Watching “Venom: The Last Dance” is like watching the superhero genre die for two hours. Right in front of you. Holding your hand. Clinging to its last shred of dignity. It doesn’t want to go. But finally, it realizes it’s time. The light goes out of its eyes. Even the closing credits stinger is sad and lonely.
This really has been a crappy year for superhero movies. The one big blockbuster, “Deadpool and Wolverine,” was an onanistic exercise in embarrassing self-promotion, having more in common with the old “That’s Entertainment” musical clip shows than a conventional feature. “Joker: Folie a Deux” was actively mad at its own audience for giving a crap about the Joker in the first place and it nailed its own coffin shut on the way out.