Slavin' in the Celluloid Mines

The 2008 movie year has been the let-down of all let-downs.

Sure, the summer movie season was probably the best of all time. I'd stack Iron Man, Wall-E and The Dark Knight against any three films from any summer release slate since Steven Spielberg first dropped the hot, sticky load of blockbuster into George Lucas' gaping maw. But the offerings since September have been fucking grim. Except for Rachel Getting Married, everything has reeked of mediocrity. And Rachel Getting Married loses points for reminding me of the superior Margot at the Wedding from last year, and for the entire, face-shatteringly great movie year that was 2007. Even the movies I haven't gotten around the seeing feel like they're going to be brutal slogs. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, David Fincher or not, looks like Big Fish II: The Suckening. Revolutionary Road gives off a distinct vibe of Little Children remade on the set of Mad Men. The only movie that I'm even midly excited about seeing is The Wrestler, and even that makes me nervous, what with the stunt casting and indie-approved miseribalism. Of course, I should hold off judgement on these things until I see them, but it doesn't help that two of the most heralded recent releases, Milk and Slumdog Millionaire, were exactly as middlebrow and tepid as I was fearing beforehand. The most fun I've had in a theater since Dark Knight was Frost/Nixon, and that's just because my favorite thing in the world is watching Richard Nixon (or someone playing him) bellow about the damn hippies. Here's hoping that at least one of these flicks bucks my dim expectations. If not, I'll just have to sit around waiting for Watchmen to come out.