Sunday, October 30, 2011

Descent into the maelstrom… ctd…

How Hollywood and TelAvision would have us see the Black Man...

...versus the grim reality for millions of White victims of vicious Black Hate Crimes

In light of the clear, rapid and sickening descent into the dystopic vortex of the Multicultural Planet Bizarro wormhole, the demonising of Eugenics and the celebration of Dysgenics (Race Mixing/Genetic Levelling) your kindly Old Uncle Victor thought he’d publish, for the elucidation of the gentle reader, this scathingly accurate appraisal of Negroids in ‘popular entertainment’ from the old ‘way back’ machine. This gem is equally impressive for both its uncompromising analysis of the multi generational decline in artistic standards and social morality in visual ‘entertainment’ and its prescience of darker days to come. (Pun unintended) Yes folks, as you well know, since this piece was penned, those crazy old ghost trains of Hollywood and TelAvision have accelerated and are hurtling, at ever greater velocity, on hot rails to Hell. Enjoy.
The reverse evolution of Black aesthetics in TV and films
The Descent Into Ugliness
Austin Ryan 1994

Two of the most unattractive African-American "actors" to ever step before the camera are Whoopie Goldberg and Wesley Snipes. Whoopi first gained prominence ten years ago for her raunchy stand-up comedy routines which portrayed her as a foul-mouthed, tough, urban black mama. Wesley Snipes began as a two-bit thespian in a slew of unmemorable movies until he was cast as the lead in Spike Lee's tribute to interracial romance, Jungle Fever, the title of which is a euphemism for Negro lust. It is interesting that both Goldberg and Snipes, who have no real acting ability and faces that could stop clocks (even trains), have become "hot property" in Hollywood. Goldberg had a string of box-office flops for eight years, yet is still rewarded with huge movie deals. Snipes is just another Zilch-talented, B-actor, who starred in one low-budget dud after another, until he was promoted overnight to "superstar."
What's going on here? Could it be that Jewish producers, in their zeal to promote miscegenation to the nth degree, have finally succeeded in destroying the one barrier-physical beauty that's always managed, at least so far, to keep the "colour lines" partially intact? In Hollywood's early years, Chosenites cast only high yellows, such as Harry Belafonte and Lena Horne, in roles designed to lessen the natural revulsion of whites to race-mixing. For the most part these actors were "nice-looking," that is, they appeared more white than black. For many years the "marquee" Negro's looks remained unchanged-borderline white, with well-defined noses, lips and other physical characteristics that could be classified as quasi-white. Their mannerisms and locution were also in the Caucasian mode.
As time went by, however, a subtle change began to take place. By the end of the 1950s, Hollywood had groomed its first non-white-looking Negro star, Sidney Poitier, who, despite his ebony epidermis and Caribbean accent, had all the right (white) mannerisms. Poitier was regularly cast in roles intended to make his mostly white audiences "sympathize" and "identify" with his "ever-the-underdog" depictions of blacks. In 1964 Poitier won an Academy Award for his acting in Lilies of the Field, in which he portrayed a handyman who built a chapel for a gaggle of German-speaking nuns. The propaganda in this movie was all too obvious: The nuns, symbolic of Nazi Germany (the archetype of racial intolerance), befriended a Negro (an archetype of racial suffering) whom they ultimately regarded as a co-equal, if not their superior. "Character over skin color" was archetypically vindicated.
In 1967, the Jewish movie moguls, aware that white America had been sufficiently weaned on a steady diet of Poitier as black saint for ten years, cast him in their most auspicious role to date: that of a Negro man engaged to be married to a white woman in “Guess Who's Coming to Dinner,” directed by Stanley Kramer and scripted by fellow Chosenite William Rose. For the purposes of this film Poitier still had to possess all of the attributes of a white man since the baboonish antics of a lusting black would not translate well to the screen. That would have to wait another ten years! Predictably every film critic in America jumped up and down for joy and heaped great gobs of praise upon the movie for its "ground-breaking" efforts to de-stigmatize black-white marriages.
The 70s cinema wallowed in a flood of "Blacksploitation" films that went largely unnoticed by white moviegoers, unless their favourite critic happened to single out one for its "avant-garde" appeal. "Blacksploitation" was a canny effort by Hollywood to let the Negro's real nature run loose on celluloid, with the implied message that it was "farcical," "over-the-top" and mostly campy. In other words, "We're starting to show you the real Negro, but don't get too uptight about it." But for every "Blacksploitation" film there was at least one "legitimate" black film that earned mainstream plaudits. Shaft, one of the most popular movies of the 1970s, became a prototype for a generation of "hip" black dudes with badges. Its star, Richard Roundtree, was more "Black acting" than Poitier, his black-cop predecessor (In the Heat of the Night).
