I personally blame Neil Combee, with his “Who Is John Galt?” button and accumulated years of government cash and looming pension. I doubt he spent any of that trickled-down tax money to do his part to prop up our favorite fable of embattled capitalist anti-heroes and perverts, errr, free spirits.
Anyway, here’s the Galtian supergenius who ponied up his inheritance, or whatever, to bankroll the movie:
“Why should I put up all of that money if the critics are coming in like lemmings?” Aglialoro, said. “I’ll make my money back and I’ll make a profit, but do I wanna go and do two? Maybe I just wanna see my grandkids and go on strike.”
OMG! Arrrrgggh. What’s with the defeatism? I’m crushed. Would Hank Reardon have ever invented a magical reflecting/refracting/obscuring mirror and perpetual motion machine to power and hide Galt’s gulch if he worried about the critics? Or was it Dagny? Whatever. You get my point.
Said it before, and I’ll say it again: Randism isn’t an ideology, it’s a personality disorder*. But I always diagnosed it as a tendency toward sociopathic abstraction of everything except that which directly benefits Randians. I didn’t realize, though I should have, what a profound strain of wimpiness and self-pity it includes.
* – And you know who you are.