My secret love is a film that tilts a fresh slant at one of the classic film plots — boy meets hooker, boy loves hooker, she loves him right back and then they go shopping.

Pretty Woman made Julia Roberts and her smile famous. Now she is recognised as an actress of real range; anyone who saw her in Erin Brockovich can vouch for that. Her secret is the enthusiasm for the roles she plays; she has the kind of film aura rarely seen since Liz Taylor’s day. But Roberts is also one of the few stars you can imagine actually liking in real life.

Although I saw it the first time with my husband, this is a film to be watched with girlfriends, a glass of wine, chocolate and a hankie. I have always loved films with that ineffable weepie quality — glamour, will they/won’t they, tragedy and finally triumph. Think Officer and a Gentleman.

Pretty Woman fulfils every cliché of the weepie, but in fairness it does more than that. It tells an eternal truth: that love can conquer all, and true love really can redeem you. The whole point of the movie is that it is not Roberts who is “saved” from her life of easy virtue. Rather, it is she who saves Richard Gere from his lonely, money-obsessed sterile existence.

Choosing a favourite scene is hard, but I have to give special mention to the shopping scene in Rodeo Drive. Julia is sent to buy a cocktail dress for a key business dinner. She goes to a shop in Rodeo Drive, but no one will serve her, because she’s dressed like a, well, hooker. She tells Gere who then goes with her to another shop, slaps his platinum Amex on the table and Julia has an afternoon of frock heaven. When she is transformed into her soignée self, she makes a brief detour into the shop that treated her the worst and buttonholes the rude assistant: “You don’t remember me, but I was in here yesterday and you wouldn’t serve me. You work on commission, right? (Holding up a squillion shopping bags) Big mistake — HUGE.”

I had chanced to relive that scene (without the shopping) a few years ago during a visit to Los Angeles. I couldn’t resist a walk along Rodeo Drive, and a quick peek into the Beverly Hills Wilshire. To the bemusement of passers-by, I sang Roy Orbison’s title song all the way. I just couldn’t help myself.

Pretty Woman never disappoints. Technically, it may not be the best movie ever made. But it makes me laugh and cry, and as the credits roll I feel like I’ve been through the classic weepie experience and am ready to face real life again. What more could you want from a movie?