“ 1990. The cusp of a new decade, the end of a weary millennium, nowhere to go but oblivion. Cinema as we knew it (serial sentimentalists fixated on pre-‘68 golden oldies) was over; winded, broken veined, posthumous. Who knows what the 1990s were? If you can remember them, you’re trapped forever in that grey fog. (Like Stephen King rewriting Stephen King to the point of extinction.) A period of unconvinced revenants, erasure, retro-style. Time out between wars, between the Thatcherite combo (hardhat with pinstripe) and New Labour’s smart-casual leisurewear, uniform hair and mean spectacles. The 1990s, in retrospect, are the vanishing dot (of information, entertainment, human contact) on an antique TV set. At close down.
