a street sign or closeup of a license plate. That’s cheating.

I’ve correctly picked Miami from a flash of an automobile drawbridge; Southern Utah from the color of the soil; and a historic place in California by recognizing Vasquez Rocks.

I’m proudest of the time when I was actually wrong—sort of close and still winning a cigar. It was the beginning of a TV mini-series, a show my wife had chosen to watch and about which I knew nothing. I caught a quick glance of a country road meandering through some trees.

“Spotsylvania County, Virginia,” I stated dogmatically. I had been there but once and recollected a road remarkably similar to the one on the screen.

As I said, it turned out that I was wrong. When the credits rolled at the end, I learned that the movie had been filmed in Caroline County—which adjoins Spotsylvania County. That’s close enough for folk music.