The 70s also witnessed the beginning of "black revisionism," which reached its ultimate form in ABC television's miniseries, Roots, wherein Negroes were portrayed as loving, civilized, productive individuals in pleasant, docile African farming communities until greedy, ruthless whites plundered their land and captured their people. Roots was designed to be watched by as many whites as possible in order to instil in them the desired "guilt complex." Television was selected as the appropriate medium, because on average it draws more than 20 times the audience of a typical motion picture. Roots was an enormous success. Over 40 million viewers watched in horror each night as the white man brutalized innocent black folks. Ironically it debuted when black-on-white crime in America was reaching epidemic levels. Each evening, as whites watched fictional accounts of blacks being murdered by white slave owners on plantations, a dozen or more whites were being murdered by black thugs and gang members.
By the 1980s all pretensions of Negroes being "civilized" were tossed aside in favour of the foul-mouthed, crotch-grabbing types in movies like 48 Hrs., in which stand-up comic Eddie Murphy played a wise-cracking, street-smart, oversexed, criminal Negro partnered with a racist white cop whose life Murphy manages to save once or twice during the movie. In the end, the cop becomes yet another "it only happens in Hollywood" reformed racist. After the success of ‘48 Hrs.’ Jewish film moguls parlayed Murphy's "comic genius" into several other films, all having the same one-note formula as the original. By the end of the 80s, Murphy, an obnoxious darky with a retinue of equally obnoxious black hangers-on, was commanding $15 million per film. Dumbed-down white moviegoers, who attributed Murphy's salary demands to "artistic greatness," were convinced he was the funniest thing since Chaplin. They hadn't a clue that Murphy's "genius" was strictly a Jewish phenomenon-created, hyped and bankrolled by the offspring of Eastern European ghettoites.
As the 1990s began, the antics of Eddie Murphy and his ilk were no longer shocking to whites. They had witnessed the metamorphosis of the Negro from his step-‘n'-fetch it days in the 30s and 40s, when he played inordinately ignorant and preposterous the 50s, when he suddenly became an urbane white posing as a black the 60s, when he was able to assert his individuality and became a trifle "more black" in the process ... to the late 60s, when he starred in a whole series of "daring" "socially-conscious" films designed to prepare whitey for the Negro onslaught to the 70s, when the onslaught finally came, and the Negro was able to strut and swagger and wear loud clothes and curse and use the word "honky" and do drugs and date whites, which everyone thought was "cool"
So it came to pass that the Negro was no longer a Negro. He was a "black" and allowed to do "black things." And if you ever doubted it, all you had to do was watch a little TV. Roots had elevated the Negro to new status in the eyes of the white community. Suddenly he had more historical oomph than anyone. The black became magically-and simultaneously-two different beings at the same time: Stupid Arrogant Negro and Proud African Warrior--an incredible combination that whites never bothered to figure out. They just continued to stand meekly in line for their tickets, ready and willing to have their senses violated by Jewish impresarios who either flung images of degenerate blacks in their faces or, with even more effrontery, paraded their coloured pets across the screen in logic-defying "hero roles" to the point where, by the mid-80s, every modern action movie had to have a Serious Black Cop, every Western at least one Black Gunslinger and every ensemble cast a minimum of two Major Black Stars (even if the film was about a family of WASPs!).
With the growing popularity of rap musk. in the late 80s, a whole new industry was aborning. By 1990, "hip-hop" films, carefully targeted at suggestible white kids who adopted "rap Handsome black: star" loose-fitting shirts, baggy Harry Belafonte pants, baseball caps turned backwards and cheap imitation gold jewellery draped around their skinny necks-were all the rage. From this new genre emerged young black film directors who couldn't make a turkey if they tried (if you believed the critics). Soon Spike Lee became synonymous with "urban rage" and his films were ballyhooed louder at Cannes than John Huston's. Blacks no longer had to look white-or even vaguely white. A sort at "reverse evolution" had taken place over the years. Negroes gradually became as coarse and primitive-looking as the films they starred in. The Chosen, in their boundless arrogance, flaunted their successes by casting uglies in movies that 30 years ago would have meant not only box office failure, but a burnt out theatre.
