Last week I watched a scene in a new movie I’d waited 20 years to see, which may signal the collapse of Hollywoke. The picture was Mel Gibson’s Flight Risk. The scene was a fight on a plane between Michelle Dockery as a tough Air Marshal named Madolyn and a male thug. Madolyn slugs the thug with everything she’s got. He shrugs it off and gleefully punches her unconscious. I was canceled too by Hollywoke, including some good, I thought, friends, for supporting the same President the first time. It was all very harsh, very realistic, and unlike anything permitted on screen for the entire 21st Century, where women regularly take out large men in feminist fantasy combat. Those films bomb, while Flight Risk was the previous weekend’s number one movie in America. And Gibson is President Trump’s Special Ambassador to Hollywood, along with Jon Voight and Sylvester Stallone, charged with saving the film-TV industry. I go out to the movies about once a year now. I used to go at least once a week. Last year it was Reagan, an excellent independent feature honoring the greatest President of my lifetime (that may soon change). Modern Hollywood still despises the man, though most of the idiots in charge of it couldn’t even explain why. To paraphrase a famous Reagan quote directed at the Democrats — I didn’t leave the cinema, the cinema left me. When the filmmakers’ left-wing fanaticism and contempt for the traditionalist audience superseded their storytelling ability. As evidence, we need only to contrast this year’s just announced Academy Award nominees for Best Picture with those from 30 years ago. Way back in the 20th Century, a great number of people had either seen every listed film or been well aware of each. The Best Picture contenders in 1995 were Forrest Gump, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Pulp Fiction, Quiz Show, and The Shawshank Redemption, all but Robert Redford’s Quiz Show huge box-office winners. This year’s nominees are Conclave, A Complete Unknown, Wicked, Dune: Part Two, Anora, The Substance, I’m Still Here, Nickel Boys, The Brutalist, and Emilia Perez, only Wicked and Dune: Part Two legitimate hits. Of the latter group, I just saw Dune on television, and found it a dark, dreary, obligatorily diverse, CGI- bloated adaptation of the Frank Herbert sci-fi classic, far inferior to David Lynch’s visually striking and intellectually stimulating 1984 version, Dune.  I passed on Wicked because I’m a straight white male. But I did read the novel Conclave by Robert Harris, which was well-written, impressively descriptive of the papal succession ritual, and excruciatingly heretical — in other words, perfect for anti-Catholic Hollywoke. The less said about the other depressive selections the better, with several exceptions. The Brutalist is a brutal three and a half hours long yet still defies description (a Jewish friend of mine who liked the picture couldn’t manage it). The Substance tries to make Demi Moore young again when the real original wasn’t so hot. I’m Still Here condemns the Brazilian government’s early 70s right-wing oppression while ignoring its current communist variety. The Nickel Boys uncovers, gasp, racism in the 1960s South. And Emilia Perez is a French musical romp about a “trans-woman” Mexican drug dealer that could have been produced by Max Bialystock but without the Mel Brooks laughs. Few have more insight into the decline and imminent fall of Hollywoke than its artist victims. One of the initial ones was Roseanne Barr, who’d managed the near impossible of resurrecting her hit 90s sitcom into a 2010s one. Until a politically incorrect AKA “racist” 2018 tweet brought the then not quite full force of ABC Disney on her head, canceling her, some thought forever. But Roseanne survived, long enough to see the industry that banned her begin to crumble. And she’s planning a new sitcom with her fellow canceled comedian Michael Richards (Seinfeld). “Hollywood has made itself irrelevant to the American people,” Barr told Variety. “If they want to survive, they should work with the new President. American people elected him in an overwhelming victory. They should get back in touch with [them] and make some money, which I don’t know if they do or not ’cause they’ve proven to be ideologues rather than [business people].” I was canceled too by Hollywoke, including some good, I thought, friends, for supporting the same President the first time. I would like to visit them much like the Ghost of Christmas Present did Scrooge. And I’d ask them one question. “Was it worth it?” Was it worth forsaking a friend in service to a pathological cult? Whose ideology demands infanticide in the name of “women’s reproductive rights,” open borders, police repression, criminal freedom, speech censorship, and the DEI policies in their industry that currently deny them work as white heterosexual men and women? Was it worth voting for a zombie President and an empty pantsuit, and the local politicians who let their city burn? Now, they can only suffer through the celebrations on my side. They can watch — instead of the wretched Oscar ceremony, which they had no part of — the triumphs of our President and his team as they tear down everything they shunned me for opposing. And realizing they’ve become the cultural laughingstocks, and we the cool guys. They can always comfort themselves by walking into a bookstore and picking up a good political thriller, like The Washington Trail by Lou Aguilar, their former pal, just out in paperback. Well, maybe not a Hollywood bookstore. Not yet. They might have to wait for the movie version. READ MORE from Lou Aguilar: Culture Shock in Trump’s Second Term Can Trump Make Hollywood Great Again? The post As Hollywoke Crumbles appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.