Never Missing An Opportunity To Miss An Opportunity

In Bob Iger's continuing quest to completely assassinate any vestige of Walt Disney's original vision for the company which bears his name, comes this latest abortion, delivered like a turd on a platter on the 70th anniversary of Disneyland.

As you can see at a glance the animatronic that was supposed to blow people away was instead blown out of someone's ass. Frankly, we look more like Walt than this monstrosity.

It certainly looks like someone, in all fairness.

The leading online opinion at the moment is Mike Lindell, selling My Pillow.

Personally, we think it to be closest to the illegitimate love child of Tom Hanks, looking nothing like Walt either in Saving Mr. Banks,

and Martin Short after being stung by a bee in Pure Luck:

In any event, we're almost certain Disney Inc. hired Stevie Wonder to sculpt this head, and other than looking absolutely nothing like the man it's intended to portray, it's just great, as any sewage-swilling Disneycorp butt-smootcher's blog or vlog will confirm for you.

A test of their honesty in reviewing this disasterpiece, i.e. their willingness to tell you the Emperor's Invisible Clothes look terrific instead of bemoan his nakedness is the acid test of their reliability, or a confirmation of their utter toadie status.

Disney Inc. only had 59 years to get something like this right, and getting it this wrong is inexplicable, given the plethora of pictures of the actual man in the corporation going back to 100 years ago, other than assuming this bastardization was entirely deliberate, as everything the current company stands for literally hates everything Walt Disney stood for, to the point of foisting this horrible caricature of him on the public, even despite the strenuous objections of his immediate surviving family.

I can only say, having seen the monster, that the family knows when they're being shat upon by the current regime, and nothing else explains why, when they only had one job here, they screwed the pooch so hard, it will never walk straight again, and probably needs to be put down out of mercy.

The kindest honest thing I've read about this...thing...is an earnest thanks they didn't make him a black female lesbian. Celebrate Crappy.

No matter how much you hate the company that Disney Inc. has become, you simply don't hate them enough.

Quite The Poser There...

This is almost as big a mystery as why commercial music
folded when it went to all-rap, all the time

It Couldn't Have Happened To A Nicer Bunch Of Woketards

Coroner's inquest rules that the injuries were self-inflicted.

Meh. It's Only $160M In The Hole, Forever.

The good news? The dynamo they hooked up to
Walt's grave will power the studio for the next 100 years.

Land Of Bad

Somehow, Hollyweird burped this one out just this past February, and it's already out on BD/DVD, after about 15 minutes in theaters, and no PR campaign. Which is how we found it amongst the straight-to-video junk at one of the local big box establishments.

"Somehow" isn't hard to figure out here, not because it sucks (just the opposite, in fact, which with movies these days is rare enough to be noteworthy) but because it features exactly no blue-haired lesbians, no PC woketarded crapola, no white guilt or globull warmist climastrology, no brave and strong women endowed automagically with awesome powers of mightiness by way of a vagina, and only one female anywhere within 5 spots of top billing (and BTW, she quietly kicks ass, as you'll see when her moment arrives). IOW, it shits on every Hollyweird predilection for everything bassackwards to real life, screwball, and stupidly bent that's kept audiences away from movie theaters for the last 5 years or more, with a very few exceptions.

Semi-spoiler Alert: JSOC mini-team is sent into the Philippine jungle to rescue a three-letter agency asset held hostage. The lead is Liam Hemsworth as the fish-out-of-water JTAC newbie plopped amidst the Tier One operators. His contact at the other end of the satellite uplink is Russell Crowe, as the oldest and most portly captain in the US Air Farce's drone pilot corps. Imagine Maximus, after partying with John Candy and Chris Farley at a Vegas buffet for a decade, then add 50 pounds, and you're on the right track.

Nonetheless, the flick marches, hey-diddle-diddle, straight up the middle, and things on the mission go to total sh*t, as they often do IRL. See the flick.

You want an epic like Gladiator or Master And Commander? Fuggedaboudit. You want comic book schlock like Commando , Battleship, or any of The Expendables? Not happening either.

You want a tight yarn about good guys being badasses, like Tears Of The Sun or Act Of Valor? Stock up on popcorn and beverages, and get comfortable.

Hollywood orphaned this movie, because it's everything they dislike, rolled into one flick.

Do yourself a favor: Give Hollyweird and their twisted sensibilities the middle finger, and buy, rent, or stream this flick.

You won't be disappointed.

Our rating: ★★★★ Danger close. Cleared in hot.

