This is the first year I’ve been away from the New York Film Festival so the fact that it’s virtual is incredibly convenient. But between Toronto and New York, which overlapped on the calendar this year and also in terms of some of their respective lineups, it feels like that mythic adage has come true: it’s a terrible year for cinema. Maybe the worst! No one is going to come right out and say it, which is odd because usually everybody can’t say it enough. If you were to listen to pundits and critics, cinema has been a dying art form for years. Some say prestige television is the future. Others point to virtual reality and gaming. It feels like clockwork that every spring—annually the worst season for decent film releases— that Bret Easton Ellis, my favorite film critic, declares that movies are over. Maybe this year, one in which movies have materially been cancelled, nobody has the heart to complain because we just want things to go back to the way they were.