Well, the looters and the parasites won this round. Looks like the producer of Atlas Shrugged: Part 1 is Going Galt.
Twelve days after opening “Atlas Shrugged: Part 1,” the producer of the Ayn Rand adaptation said Tuesday that he is reconsidering his plans to make Parts 2 and 3 because of scathing reviews and flagging box office returns for the film.
“Critics, you won,” said John Aglialoro, the businessman who spent 18 years and more than $20 million of his own money to make, distribute and market “Atlas Shrugged: Part 1,” which covers the first third of Rand’s dystopian novel. “I’m having deep second thoughts on why I should do Part 2.”
Oh great. Now we’re never going to get to part 3, which would have included John Galt’s three hour speech. And there was even talk (no joke) that part three would be a musical! And you thought ‘Springtime for Hitler’ had camp value.
It’s obvious that the only reason this film bombed is because a cabal of leftist film critics wielded their unholy power over the American film-going public — how else to explain the box office death of a film about railroads set in the future?
Oh well, we’ll just have to console ourselves with the hilariously bitchy reviews that this movie has generated, such as this classic from Gin and Tacos:
Battlefield: Earth is still my favorite film in the “so unbelievably bad you have to see it to believe it” genre, and it shares many similarities with Atlas. Both are cynical efforts to extract money from the wallets of blindly devoted followers of a patently silly belief system / cult of personality. Battlefield: Earth was made with the confidence that Scientologists would pay to see it no matter how bad it was, and I am afraid that the same motives underlie the decision to rush this sloppy, amateurish version of Atlas Shrugged into theaters. It ends with the disappeared Ellis Wyatt announcing in voiceover that the has gone Galt, emphatically stating “DON’T try to find me…I am ON STRIKE!” which caused the theater to erupt in an impromptu round of applause. The small crowd of office managers and dentists and petty bureaucrats so enjoyed identifying with the great Producer for two hours before heading home and preparing for another big day of running Northeast Georgia’s fourth largest supplier of plumbing fixtures or filling out forms in the Office of Administrative Technicalities at the (public) University. And the cynical bastards who made this sad excuse for a film knew that no matter how much it sucked, society’s frustrated, impotent petit bourgeoisie – lawyers, secretaries, cubicle dwellers, engineers, and assorted other educated, angry white people – would gladly hand over the price of admission for that brief thrill of feeling like society would give two flying shits if any of them joined Mr. Wyatt “on strike.”