Legit LOL'ed

Apparently, someone missed the memo that Nielsen ratings are somewhat less reliable than presidential election results from Philadelphia and Atlanta after 4 AM, and slightly more fictional than a book by J.K Rowling.

Always have been, always will be. Statistically, they're the closest thing to institutionally sancrosanct horsesh*t designed expressly to prop up the status quo there is, other than mainstream news broadcasts themselves, which is how life got so woketarded to begin with, compared to even 10 or 20 years ago.

If the media megalith admitted to the world that nobody was watching their twaddle, their revenue would fall like Black Friday stocks, and multi-billion dollar worldwide media empire bubbles would explode overnight like zits on an adolescent.

Ain't. Gonna. Happen.

"Sportsball is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful broadcast I've ever seen in my life." 

One hand washes the other, and t'was ever thus: Nielsen tells the network the Emperor's clothes are chic, sick, trés cool, and mega-bitchin'. Production companies charge retarded prices for more swill. Writers and actors think their poo doesn't smell, and God has graciously rained them onto humanity. Networks tell advertisers that their swill is worth gajillions per advertising minute. Private companies (the sucker at this poker game) fork over. Corporate boards and stockholders are told "We're buying the best airtime on the biggest shows!" No one rocks the boat, because Nielsen is the only metric anyone has. And no one wants to be the kid telling the Emperor he's naked, because then the whole house of cards tumbles down overnight, to the tune of 11 or 12 figures on the ledger.

No one wants to risk that.

Everybody inside The Biz knows it's all smoke, mirrors, and bullshit. I remember one aged old propmaster whose game was to ask everyone working on a show what TV programs they watched regularly. He could never find anyone in 20 years of trying who could ever name more than two. And his on-set polls included the producers, directors, and actors. If he took away 60 Minutes and Monday Night Football as choices, he said no one could ever name more than one show they watched. And that's the working stiffs on the set, with a keener than average interest in the product. Imagine the shiny suits in the corporate suites, and you get into negative numbers: they not only don't watch anything, they cancel things they think no one else is watching.

But they're not going to kill the Golden Goose that buys their mansions, pools, and perks. So they stick with the GIGO model that's been enshrined for decades.

So you think ratings = Reality? Hey, whatever floats your boat.

The Sportsbowl this week was the second highest-rated program since the first manned moon landing. 

Suuuuuuuuuuure it was.

And 13% of the population comprises 100% of all hetero couples.

And Biden got 81M votes. COVID vaccines are safe and effective. Food is bad for you, and bugs are good for you. The earth is overheating because of cow farts. But we can stop it if we just raise your taxes and herd you into 15-minute cities. The boxcars are taking you to the showers.

Gell-Mann Amnesia in full effect there.

FFS, mine an ancient, dust-covered copy of The Barefoot Executive from 1971, back when The Biz didn't take itself so seriously, and watch it until you realize it's more documentary than comedy.

Bubba Chump

h/t Irish

WGAF?

When I still worked in the biz, I lost an entire series' employment to the last writer's strike. Six month's slam-dunk income. And 95% of SAG-AFTRA aren't actors, and haven't been for years, they're washing cars and waiting tables, and never even work enough to make their medical benefit requirement in any year. Yet are still allowed to vote on whether all 160K members will strike. (And most actors good enough to become "producers", thus the ones having exactly the most to lose by going on strike, aren't allowed to vote on that. Spasibo, comrades.) But those unemployed assholes are also fucking with the livelihoods of 200,000-400,000 working class people behind the camera with few other options (not a lot of work for grips, for example, outside the biz, except at moving companies, but without them on set, the movie doesn't happen), because the precious above-the-line primadonnas "don't make enough" when they do work. How oppressive. And they're doing it just as TV shows go back into production, and this summer's movies would be getting made, for release next summer. So they're screwing the entire town, and the entire industry, at the height of the working year for Hollywood. Fuck them all sideways, with a rusty chainsaw. Brighter lights might have noticed that the 299M people in this country outside their bubble don't give a wet fart for them, and they'd take a good deal, and continue working. But that would be easy.

First they're going to spend all this season home choking their chickens, and then they're going to wake up one day and realize they strangled the goose that lays the golden eggs.

Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of high-functioning autistic retards.

Tranny Surprise

h/t Irish of Feral Irishman

With Nike's announcement today that, despite the backlash against Butt Light's choice of a transdelusional fruitcake to front for their product, they too would go with the same...thing, [in this case for their women's wear line(!)] they have effectively just buttf**ked Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Michael Jordan, Amazon Pictures, Warner Bros. Studios, and half the population of the planet. Without lube. And probably sabotaged both a multi-million dollar picture, and any merchandising tie-ins.

