I Got A .45 And A Shovel, I Doubt Anyone Would Miss You: Brett Ratner Bails On The Oscars
Brett Ratner is, to be quite frank, a talentless, misogynistic, shameless, smarmy, fame-whoring assclown douchegargle. I think the last few days’ events have proven that true. From his classless quotes about Olivia Munn (yes, she’s a hacky twit, but undeserving of that), to his homophobic verbal diahrea, to his admission that he made up his bullshit about Munn, to his godawful shittastic movies, there’s no denying that the man deserves to be thrown down a well. A well filled with herpes-infected rabid botflies who hunger for douchebag butt.
I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t particularly care for the man.
Under normal circumstances, I’d leave the celeb-bashing to the lovely Ms. Enlow, who has an almost preternatural gift for it. However, for whatever reason, watching the Ratner saga unfold over the last couple of days struck a nerve with me. Perhaps it’s simply because I’m grateful that he genuinely is an asshole. I mean, Uwe Boll sucks at movie making, but he’s such an unapologetic imbecile that it’s hard to take him too seriously. Paul W.S. Anderson can’t direct his way out of a hole in the ground, even if the hole had a doorbell and a faulty deadbolt, but he’s married to Milla so I’m assuming there’s something redeeming about him. But there is literally nothing redeeming about Brett Ratner. Point of fact: when Andrew Breitbart is defending you? You done fucked up, son.
Aside from Rush Hour, there’s little about him that’s worthwhile, and even that was salvaged by Chris Tucker at the height of his career and the natural charisma of Jackie Chan. Otherwise, what is Brett Ratner? The man who irreparably destroyed the X-Men franchise (and then had the balls to take a shot at First Class), the man who made Wolverine bitch out, the man who managed to make a boring copy of Manhunter. All the while, he’s been a legendary shitheel, a high-budget Joe Francis at the very best, a man who courts women to send him naked pictures of themselves.
So it’s nice to see, for once, that he’s getting a bit of comuppance. The backlash in the wake of his Week of Rampaging Douchebagosity has been substantial, and it’s finally reached critical mass. It’s astonishing that he was tagged to produce the Oscars in the first place — the ceremony has long been a messy morass of misfires when it comes to both production and hosting, but giving it over to a Ratnerfucking was one more step towards the ceremony descending completely into irrelevancy.
But now, in the midst of the chaos surrounding his uncontrollable urge to shoot his mouth off, he’s stepped down from the Oscars. Thank God. It’s a win for everyone, really. It’s a win for the ceremony because it’ll be Ratnerfuck-free. It’s a win for the viewers because they won’t have to feel dirty while watching it. It’s a win for women because it’s nice to see a misogynistic assbag actually pay a price (however minor it may be in the grand scheme of things) for his assbaggery. And it’s a win for humanity because it’s one less Brett Ratner project we’re being subjected to.
For what it’s worth, here’s Ratner’s apology about his “rehearsing is for fags” bit. God, what a charmer.
(Hat Tip to Adam Lyon for the Image)
Each Time You Like, Share, Tweet or Stumble a Pajiba Post, An Angel Does the Paul Rudd Dance
blog comments powered by Disqus