FRÉDÉRIC BASTIAT, CALL YOUR OFFICE!

If only there was a parable about broken windows written 175 years ago to describe the above tweet.

UPDATE: Downside Detected: “Sadly, a fall in gun violence has led to layoffs in the East Bay mortuary business.”

RELIGION OF PEACE UPDATE:

JENNIFER SEY: Creepy Pasta, Toxic Masculinity and a Full Theater: My Take on Backrooms.

I didn’t find it scary — not in the way other low-budget hits with a truly terrifying premise land. Take Open Water, for example: a couple on a scuba dive gets accidentally left behind in shark-infested ocean waters. It’s just them, bobbing helplessly as night falls and sharks circle. The horror is primal and real — the isolation, the helplessness, the slow-building dread that this could actually happen. We go with them on the psychological journey —

We were left, but it was an accident and the boat will come back —> The boat is never coming back and we are going to die either from the cold water, starvation or getting eaten by sharks and we just have to wait here for it to happen.

This movie made me so uncomfortable and anxious I could hardly stand to watch it.

Backrooms is more weird than that. Not terrible. It had more story than I expected for something born from a 4chan meme (which again, I don’t really know what that is).

The liminal spaces — the endless, off-kilter yellow rooms, buzzing lights, moist carpet vibe, I could almost smell how musty it was — are atmospheric and effectively creepy in a disorienting way.

It sort of seems like it’s supposed to be deep, but I couldn’t really pin down the themes. Is Clark the embodiment of “toxic masculinity,” seeking a place with no rules where he can wallow in his anger? Maybe. Or is it about depression, escapism or how we all get trapped in our own mental mazes? Or is it about nothing at all?

I’m not sure. Overall, I give it a C. Maybe a B-minus on a generous day.

The best part of the whole experience was that the theater was jam-packed and full of energy — a crammed theater, everyone experiencing it together. I had to wait in line for snacks, just like the old days.

I love a shared cultural moment, even for a C-level film.

Exit quote: “Maybe the movies are back? I hope so. I just wish they were better.”

THE GODLESS PARTY: The New Yorker’s Review of JD Vance’s New Book Is a ‘Distasteful’ Blend of Illiteracy and Anti-theism.

Whenever an anti-theist tries to lecture people of faith about Christianity, Catholicism, Judaism, or really anything related to religion, it is always hilarious. But when that person of faith is the Vice President of the United States and the anti-theist works for The New Yorker, we know we’re in for a giant belly laugh.

Over the past week, JD Vance has been doing the media rounds — even going on The View — to promote his new memoir, Communion, which chronicles his journey to becoming a Catholic. Because he is the Vice President, of course, other topics have come up, such as the Iran MOU and — erasing black people from history?

Well, Whoopi Goldberg’s weird fever dreams of imagined racism aside, Vance’s book was bound to cause leftists to throw a tantrum because the left is virulently anti-Christian. So, it was no surprise that The New Yorker was going to take out its poison pen to review it.

What was somewhat of a surprise is that The New Yorker doesn’t know what words mean.

Eustace Tilley weeps into his monocle.

(Classical reference in headline.)

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY to all Instapundit readers!

THE ENEMY WITHIN:

A HARD DOSE OR REALITY IS ADMINISTERED:

DEVELOPING:

THE RAGE OF A PRIVILEGED CLASS:

NORM MACDONALD, CALL YOUR OFFICE:

Classical reference in headline:

REFLECTIONS IN A BLOODSHOT EYE:

Let the pool keep them obsessed; things could be far, far worse right now:

IT’S ALL FAKE:

WHY ARE BRITS PUTTING UP WITH THIS?

WELL SAID:

Alice Smith, by the way, is the great-great-great-granddaughter of Adam Smith. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.