Damon and Affleck were doubtless just trying to document the hagiography of a sports legend and cultural icon. But instead, they got run over by the Woke Train. Hollyweird will double down, but the box office isn't as transfixed by transdelusionality.

Oh, well. Lie down with queers, wake up with monkeypox, I guess. It's gonna leave a mark.

Going with a white delusional cosplay queer as the spokeshole (no pun intended) for a product aimed primarily at young black males? What could possibly go wrong there? And I'm sure no actual biological women will find it offensive that Nike hired a cosplaying mentally ill MAN to shill their women's wear, amirite?

Silver Linings

 

The Bitch-Slap Heard Round the World

 

1. I like Will Smith. I like Chris Rock. Neither of them came off this looking their best.

2. Rock has cracked on Will Smith many times. Smith has never smacked him around before. So let's look at what changed.

3. Jada Pinkett Smith was at the Oscars, because she's a bona-fide actress, and married to Will Smith, nominated for Best Actor this year, for 25 years.

4. Rock is divorced.

5. There is a comedy line. And I'm not talking the PC cancel-culture nonsense. There are simply things you don't do. Rock knows this now, just like how a man who picks a cat up by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way, as Mark Twain famously observed.

6. If Rock had poked fun at Smith for having big ears, or doing Wild, Wild West, or noted Jada Smith is more likely to get a Golden Raspberry Award than an Oscar, that would have been in-bounds. And, to be fair, Smith even laughed at the joke about Jada and G.I Jane 2. Right up until his wife let him know the joke at her expense wasn't funny. Her face looked like stone.

7. At that point, Smith sent Rock a message: you don't get to kick retarded kids, and you don't get to crap on a man's wife because of her physical appearance due to her medical condition (alopecia). 

8. People will try to throw out "Rickels" or "Dangerfield", by way of excuse: No sale. Both teased friends and strangers in good fun, and said so publicly every time they did it, and you knew there was no malice in their rips. Anyone who can't tell that after watching them perform for 2 minutes isn't paying attention. 

9. Until last night, Rock didn't know the difference. Now he does.

10. He also knows why it's called a "punchline", and that the Supreme Court wasn't kidding when they recognized that some speech qualifies as provocative "fighting words". "Sticks and stones" isn't a valid argument. Don't believe me; go to any bar, and call someone's companion an "ugly bitch". Be sure you have full dental coverage beforehand. Tell the class how it works out for you. Once your jaw wires are removed.

11. Rock doesn't have cinematic immunity for being a rude jackass just because he's on international TV. But with his one good ear, he'll probably pay a bit more attention to his own inner filter.

12. Standing there afterwards didn't show class; it showed he didn't have the grace to say "I went too far; I apologize". That would have been the Bigger Man gesture. But he doesn't have that in him. And maybe getting someone with more class and grace than recent edgy smartasses to emcee what is supposed to be the biggest event in Hollywood would be a better idea. The Academy hasn't found anyone who was more funny than irritating, and more humorous than raunchy, since Billy Crystal hung up his tux a few years back.

13. Will Smith doesn't have an anger problem, he has a sense of proportion. (Timing, not so much. If he'd instead socked Rock with a closed fist behind closed doors, he'd have saved his wife's honor and his own reputation, and perhaps more effectively with less backlash.) But sometimes, you have to throw an elbow - once - in a televised game, to get some respect. There is something salutary, in a civilizational way, in seeing a husband literally stand up and take a poke at someone who has transgressed the bounds of propriety. If anything, Smith was too gentle with Rock, but in any event, I suspect his point landed home simultaneous with the slap.

14. The big winners were the producers of the show, because it took a probable new record audience low and turned it into an event that'll be talked about for years to come. Rock looks like a graceless jackass, and Smith will have to deal with people thinking he's a hot-head, after 53 years of being no such thing. If the Academy is smart, Rock and Smith will be paired as co-presenters next year, and Rock should wear a sparring helmet. 

15. Smith's recognized acting talent means he's far from over, and Rock's comedy will always find an audience. But unless this hatchet gets buried, they probably shouldn't share the stage in the future. And the notes to future emcees should probably include the delightfully old-fashioned concept that cracking jokes about the spouse of one of the premier headliner honorees is neither funny, wise, nor in-bounds.

16. The only thing Rock did right was not to file a police report. No victim: no crime. That saved him more than Smith, because the LAPD wouldn't make any arrest, and the D.A., in fact no D.A., would ever file charges even if they did. Because they know half or more of any jury would hear about Jada's Smith's medical diagnosis, and in that light, refuse to convict Will Smith of anything short of "he should have closed his fist before he smacked him". Nine chances out of ten, the judge dismisses the case out of hand before trial, because of the precedent in Chaplinsky v New Hampshire, if it ever even got that far.

