- You were too nice to tell your friend that he can’t act — If you love someone, let them go. Not everyone can be Leo DiCaprio. Brayden certainly can’t.
- Bad publicity — Your friends didn’t tell their aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and cousins to tell their friends to tell their cousins to buy tickets to see your movie. Charging sixty dollars per ticket probably didn’t help sales either.
- Excessive “Indie-ness” — Not even the judges of the Holly Weird Film Festival (it’s real) wanted to watch Alexa and Jeremiah discover their sexual identities whilst struggling with their methamphetamine addictions. Maybe they were right to question the strategy of filming the entire thing in an abandoned cornfield.
- Your film claimed emotional intelligence was fake — Peter Salovey consequently mobilized the Yale militia to block off all the movie theaters in New Haven. Yalies must be protected from fake news — especially when it contradicts the lifelong research of our righteous leader. Sorry nobody wanted to drive all the way to Bridgeport to watch your pretentious drug-infested-corn-obsessed-pseudo-pornographic indie movie.
- Let’s face it, you’re lazy. — You procrastinated for hours and compiled the whole thing the night before your release date. Editing was harder than you expected, so you ended up only using a single wide shot of them frolicking in the field. You take pride in the fact that you finished at 11:59 p.m. And honestly, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.
- You wasted your entire budget renting out a fucking cornfield — Turns out your viewers wanted costumes and props and nice lighting and a high-quality camera and stuff. But that just wasn’t in the cards. Who knew dried grass and corn husks were so expensive? Clearly not you.
—N. Khazzam and Z. Winthrop