Movie Review: 'Million Dollar Baby'

by William Yates

1 March 2005

["Million Dollar Baby," with Clint Eastwood, Morgan Freeman, Hillary Swank. Malpaso Productions, 2005]

This is one of those films that you know in the first 60 seconds is a piece of shit. I should have walked out, but I wanted to see the System's evolving tactics in its war on white people. I can report that the ZOG is increasingly less subtle, and that's good for our side. I expected this -- but not from Mr. Eastwood, about whom more later.

The opening scene is a rust belt city, or area. It is a dreck neighborhood, the kind you want to torch, not only because the enemy feeds and breeds in such places, but because it would give you joy. There are fences, hulks, rust and litter. The stage is a seedy boxing gym, owned by Eastwood, a small-time trainer. His chief manager is Freeman, a stock avuncular character but an excellent actor. The anti-white propaganda commences immediately.

A skinny white kid just off the Greyhound bangs in and announces he wants to be "the welterweight champion of the world." He tells Freeman, "I want you to know I don't mind workin' with niggers," even though his part of Texas don't like 'em too much. The kid is a thorough buffoon, and pops in and out of the film at tactical moments to remind the audience of how repulsive and stupid rural white people are. Once the kid asks Freeman how he, Freeman, got that big piece of solid ice down through that little opening of the water bottle.

The kid is the prep. The real bullet is Hillary Swank. She has just signed on at the gym. "She's from southeast Arkansas," Freeman's voice tells us, "and she knows she's trash." Why has Hillary come to the big city? To find a man, go to school? No, she's come to be a boxer -- what else does a rural white girl do? During the day she waits on tables; at night she pounds the bags in her dream of becoming a professional boxer. Eastwood won't touch a female boxer, of course. He tells her to forget it, and passes her off. But she keeps showing up, and Freeman tells Eastwood "she's got something," and he better not diss her. So Clint reluctantly tosses her a bit of advice here and there, and thereafter Fate moves them closer together.

In this film you'll see the stock themes jews and Capitalists use against whites: gender is a construct, the money's the thing, rural white people are stupid racists, blacks and coloreds are basically just good people trying to keep it together in this world white people made such a mess. Well, Hillary starts fighting professionally and she's good, damn good. She grows locally famous, and starts making money. Then it's time to bash whites again. Hillary tells Clint about her family back in Arkansas: daddy is dead, mama "weighs 312 pounds," brother is in prison, sis is a 'welfare queen." They're living in a trailer, of course. Hillary decides to do something nice, and buys them a house. Clint and Hillary decides to do something nice, and buys them a house. Clint and Hillary drive to Arkansas to present it.

But mama turns out to be a loutess and ingrate. "You shoulda tole me first you was gonna buy me a house!" mama yells. "Now they'll take away my public assistance and medicaid!" Hillary's hot, slutty sister is there also, bouncing an illegitimate infant and chorusing with her mother. Hillary and Clint return to the city, where she fights on and climbs to national, then international stature. And thus we are prepared for the assault on Germans.

The title of Women's Boxing Champion of the World belongs to a German. Hillary vows she'll take it away. She trains and trains for the big day. the match is to be held in Las Vegas. All along the way the audience is expected, I guess, to think of women's boxing as they do men's. I scanned the audience a few times, saw no one shaking his head in doubt or disgust. But to you, healthy white man, women's boxing indicates that our society is nearing disintegration. The fact is that boxing, and baseball, are passé. These sports arose to meet the needs of urban, mass society. Boxing sreved a man's fantasy of personal honor; baseball served his need for identity with a tribe and for intertribal conflict, or competition. Bats and balls were metaphorical war clubs and missiles. But this society is gone from America, and these sports are kept alive by media boosting. Take away the artificial life support and they would wither in a few years. And in fact Capitalism is dying -- as one can see by its desperate wars for fresh, cheap assets. I say, Capitalism will die, and as it dies will kill off three-quarters of the human population. Most whites in the U.S. will perish. Our revolution will have started before the last phase of Capitalism's death, however. Our revolution will be successful, and the new white man will be the payoff. He will live in rural societies, under governments that are local, run by a synthesis of clan, heathen and Christian concepts. His societies will be eugenic. He will have maximum psycho-physical feed from vast open spaces and wildernesses. Security will rest on militias, and their governments will be federated. The lessons of history, from the time when whites nearly went extinct, will hang over them like the blade of a guillotine. They will be drilled on what happened, and what could happen again. But I digress.

The big day arrives. The arena in Las Vegas is jammed with a bloodlust mob. Media trash are swarming, light bulbs flashing. Giant U.S. and Bundesrepublik flags float over the ring together. Hillary enters the arena wearing her emerald green warmup robe, preceded by bagpipers. Then the German woman enters. And what does she look like, lads? She's half black. She looks like a cross between an ape and a mongoose. And not only that, we learn she's a former prostitute. Not only that, as we will see, she fights very dirty.

The match starts, the "German" streetfights. Does the ref eject her, give the match to Hillary? Of course not. The "German" fights ever more viciously, and finally Hillary goes down -- coma! Tragedy! We get a contrived, had-to-shoot-Lassie end that isn't worth the time of your reading.

I will close with a few comments on Mr. Eastwood. Now Clint, I don't care what you used to be, nor for any symbolic power you represent to white men. I care for what you are now, and you're not the Clint we knew. We thought of you as a manly white man, one good with guns. You were turf conscious and enjoyed wasting vermin who strayed in. But that was only the movies. In the outside you had the charm, or luck, to lasso the exquisite Sondra Locke. You fathered some beautiful white children. But somewhere along your fall from symbol to what you are now, a virus invaded you, Clint. and you're the enemy.

So get the fuck out, Clint. Do us a favor and stay out of the studios. "Million Dollar Baby" is your baby, and it's a vicious, murderous slander against white people. You oughta stop making movies, Clint. You know not what you do. Why don't you play golf instead -- every day, all day. Stay out there even in thunderstorms, so maybe one of Yahweh's lightning bolts can fry your ass.


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