17. Don't start nothing, won't be nothing.

Rock is lucky Will was channeling Chapelle, and not Fishburne.

UPDATE: Divemedic, who took issue with our analysis of the Alec Baldwin incident, comes to the same conclusions we did here, and for the same reason: there are some jackassical things you might do that merit someone taking a poke at you.

Never Let A Crisis Go To Waste II

 

I Suggest This, Without Remorse

 h/t Old NFO

What's that, you say? Hollyweird stepped on their wedding tackle with their woketard adaptation of a Clancy novel?? That's never happened before. Stop the presses!

I mean, other than anything of Clancy's with Harrison Ford or Ben Affleck in it.

Clancy said they'd only get another novel of his over his dead body, after seeing what they did with those. So now, apparently, that's exactly what's happened.

As I noted at NFO's site:

Clancy had fun pissing himself over what The Biz did to his novels when he was alive, until the day he died. 24/7/365. It was his second career, after writing.

He finally realized that a writer's job, once he sells the rights, is to spend the check, and STFU.

That dawning realization is when he stopped selling them rights to anything further. His estate is clearly only interested in the money. (Like anyone reading the phoned-in novellas concocted since his death with Clancy's name pasted on couldn't figure that out in a New York minute.) QED

Of course Hollyweird fornicated Without Remorse; Clancy refused to sell them any more novel rights after he saw what they did with everything after Hunt For Red October book of his they got sort of right).

Hollywood screws the pooch with published works because they can.

Anyone unaware of this should write it on their hand in laundry pen as a memory aid. Particularly published authors.

OTOH, not being a Lee Child book fan myself, Cruise's movies of same have been raging successes, no matter how diehard Child fans feel about that (and I get that). When you can find someone with Cruie's box office who happens to be 6'8" instead of 5'5", and built like a meat packer who juggles cows for fun, or an NFL middle linebacker, talent agents in Hollywood are awaiting your call.

The fact that Matt Damon looks like a spastic kid having a seizure during an acid trip when he fights hand-to-hand has done nothing to diminish the ongoing success of the Jason Bourne franchise, and for similar reasons. He brings box office, and he gets story. He didn't win his screenwriting Oscar on a fluke. So his shortcomings in MMA can be largely forgiven, and hidden with recourse to scene editing by a kid with ADHD, downing energy drinks by the six-pack, and out of ritalin for a month.

At root, the business part of "show business" is to put butts in seats. if they could cast Warwick Davis or Danny DeVito as Jack Reacher, and pull $300M in box office, and tell a good story, I'd still buy the ticket.

Where they throw the "business" out the window is when they not only screw the pooch on story, but deliver a badly-adapted one, and then compound the error by carpet-bombing it in "wokeness" as if it was liquid fertilizer sprayed from cropdusters.

When they avoid this error, the "business" model works.

When they don't, they lay turds the size of the Rocky Mountains.

Ask Disney about putting kathleen Kennedy in charge of memory-raping the entire Star Wars franchise (she'd need the entire SAS as bodyguards if she ever showed up in person at any Fan Con, and will until she dies); bring up Jar Jar Abrams' work with pounding the Star Trek tentpole all the way into the ground; mention Sam Mendes' dismantling of 007, driving that series right over the cliff without a parachute.

That sort of stupidity is what's burning Hollyweird to the ground, and it couldn't happen to a more deserving bunch of woketards.

If you're going to do this right, either show the same circumspection J.R.R.Tolkien's family did with Lord Of the Rings and The Hobbit; or else do what Stan lee did: insist on final production approval of anything made, with an iron-clad guaranteed kill switch in your contract.

Or else, take the check, cash it, and STFU.

And given Hollyweird's compulsory penchant, I would watch Without Remorse even if they strapped to a metal chair, and cut off my eyelids.

The way to beat them at their own game though, is to make a faithful adaptation of it, sith stellar production values, and without permission, then let the internet bootleg it, a la China for the last 40 years, and then sit back, and watch Hollywood play whack-a-mole when your version goes viral, and pops up 200 times a day everywhere, forever.

It could be done in a month or two, for under $100K, all in.

And the producers of the horrible "official" version would be eating a 10-foot party sub sh*t sandwich for decades.

These are bigger bombs that what we dropped on Japan in 1945.
It's the only cardinal sin in Hollywood.

That alone makes doing the bootleg version a moral imperative.

It's the only way they'll ever learn.