So far, this has been the year of Every Bad Thing. International strife is intensified with each passing day. The world’s economies are teetering on the verge of collapse. No matter who U.S. voters elect as president, we all are completely screwed in one way or another. The list of horrible things that are occurring or await us is too ponderous to even attempt to enumerate, and that’s without even getting into the personal burdens that have been weighing on my mind, rendering me an insomniac. Yet the thing still troubling me most out of all this turmoil is the fact that it’s getting harder and harder to find a decent movie.

This is not hyperbole. Movies are supposed to be our escape from times of trouble and tribulation, and when things are at their worst, that is when the wretched movie-going masses are in their greatest moment of need. When our sorely needed two-hour escape is denied us by studio executives and filmmakers who insist on catering to the lowest common denominator, it makes everything else seem that much worse — like a final, unexpected slap in the face from a would-be savior.