Quentin Tarantino’s 1994 "Pulp Fiction" gets a lot of grief for wellspringing, that is, for inspiring a container ship gross of (largely) inferior "edgy" genre pictures overstuffed with blood, guts, octane, and classic rock soundtracks. To spread around disapprobation where it’s due, I think the 1996 film version of Irvine Welch’s novel "Trainspotting," as good a film as that was, also brought into being a subgenre that got real tired real fast, a subgenre involving the gritty and repellent depiction of a world of sex and drugs, a depiction that also partakes of a certain giggly amorality (calling itself "anarchy," or something more high-minded), while playing that against an occasional po-faced assessment of the consequences of such a mode of life. Facile "pungent" irony and alternative rock soundtracks optional.