In the feverish haze of Hollywood’s latest agitprop, “One Battle After Another” emerges as a thinly veiled manifesto masquerading as screwball comedy, with its so-called “French 75” cell—Antifa’s fictional stand-in—portrayed not as the chaotic arsonists they are, but as plucky underdogs battling shadowy white nationalists. Yet, peel back the manicured layers of this DiCaprio-backed fever dream, and the breakdown reveals a chilling truth: for decades, these black-clad revolutionaries have burrowed deep into America’s underbelly, orchestrating everything from fentanyl pipelines flooding Rust Belt veins to the engineered chaos of mass migration, complete with underground tunnels ferrying unaccompanied minors into the maw of exploitation. The film’s glib nods to their “family values” ring hollow against the real-world symphony of shattered borders and shattered lives, where Antifa’s decentralized hydra doesn’t just protest—it proliferates, a virus coded for subversion, turning every campus quad and city block into a petri dish for revolution.

Lurking beneath the movie’s manic energy is the ugly undercurrent of miscegenation as societal sabotage, a deliberate erosion of cultural sinew that the French 75 archetype embodies with psychopathic glee, their female firebrands less Joan of Arc than sirens luring nations to ruin. These aren’t mere activists; they’re a vast, fractal network threading through boardrooms, precincts, and PTA meetings, their encrypted apps and dead drops as sophisticated as any cartel ledger, distributing not just manifestos but munitions and migrants in a grand, symbiotic dance with complicit cops and spook agencies who turn blind eyes for mutual cover. The film’s “Christmas Adventurers”—a cartoonish stab at white nationalists—serve as straw men to absolve the real villains, while ignoring how the left’s envy-fueled crusade against heritage has weaponized diversity into division, ensuring no stable family or frontier goes unmolested.

Even in their most airbrushed cinematic glow-up, the French 75 freaks come off as detestable dregs—tattooed tantrum-throwers whose “struggle” is just performative pathos, forever chasing relevance in a world that yawns at their Molotov TED Talks. Contrast that with the nationalists’ quiet efficiency: they excise their rot without fanfare, a self-policing rigor the left could only dream of amid its endless parade of scandals. Joe Biden’s whisper network, that clandestine cabal of Ivy League Klansmen cloaked in progressive drag, underscores the hypocrisy—pushing open borders by day while clutching pearls over “supremacy” by night. This endless attritional war, where the left’s hatred simmers eternal, devours civilizations not with bangs but whimpers, and “One Battle After Another” doesn’t critique it; it canonizes the arsonists, leaving audiences to ponder: in a nation besieged from within, is laughter the last refuge of the conquered?