SQWs are such crybabies.

Ever notice how the people proclaiming how they are these brave, bold, mighty culture warriors who "controversy" is some kind of badge of honor are always the biggest fucking pussies on the planet about EVERYTHING?
SJWs are supposedly the whiny ones, but nope...they ain't got shit on this manbaby internet culture bullshit that is breeding the biggest fucking crybabies in human history.

While this guy is no good, the response to Rolfe's rather tepid, dorky video was over the top. On twitter alone, the Ghostbusters tag brought up minefields of "stand up comics" with blue-tick verified accounts defending the shit heap trailers while failing to post a single funny line. Just lots of butthurt snark and people saying the same shit over and over about how only nerd losers could NOT like the trailers much less the concept of the New Ghostbuster film. "You don't think this Ghostbusters reboot looks good? Well, uh, you got a poopy diaper and a you're a dumb man baby stupidhead!"

As well as variations on "LMAO look at these stupid NERDS get mad about Ghostbusters" - bloggers that talks about nerd shit for a living.

And of course "I love Ghostbusters...but the time is right for a remake because the original is a shitty movie and it's dumb and childish!"

And the comments about Rolfe himself, like this:

https://67.media.tumblr.com/e182c0462ffb17dc05f5ff112cb5cef5/t umblr_inline_o7ctho8mWB1s8fda7_540.png

Hurr hurr this nerd is married? Ha ha, who would marry this stupid nerd.

And the latest round of thinkpieces on the "soft sexism" of "hating on" the Ghostbusters reboot, which makes me wonder if this is some sort of stealth marketing, in that the people who made the movie are desperately beating an MRAS HATE THIS MOVIE drum because The "Whole" Internet Hated It.

Candy

A bat flit across the face of a monstrous harvest moon, its leathery wings sweeping through the chill autumn mist, leaving swirls and spirals in its wake. The creature of the night flew back and forth, eating the last bugs of the season. Fat as it was, the bat would need every scrap of weight it could put on before the harsh winter months. Already a few of its fellows had secluded themselves in caves and hollow trees, snug and plump, lost in the half sleep that would last until spring. A moth stirred from the grass, its gossamer wings making it a pale ghost in the moonlight. A quick snap of tiny jaws and the mouthful was gobbled down. With a surge of its wings, the bat flew on into the night. As it neared a barn blazing with light, the creature became somewhat curious. Usually at this time of night the barn would be empty, dark and inviting for one of its kind. Instead the bat could hear the sounds of ponies busily at work inside.

It would’ve flown closer for a better look, but a sudden chill down its spine made it think twice. An instinct, that even it barely understood, screamed loud and clear in the bats tiny head. Danger! Best to move on and find more prey. Best to find a safe spot and sleep the deep, dreamless sleep of hibernation. Best to go far, far from here to do it. There was nothing here for a tiny bat. Nothing but death.

------------------------

“Applebloom!”called Applejack, putting the last batch of caramel apples on a tray lined with waxed paper to cool. Benches set up in the barn lined the walls, half filled with the sugar coated fruit. “Where has that filly gotten off to?” she muttered to herself. A cauldron, half empty but for a hissing puddle of sweet brown syrup, cooled over a pile of smouldering coals just outside the barn door. The barn itself was warm and snug, filled with lantern light and the sweet scent of sugary treats. Quite the contrast to the chill night outside. Even so, Applejack couldn’t help drawing the cool air into her lungs with a satisfied smile as she stepped out to look for her sister. She loved this time of year. Winter would be here soon enough it was true, and that had its own work and worry, just like spring and summer. But the autumn months, after the harvest, were a time of relaxation and fun for the Apple Family. With the crops in, safe and sound, money would come rolling into Sweet Apple Acres before too long. It was a tradition in their family to share the wealth, and what better way than to provide all kinds of apple themed treats and games for the kiddies for Nightmare Night?

Nightmare Night. It was the first holiday to come after the harvest, so the Apple Family always did it big! Of course, the holiday had always been more about treats than tricks at Sweet Apple Acres. Every year Granny Smith would have tubs set up in Ponyville for the townsfolk to bob for apples. She had taken to turning in early and letting Applejack make sure they stayed full of crisp, delicious apples; Even so, Granny Smith was still an important part of the festival. Every year, since Big Mac was old enough to pull a plow, he’d offer hay rides for the community as well. Even Applebloom seemed to be taking more of an interest in the festivities. Last year she’d gone around with Pinkie Pie collecting candy with her friends, but this year she seemed to be really interested in helping Applejack make up a few homemade treats to pass out at the festival in town. A few of the recipes Applebloom was trying out seemed a mite odd, but Applejack didn’t mind trying new things so long as they were able to finish making their batch of usual treats as well. The only problem was, after helping Applejack spear a few apples and dip them in the bubbling caramel, Applebloom seemed to have quickly lost interest and wandered off to do her own thing.

