Under normal circumstances, the fall season is an exciting time of renewal for regular moviegoers, an occasion to shake off the late-summer blahs and survey the cinematic scene with renewed anticipation and excitement.
Ambitious, provocative new movies are suddenly back in theaters, some of them arriving fresh from their buzz-stirring premieres at prime film festivals in Venice, Telluride, Toronto and New York. The blockbuster imperatives that typically govern Hollywood are temporarily shunted aside so that the more rarefied priorities of art — often signaled by name directors, tony literary material and showy feats of A-list acting — can take their place. An entire industry apparatus rumbles to life as Oscar campaigns are minted, screenings and Q&As are scheduled, and critical acclaim — in the form of glowing reviews, though year-end awards and top-10-list placements will do — is solicited, seized upon and trumpeted to the skies.
Like most professional furnishers of said acclaim (plus the occasional well-earned raspberry), I’ve long been content to play my minuscule role in this routine, exciting, tedious, maddening process. That said, I began this piece with the words “under normal circumstances,” a condition that none of us has experienced in some time, and one that we hope for and nostalgize at our peril. The once-novel coronavirus that upended the movie industry almost three years ago is with us to stay, and its effects on our habits as movie watchers and moviegoers are not so easily shaken off.
And so it’s not that the fall season ahead doesn’t look promising; far from it. It’s more that my very real excitement feels tempered by a note of panic, which in turn feels tempered by a note of optimism — a one-two punch that has come to feel like a learned reflex.