But honestly, I think I may have learned something. Our entire culture is going to hell in a handbasket, to use a morbidly overused phrase. The movie theater experience is essentially on its last knee. Consumers are rightfully waving off theater chains such as Loews and AMC and waiting for DVD to catch flicks.

There used to be a difference between TV and the movies. Movies were at one point a classier exercise in time-wasting, but now they seem to have sunk to the lows of their programming counter point. I mean, the entire point of television is to sell products. Without commercials, TV would be completely without point, fiscally speaking. Every program on TV has product placement, and then commercial breaks after the show. It’s inescapable, even in the sanctuary of indie theatres, including local hotspots like The Neptune and The Harvard Exit, who now sell themselves out for beer commercials before the show. So if, this summer, you had the patience to stick it out through ten minutes of advertising, then ten minutes of lackluster previews, you may have actually seen a (probably torpid, borderline pointless) movie.

Case in point: this summer’s Fantastic 4. Based upon one of the most endearingly popular comic books of all time, the film adaptation was doomed from the start when they hired a bunch of talentless nobodies and the director of Barbershop and Taxi. I saw this film with my chick magnet friend and editor Kyle Hargus, and to shoot straight, it was one of the most appallingly bad films I have seen in some time. And yet, I’ve found that it’s been one of the most difficult films to ridicule.

There are so many terrific jumps in logic, so many awful performances that it’s impossible not to dissect every little piece of the film. First off the casting: atrocious. Jessica Alba is perhaps the least believable scientist of all time, sputtering off smart sounding mumbo jumbo but completely oblivious to everything that’s really happening throughout the film. The film’s villain Victor Von Doom, played by some Morrissey look-alike, is from some eastern European nation, but for some reason has an American accent for most of the film, although he occasionally lapses into an English accent, which elicited roars of laughter from theater patrons.

Something untraceable hit the theaters this summer, something small and seemingly irrelevant. Somehow, small problems are eating movie culture from the inside out, and with expansions in advertisements and the demise of quality blockbusters, the landscape of the American cinema has become a ticking time bomb.

The story revolves around a white trash little red riding hood (Reese Witherspoon) whose parents are arrested for drug possession, forcing her to go on the lam from child services. On her trek, she meets the big bad wolf, (Keifer Sutherland) a school guidance counselor named Bob Wolverton with a fondness for necrophilia. While the set up must sound twisted, actually sitting down and watching this thing will hook you for sure. Witherspoon’s riding hood is no sweet little girl. She cusses and murders her way across the country, putting the big bad wolf in a world of hurt as she pumps him full of lead. Sutherland, on the other hand conjures up a sick and twisted big bad wolf, a serial killer without remorse, on a mission to kill those whom he finds undesirable.

After being busted for the attempted murder of Wolverton, Witherspoon is sent off to juvie, where she makes out with a pre-fame Brittany Murphy and makes a shank out of her toothbrush. The story goes on, but if you aren’t sold on the concept by now, then the rest of the tale is somewhat irrelevant.

The bottom line is that this is a solid and fun little film. Watching Witherspoon attempt prostitution while screaming “Sexo!” to passing cars is equally appalling and hilarious. Seeing Witherspoon outside of the Legally Blonde franchise is quite refreshing, and matched with her astounding work in Election, shows that she actually can act. Any video store worth its weight in silver should have a copy of Freeway sitting happily in their cult section, so do yourself a favor and drop on by.

America’s favorite nut bar Tom Cruise snatched his biggest box office hit ever with the mediocre War of the Worlds, while American hero Johnny Depp fared well in the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory remake. Making a very welcome comeback was the R-rated comedy, with the twin wonders Wedding Crashers and The Forty Year Old Virgin. Owen Wilson’s Texas drawl combined with Vince Vaughn’s feverish delivery combined to make the former one the biggest comedic orgasms in years. The same can be said for Virgin, which managed to be both raunchy and heartfelt at the same time. Steve Carrel’s role as the titular virgin whose friends try to help him get over the hump is terrific because he doesn’t make him some sort of bizarre guy, but a sweet and real man, who simply missed out on sex. Combined with the still-sexy Catherine Keener as his love interest, and a trio of awesome actors as his buddies (Paul Rudd, Romany Falco, and Seth Rogen), Virgin is an instant comedy classic.

The independent film scene flourished this summer, with a crop of touching films. Most recently Jim Jarmusch’s Bill Murray vehicle Broken Flowers showed Murray’s infinite talent in playing up subtleties. His cross-country trip to find his possible baby’s momma is at turns funny, melancholy, and moving. Precious few actors can make you feel moved by doing damn near nothing on screen. With each performance, Murray just seems to confirm his place among the best actors in the business. Although not subtle, Terrence Howard’s star maker role in Hustle and Flow showed electricity that was reminiscent of Brando and already had people throwing around Oscar buzz when the picture debuted at Sundance. You know a guy has some serious talent if he manages to make a pimp trying to break into the rap game a likable protagonist. Gus Van Sant’s loose take on Kurt Cobain’s demise, Last Days was a moving and original mixture of long wandering scenes and natural performances from the young ensemble cast, while Me and You and Everyone we Know, the debut feature from performance artist Miranda July, was a delightfully surreal and awkward love tale, unlike anything else to grace the silver screen this season.

If you made it to the box office this summer, you know what I’m talking about. Although by no means a complete success, corporate America has proved once again that there is still hope for Hollywood.