Really, Applejack shouldn’t have been surprised. Applebloom had a habit of getting distracted by the least little thing. They should have been done making treats hours ago, but as it was, she still had about half the apples left to dip. Worse, she was running low on caramel and firewood. “Applebloom!” called Applejack again as she went to the side of the barn where the wood pile was kept to get a few fresh sticks, “Wherever ya’ve run off to, get yer flank back over here missy! We got a lot of apples left ta dip a'fore we store 'em in the barn to dry, and we’re gonna be burnin' the midnight oil with all yer dilly dally’in!” The country pony paused and listened. The fog that curled through the orchard tonight did strange things to the familiar sounds of the farm, muffling noises that Applejack would normally find comforting and amplifying those she couldn’t identify. She didn’t hear the sound of any tiny hooves coming her way, nor did she hear her little sister’s voice calling out in response. What she thought she heard was giggling. High, girlish giggling just on the edge of her hearing. It wasn’t something anypony wanted to hear all alone on a dark night. “Easy girl, yer just spookin' yerself,” Applejack reassured herself under her breath as she quickly piled a few dry branches on her back for the fire.

She really wished that Granny Smith didn’t go to sleep so early and that Big Macintosh wasn’t off in town helping set up for tomorrows celebrations. More than anything she wished Applebloom would stop wandering off on her own. A farm was no place for a young filly to go exploring by herself, especially at night. Applejack had heard too many horror stories of colts playing around on farm equipment and hurting themselves. Perhaps more dreadful were the stories of fillies falling into old sink holes or boarded up wells and nopony finding them until months later, if they found them at all. A thought suddenly occurred to Applejack as she headed back towards the front of the barn. “Applebloom yew better not be'a plannin’ on trickin’ me! It ain't Nightmare Night just yet!" when there was no answer she tried, "Ah’ll tell Big Macintosh on yew!” There was still no answer. At least no answer she wanted to acknowledge as being more than a figment of her imagination.

As she rounded the side of the barn, a sudden burst of flame whooshed into life, painting the fog bright orange. Applejack jumped back, the firewood she carried on her back scattering at her hooves. She almost bolted, there and then, but calmed down when she realized the flames were under the cauldron. Somepony had gotten the fire going again while she’d been out back at the woodpile. Had Applebloom gone to fetch more wood and she’d just missed her going around the other side of the barn? As Applejack drew closer she saw that whomever had built up the fire had used too much fuel. The flames were licking up the side of the cauldron, bright and hungry. Already she could see that the caramel that had been left in the pot was bubbling up. At this rate it would burn and blacken, going completely to waste. “Oh Applebloom, sweetie, ya can’t use that much wood! Ya need a low heat for this kind'a treat.”

She went to drag the cauldron out of the fire and save what she could of the caramel, careful to avoid the leaping, flickering flames, but found the old pot wouldn’t budge. It was usually only this heavy when it was full, not half empty like it was. Applejack did the best she could, tugging the cauldron inch by inch away from the barn. Once it was on a patch of damp dirt she went about kicking sand over what flames she could, trying to tame the wild fire. The flames subdued a bit, so Applejack decided she’d try to get her sisters help to get the cauldron back in place. “Applebloom, you in here?” asked Applejack as she cantered into the barn. The lanterns had all been blown out. By the light from the fire, Applejack could tell that the barn was empty on the inside. Empty that is, save for a pile of sticky Popsicle sticks that used to have caramel apples on the end, sitting boldly on the benches. Even the apples that hadn't been dipped yet were missing. A tiny voice, a girls voice whispered, “hungry,” and then giggled sweetly. So that was what was going on!

“Applebloom, Ah can’t believe yew! Those treats were for tomorrow, to share with all the fillies and colts that came lookin' for sweets ta bite! How could yew and yer friends be so selfish as ta eat the lot a'fore they even had a chance ta dry!?” Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo had to be in on this. Sweet Apple Acres produce might be good enough that a filly would like to try to eat a whole bushel in one go, but one filly couldn’t have eaten all the apples Applejack had dipped. Even three managing it was a stretch, but that was the only logical conclusion she could come to. “Applebloom get out here young missy! Yew and yer friends! Or Ah swear, Ah’ll be writing Celestia a letter about how Ah learned how ta break a fillies rump with mah bare hooves!”

