by Mark Rivers
June 22, 2002
When it comes to success and recognition, I have found comparatively few Gentile screenwriters in Hollywood. Maybe I'm just not looking hard enough, but it seems that the non-Jewish talent pounding at their keyboards 24/7 don't seem to fare as well as those with the Cohen gene (as though this should come as a big surprise anymore). Steven Spielberg (Lord of the Yids), apparently having squeezed the current Goyische teat dry of all fresh and creative ideas,
has joined the current trend of ripping off a Phillip K. Dick story -- along with writers Scott Frank and John Cohen, and executive producer Gary Goldman -- less than a year after he ripped off a Brian Aldiss story for his last movie, "A.I."
Set in Washington, D.C., in 2054, "Minority Report" is based on Dick's short story of the same name. Tom Cruise Mapother IV stars as a drug-addicted cop working for the Capital's "Department of Pre-Crime," which uses a trio of psychics in sensory deprivation tanks to detect murders before they happen. When the psychics get a vision of a murder, their brainwaves are interpreted into blurry "movies," which the cops then use to find the crime scene and arrest the perpetrator...before the crime actually takes place. "The system is perfect," rave its supporters. "No it isn't," shout its detractors. Uh-oh, conflict.
Things start to go south when Cruise's character is shown a movie of himself committing a murder, and he has to take it on the lam until he can prove his future-innocence.
The tale itself is clever, and the original story Phillip K. Dick wrote is almost certainly worth reading. The movie "Minority Report," however, is not worth your time or money, as the Jews' typical "black-good-White-bad" technique is in full swing. For example:
The first person we see interacting with Cruise is a pregnant negress at the police station. She is the wife (or significant other) of the negro police officer/trusted friend of Cruise we meet a moment later. About a dozen negro extras were scattered throughout the rest of the film, doing nothing but standing around, looking harmless or playing the saxophone. Remember, this movie takes place in Washington, D.C., which, as of 2002, has a sixty percent negro population. The Capital has also had 578 murders in the past two-and-a-half years, and if I were a betting man, I'd say that more than a few of those murders were committed by that city's negroes.
In Spielberg's vision of Washington, D.C., in 2054, however, there have been no murders in six years. All of those who would have committed them are put in a sort of hypno-sleepy-time prison, overseen by a wheelchair-bound, saggy-eyed security guard (Jew Tim Blake Nelson). In this prison are rows and rows of White prisoners; all of them appear to be White men who would have committed murder in Washington, D.C., if the Department of Pre-Crime hadn't stopped them. If there were negroes in the brief shots of the prisoners, I sure didn't see them.
Even the first murder/non-murder we're shown (and were shown in the trailer) is almost committed by a White man (Jew Arye Gross), described in no uncertain terms by the negro cop as a "male...WHITE...." Later, Cruise, tormented by the unsolved murder of his son six months before the implementation of pre-crime investigation, confronts the White man he thinks is responsible (Jew Mike Binder).
Turns out the guy didn't kill Cruise's son, and we never find out who did. The guy who poses as the killer is a sleazy no-account, however, as was the White drug dealer who sells to Cruise, the White hotel clerk who looks at schoolgirl cheesecake photos on his computer, and the White manager of the "Fantasy Booth" outlet. This last one was played by Jason Antoon, a Semitic-looking type, and I wondered what was up Spielberg's sleeve when he put that actor in such a shady role. My answer came when that character made a sign of the cross upon becoming shocked and alarmed. He's also named "Riley," which doesn't exactly sound like a kosher handle.
Halfway through the film, we are introduced to a pair of thoroughly unlikable Swedes: a pyromaniac surgeon (Peter Stormare) and his mole-adorned assistant (Caroline Lagerfelt). The latter is introduced by the sound of a toilet flushing, followed by a shot of her pulling up her pants as she enters the room. Jews are sickos.
Finally, we have Über-Nordic grandpa Max von Sydow as the Director of the Department of Pre-Crime. He turns out to be the villain, committing crime after crime to keep his career afloat. He murders the ex-junkie mother of one of the psychics when she shows up clean and sober, and demanding her child back. Von Sydow then sets up Cruise for murder when Cruise starts picking up the trail. THEN, von Sydow murders a federal investigator (Colin Farrell) when the brash agent starts sniffing too close. At the end, Tom Cruise shames him into killing himself in front of all of his friends and colleagues. Hooray.
Well, sorry I spoiled the story for you, but hey -- that's what I do, especially if it takes food from the mouths of Spielberg's 87 adopted niglets. Do not see "Minority Report."
Join the National Alliance.
Do you have a comment on this review? Send it