Sigh, the 1990s. The Cold War officially ended with the fall of the Soviet Union on Christmas Day 1991, and it seemed as if a new era had dawned when really it was more of the same. I was a prickly teenager in North America in the nineties and didn’t care a whole lot about politics and wars and economics and society and shit, but I did visit the movies religiously and it was through those moving apertures in the dark that I was able to peak at what was happening in the outside world. The nineties were the stage for some of the elder statesmen of cinema like Robert Altman and Krzysztof Kieslowski and Stanley Kubrick to offer up their final world-encompassing visions that reflected a deep concern for justice, mercy, and faithfulness, while Gen-X brats like David Fincher and Richard Linklater and Spike Jonze and Wes Anderson ushered forth a new volatile era in filmmaking that fleshed out some of the weltschmerz we were feeling. The nineties were not dissimilar to the seventies in respect to the rising tide of individualism and counterculturalism and other types of slackerisms. We just didn’t give a fuck about the Man’s institutions. Some of us still don’t. But there isn’t as many of us as there used to be, that’s for sure. I still remember late one specific night in ’99 with my friends, wildly hopping fences with into other peoples backyards after watching Fight Club for the first time, thinking change was coming fast. That was probably the last naivety I remember before the much-ballyhoed Y2K disenchantment clobbered us all.