Still there was nothing but silence. Well... Almost. There was that high, girlish giggling again. It sounded like... It sounded like it was coming from the cauldron,but that couldn't be right. It didn’t make any sense. How could the girls be hiding in that bubbling hot mess? Applejack moved tentatively towards the cauldron, her eyes darting back and forth. Beyond the glow of the fire, there was nothing but darkness, mist, and fading moonlight. The smoke from the partially quenched fire burned her eyes as she looked into the big black pot, ready to jump back at the first sign of a trick. She froze. Her eyes locked on to the sad, shriveled up figure curled into a ball at the bottom of the pot. She was completely covered in bubbling brown sugar, but even so, Applejack could tell right away the tiny figure was her sister.

She screamed. Applejack reached into the cauldron with her bare hooves, burning her limbs on the still hot metal as she closed them around Applebloom’s unmoving form, the pain of her seared flesh nothing compared to the agony that tore at her heart. How had this happened!? Had her sister somehow fallen in!? Why hadn’t she cried out!? Why hadn’t she screamed!? Applejack ran into the barn where there was a trough of water and quickly dunked Applebloom’s body into the cold liquid. The caramel was already starting to set, the sticky gunk wouldn’t come off. Applejack did the best she could, but a part of her knew it was already too late. Her sister wasn’t breathing. She tried hammering on her tiny chest, put her mouth to her sisters and breathed air into her lungs. It did nothing but leave a sickly sweet taste in her mouth, pieces of half dried caramel sticking to her lips. That was too much for her. She fell back on her haunches, wiping at her mouth with her hoof, trying to get rid of the taste... The taste of death and candy. She felt her gorge rise as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. How could this have happened? She blamed herself. What kind of a horrible sister was she?

i think James Rolfe does some great work. His video on the 40 shittiest shark movies is a youtube classic. I respect the guy, and I would have respected his Ghostbusters video a lot more if he'd waited for the critics who ARE going to see the movie to speak first. Getting out in front of them like that is a dick move, and that's why the mainstream media singled him out for criticism., and making him the face of this controversy.

Which is unfortunate. There's plenty of misogyny in the backlash against this hypothetical movie no one has seen, and the best evidence for this is that we're being given EVERY OTHER POSSIBLE REASON for the backlash, and some of them frankly contradict each other. It's too much like the original. It's not enough like the original. It's an example of shity PC filmmaking. It's racist.

But Rolfe may be the exception. he seems to be motivated by a reverence for the original that I find touching, but silly... uh, I mean, misplaced. Most of his objections can be boiled down to the idea that the new movie doesn't take enough pains to kiss the ass of the sacred original, a movie so old that there are kids in the fourth grade whose parents weren't born yet,

If you were a child in the eighties, you were probably allowed to see the PG Ghostbusters, but were forbiidden to see R rated movies like Animal House, Porky's and the first Police Academy movies, and you probably weren't interested in seeing Fletch. This would explain how so many of the original Ghostbuster's rabid fans seem so unaware of what a vile seedbed of soulless 80s cliches the original is. I recently bought my own copy, and I still think it's entertaining but overrated. The thrills and laughs are there, but they float on a sea of eighties movie bullshit.

The first time we see our hero, Dr. Peter Venkman, he's literally torturing a male student with electric shocks so the student will leave, and he can scam a female student (around half his age) into having sex with him. Now, I'm not being politically correct here. I'm not offended by this, and I don't think that kids who see this will go on to torture anyone. What I'm saying is that we've left humanity behind, and entered a world inhabited by script devices.

Eighties comedies liked to give us comic heroes whose conduct would be unforgivable in a real life universe and then put them in a universe that makes them forgivable. Ghostbusters accomplishes this in the usual way, by surrounding the heroes with men who are less attractive, and less "manly" by comparison. The dean, the male librarian, the hotel manager, a musician, the accountant played by Rick Moranis-- these characters are all ineffectual, and most of them are subtly effeminate. To use the current vernacular, they're all cucks.

The main plot of Ghostbusters is simple. REALLY simple. We can capture the ghosts, but don't cross the streams. Thiings are getting worse, we'd better cross the streams.

That's it. They don't really interact with the ghosts or with zule, or the stay-puft marshmallow man. That's why the script needs to invent a bellicose EPA inspector, Walter Peck, AKA DICKLESS, so the movie can have some perfunctory, contrived conflict. Nothing this guy says or does makes any sense. If he's convinced that they're storing toxic materials, why would he order the plug pulled on the containment facility? Doesn't matter. He's there to be defied, mocked, his manhood insulted in the most obvious way, and finally to be drenched with marshmallow bukakke.

I wish I had submitted this. I would right now change the title to "45 paragraphs of rambling insanity about the NewGhostbusters."

It's one thing to see a trailer and say "Eh, not for me." But if you're gonna make a 45-minute video about not reviewing a movie, just review the damn thing already.

Salting the bird's tail and all that.

These guys think they are Ray, Egon, Venkman, even Winston. Little do they realize they are all just Walter Peck.