In music video, 1996 was the year of the toilet, with urinal-and-stained-mirror-themed videos by No Doubt, Tony Rich and Jewel.
In current events, 1996 was the year of gymnastics, with Kerri Strug and Bob Dole showing their tumbling prowess.
In pop music, 1996 was the year of Top 40, with Celine Dion and la Macarena ruling the airwaves.
In Chinese restaurants, 1996 was the year of the rat.
With more 100 movies released in 1996, perhaps "1996: The Year of the Vicarious Thrill" would best describe its Hollywood output. After all, 1996 did provide moviegoers with plenty of bang for their movie buck.
We rode shotgun in Helen Hunt's shoddy yellow pickup, marveling at how much the tornadoes, much like "Twister" itself, just totally sucked.
We felt patriotic as aliens blew up the White House, in "Independence Day." We watched the all-too-coincidentally heroic team of a president, a pilot, a nerd, a stripper and a dog saved our collective asses, leaving the country safe for vapid, big-budget action flicks.
In "Mission: Impossible," we did the impossible with Tom Cruise, attempting to find the definition of plot elements, while the camera just focused on the definition of his biceps.
Or maybe, "1996: The Year of Endless Surprises," is the most fitting title, given the great number of shocks, risks, and mismarketings Hollywood offered us this year.
Cries of dismay and doubt resonated throughout multiplexes all year long, making the incessant crop of films seem more exciting than they really were.
"'Striptease' is a comedy?"
"Courtney Love can act?"
"I can't believe Barbra's not like buttah!"
"'The English Patient' is HOW long?"
"You mean, Jim Carrey won't be talking out of his butt?"
"Boy, that Rene Russo sure can vomit!"
Then again, possibly "1996: The Year of the Woman" may be most apt, as evidenced by the bountiful harvest of great roles for women over the past 12 months. After last year's "Leaving Las Vegas," Oscar may be hard up to find hookers to nominate this year.
After seeing Frances McDormand in "Fargo," Goldie Hawn in "The First Wives Club," Diane Keaton in "Marvin's Room," Brenda Blethyn in "Secrets and Lies," Queen Latifah in "Set It Off," Gwyneth Paltrow in "Emma," Illeana Douglas in "Grace of My Heart," Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon in "Bound" and Madonna in "Evita," we may notice that all the kicking and screaming to Hollywood's sexist regime has paid off in more opportunities for great actresses - unless, of course, Sarah Jessica Parker takes all the opportunities.
Hey, how about "1996: The Year of Sarah Jessica Parker?"
Appearing solely in sub-par efforts like "If Lucy Fell," "Extreme Measures," "Mars Attacks!" and Broadway musicals, one would expect Parker to take roles in higher-profile films - say, "The People vs. Robert Downey Jr.," about one woman's loyalty to her junkie ex-boyfriend or "Bring in Da Nurse, Bring in Da Patient," an epic desert romance of destiny, disfigurement and tap-dancing!
Since Sarah Jessica was not the biggest name in celluloid in 1996, maybe "1996: The Year of Guys with Bizarre Names" works.
Ewan McGregor? Skeet Ulrich? Cuba Gooding, Jr.? Matthew McConauga-hey-I'm-the-newest-It-Boy-sex-god?
Where have all the Rocks, Carys, Clarks, and Humphreys gone? OK, so Hollywood has never been one for Bobs and Mikes.
I've got it: "1996: The Year of the Disposable Film." Savvy audiences swatted away cinematic garbage just as fast as Hollywood could spew it forth this year.
Do you remember "The Pallbearer?" What about "Faithful?" Or "Eddie?" Or "The Trigger Effect?" Or "The Frighteners?" Already shined off "The Evening Star?" Have we, ironically, already forgotten "Unforgettable?"
Perhaps the year can be characterized by neither its hits nor its misses. Maybe it's those embarrassing middle-ground films that hold the key - "1996: The Year of Brilliant Mediocrity."
All in the name of being mediocre, George Clooney wisely spurned vampires and Juliette Lewis; "Speed" went to Utah with John Travolta and Christian Slater; Spike Lee got on the bus, while very few others did; Geena Davis alternately slayed with big knives and bad acting; and Julia Roberts, sadly confused, was disturbed by an eel and aroused by John Malkovich in "Mary Reilly."
Also for the sake of the mediocre, Marky Mark Wahlberg pulled a Glenn Close by decapitating the family dog in "Fear"; Michelle Pfeiffer showed compassion for the elderly by getting close to Robert Redford in spite of his liver spots and dentures in "Up Close and Personal"; spending "2 Days In The Valley" showed why it's best to rent "Pulp Fiction," thus saving 45 1/2; and for the first time, Whitney sang in "The Preacher's Wife" and no one cared.
Contemplating the above title choices, maybe our friends at the Chinese restaurant had the right idea. Perhaps the year in film 1996 was, indeed, the year of the rat.
After all, rats are always moist and dirty (see "Trainspotting," "A Time To Kill" or "The Crucible"); rats are frightening to some (see "Scream," "Sleepers" or "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"); and rats are often amusing in that zany, disturbed kind of way (see "The Birdcage," "Flirting With Disaster," "Swingers" or "Welcome To The Dollhouse").
Yeah, "1996: The Year of the Rat." Thats sounds great.
As we recall the most superb of cinematic creatures - "Fargo," "The English Patient," "Emma," "The People vs. Larry Flynt" and "Lone Star" - we notice that "The Year of the Rat" illustrates that there was a little soiled, disturbing, hilarious rat in everyone and everything in 1996, even those that weren't mentioned above (cheap plug for "Girl 6," "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" and "Courage Under Fire").
1997 will be the year of the buffalo. Oh, the big, hairy cinematic possibilities.
Winona Ryder and Daniel Day Lewis in Arthur Miller's "Crucible."
Jim Carrey was weird in "The Cable Guy."