Jewish filmmakers love nothing more than to replace beauty with its opposite. If they can get away with it, the more exaggeratingly awful the non beauty is, the better. That is why big-boned baboon Oprah Winfrey now reigns as "Queen" of TV talk shows. She is a Jewish-created mockery, presiding over her company, Harpo Productions, that pays her nearly $20 million a year, and allows her to lord it over dozens of obsequient white employees. Winfrey's "success" is just as artificial as that of Bill Cosby, who is yet another Jewish-fabricated gogglebox myth and whose hyper-inflated income is intended to hover over whitey and make him flinch under its mighty shadow. Jews would much rather have a blunt-looking, albeit somewhat expensive, creature like Eddie Murphy as "King of Hollywood" than a "passing" Negro like Harry Belafonte. Ugliness has always been their shtick. So naturally they'd choose the least likely ambassadors of human culture and dignity-Negroes-to represent America at the court of world entertainment.
Showbiz Jews understood long ago that the first Negroes were the advance guard, just transistor actors who would be replaced bit by bit by others with increasingly darker and cruder features, not to mention baser instincts. Belafonte couldn't have known that he was just a "stand-in" for Poitier, who never dreamed as he accepted his Oscar 30 years ago that he was just a pawn, an elegant Uncle Tom assigned to announce the apes to follow. The 70s black actors didn't know that they were just the "undergirding" for a future Eddie Murphy, whose own star has since been partially eclipsed by a pack of vulgar, brutish blacks who owe their fortunes to the same clique that sponsored this cavalcade from the git go.
If the uglification trend continues, Jewish producers will no longer hold their casting calls in the projects, but in the jungles of the Congo, where they'll no doubt attempt to sign orang-utans and chimpanzees to fat movie contracts. The success of the "black cinema" has made it possible for the entertainment Czars to darken the air waves as well. A casual flip through the channels during prime time looks more like a travelogue for Nigeria or a National Geographic special than the white television of yesteryear. Most of these black programs are so unintelligible-with the Negroes reverting back to tribal grunts and groans-that they require subtitles, even though the actors claim they are speaking English. Most appear 10 be talking through broken teeth. One show actually features a Negro "actor-comedian" named Sinbad whose hair seems to change colour with the Unhandsome black: seasons and whose body Robert Townsend posture is so simian that he appears to be dragging his knuckles when he walks. Sinbad spends most of his on-air time (in an immaculate house, of course) mumbling some sort of urban mumbo-jumbo to his "children." It's “Father Knows Best” meets “Bushman From Botswana”. I One is forced to wonder why he calls himself Sinbad in the first place, since he bears no resemblance to the white Saturday matinee swashbuckler of the 50s.
In many ways the Cosby Show was more nonsensical and ludicrous than the current batch of Negro sitcoms. To have us believe that Cosby was a doctor married to a lawyer in a fashionable New York brownstone, the father of a large brood, including three different shades of college-bound kids (one the colour of the black leather couch in the den, one the colour of the lignite coloured coffee table in the living room, the third the colour of the off-white marble staircase in the gallery). It was more unbelievable than Sinbad shuffling around in a spotless kitchen. When we observe our white women and men dating or marrying increasingly vulgar black men or women we come face to face with the connection between movies and television and real life. Is it any wonder that some of our "less discriminating" types would become gradually accustomed and-shudder!-addicted to these Negroes, whose ugly mugs flicker into millions of homes each night and whose ugly pusses light up thousands of movie screens? Hollywood has finally been able to make "black beautiful," not just the watered-down "passing" black of a decade or two ago, but the ordinary, ebony, rough hewn black, whose skin appears to be coated with lacquer-a black so black that his skin gives off a sort of bluish sheen in the daylight. Ugly, nightmarish black. Totem-pole black. Primate black. Now we know why gorillas like Goldberg and Snipes can achieve star billing.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

here's some more information about Hollyweird: