There are millions of MAGA morons out there who actually think Donald Trump would somehow make this country a better place if re-elected. But there are many more millions on their side of the argument who understand who and what Trump is — a salivating dog, a sociopath, a criminal scumbag, an anti-democratic authoritarian — and plan to vote for him anyway.

Why? Because they absolutely hate progressive lefties, and are convinced Trump will make their lives miserable and may even undo some of their drastic social measures. Trump may destroy American democracy while doing so, but they don’t seem to care. They just want to stick it their cultural enemies, and for the cynical Trumpies nothing else matters.

MAGA spite voters despise wokesters for pushing an anti-white cultural narrative (i.e., all whites are evil, all people of color are beautiful), and for the atmosphere of political intolerance on college campuses today, and the pro-Palestian protests and the toppling of statues of Thomas Jefferson and removing of Abraham Lincoln‘s name from schools, an educational system that values DEI over merit and is stacked against smart kids who get excellent grades, a general adherence to fluid multi-gender wokethink, the teaching of gay and trans propaganda to soft-clay minds in elementary school classrooms, not to mention drag queens…pregnant men, sex change surgeries, trans men in women’s bathrooms, upscale department store shoplifting by hoodie gangs, six-foot-four trans dudes competing in swim meets against bio-females…all of that insane shit that has turned portions of this country into a left lunatic asylum over the past six years.

Obviously voting to spite the other side is a nihilist thing…unwise, adolescent, stupid, submental. I’ve never voted to spite the other side, and I never will.

Luca Guadagnino’s Queer, an adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ early ‘50s novel that will star Daniel Craig as a “top” roaming around Mexico, will debut at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival.

I’ve been given a copy of the script but have only read two pages so far — a scene in which Craig’s “Lee” character is fucking a young Mexican lad.

This is why I’ve said Craig is playing a top but what do I know? I know that “Lee” is self-portraiture — a stand-in for the guy Burroughs was 70-odd years ago, presumably after his Junkie period.

In the comment thread for “Chang Elbowing Lane Aside,” Kristi Coulter attempted to cast doubt upon the indisputable woke mindset of New Yorker editor David Remnick, who has drop-kicked Anthony Lane in order to bring in Justin Chang as senior film critc,.

Coulter: “David R has been running The New Yorker since 1998 and isn’t known for kowtowing to thought police of any stripe. He’s probably just trying to keep TNY relevant to its readership, so it can continue existing.”

HE to Coulter: It might be better if people who comment on The New Yorker actually read The New Yorker, as I do.

Excuse me but Remnick ‘doesn’t kowtow to the thought police’? The New Yorker has become one of the main branches of Woke Central over the last seven years. Remnick’s shift in that direction has been particularly egregious because The New Yorker is one of the few places that would have the freedom to resist it.

The more I think about this, the more riled I am by the fundamental shifting formation of the film-critic world that’s taken place over the last two months — the instillation of the light-touch Alissa Wilkinson at the N.Y. Times, and now Justin Chang at The New Yorker.

Both are 40ish Millennial orthodox art-head disciples who do not rock the boat.

The drop-kicked Anthony Lane wrote a mixed review of Flowers of the Killer Moon. Can you imagine Chang or Wilkinson doing that? Not on this earth. The opportunities for that kind of dissenting view coming from a powerful place in mainstream media are, like, vanishing.

Excerpt from Lane’s Killers of the Flower Moon review:

…inside Geffen Hall while the film runs without the standard 1959 mono track. Tracks #33 through #48 comprise a grand mood symphony…anxiety, suspense, tingling dread, thundering uncertainties…all in one movement.

…for HE to post regular recollections of what the film business looked, sounded, felt and tasted like before the terror — i.e., before 2017 but mostly focused on the glorious ‘90s (the indie revolution), the aughts (last stabs before superhero plague) and the early to mid teens (Zero Dark Thirty, 12 Years A Slave, Drive, The Social Network, Moneyball, Carol, Manchester By The Sea).

In other words: rather than overdose on cursing and condemning the present darkness (although I will never abandon this hard but necessary duty) it might be better to invest more energy into shining a light upon the above-mentioned good times (‘90 to ‘17 or just shy of three decades) and thereby possibly inspire a longing for films that aspire to more than just delivering “content” as well as persuading at least some of the fiercely progressive descendants of Maximilian Robespierre and Josef Stalin to possibly ease up on their social justice crusades and just…you know, try to make good movies that are less “instructive”?

Then again I wouldn’t want to descend into the pit of too-much-nostalgia…all right, fuck it, I’m not changing the game.