They didn’t just cut out the parts with the oat milk, they skillfully edited over all the god-damn branding and replaced the audio.
But what I still find most hilarious about this whole commercial is the fact that everything they show in this solar punk world seems to be made with sustainable, zero waste and reusable materials.
Everything EXCEPT THE FUCKING CHOBANI BRANDED STUFF! The only plastic you see in this whole commercial is all the straight to the landfill packaging made by the very corporation that tries to sell how sustainable and “green” they are. Unintentional self satire at its finest.
They couldn’t even show their yogurt and milk in (basically infinitely reusable) glass containers because they pretty much only sell their shit in plastic
It is such a perfect example of the true face of “green” capitalism, it’s hilarious.
The punk in this solarpunk comes from cutting the corporation out of the picture
ALSO
Another really interesting thing about this edit is that they changed the label on the side of the apple-picking machine.
From “donations” to “commons”. It’s a subtle change, but it makes a huge difference in the world-building of the video. The former implies that this big orchard belongs to an owner and that they’re donating the fruits to “the less fortunate” (and, by extension, that poverty is still a thing); the latter implies that the orchard belongs to everyone and that the fruits are free to take in the spirit of solidarity.
Waffle To The Left brought out the potential in this gorgeous video and made it an actual solarpunk utopia β without brands and without corporate pandering, complete with true common ownership over land and resources.
Gen Z bringing back big floppy pants and chonky shoes is a wonderful development. I just think about how everyone’s probably so much more comfortable during these phases of the clothes cycle.
I do wholeheartedly believe Wes Anderson is a sick sick freak. I like his movies but I definitely think this guy has like a hidden room in his spacious french apartment that he slips into quietly each night and it is just filled with tiny little doll replicas of all the actors he’s ever used in any of his movies and he puppets them around and mimicks their voices and shit. and sometimes he’ll text Owen Wilson pictures of his little doll with a comb or something from an untraceable number and pair it with like “see how I take care of you Owen?” and then the following day Owen Wilson will find him at the service table and go, “Geez Wes look at this,” and Wes will pretend to be all concerned and horrified but there is this calculating almost eager look in his eyes that unsettles Owen Wilson. and the next time Wes is having a little soiree with all his actors, his beloved beloved actors, maybe Owen Wilson will accidentally get lost on his way to the beautiful bathroom and find that little room and see all those dolls and his throat will hitch with horror. And before he can call Bill Murray or Adrian Brody to look a dark silhouette will appear in the doorway and Wes looks sort of resigned when he says, “I see you finally found my secret, Owen,” and Owen Wilson will try and pretend that he’s fine with it but they both know better. and Wes will go (the look in his eyes back again) “We both know this can’t get out, right?” and he’ll grin very suddenly and Owen Wilson will laugh along very nervously and leave the room and eat some brioche and when the evening is over he will rush over to his Prius and frantically click his keys but over the cobbles on the beautiful beautiful street there is the sound of footsteps. and tears are running down Owen Wilson’s cheeks but he can’t say a word and Wes, emerging from the shadows, will gently touch him on the shoulder and say, “look, I’ll drive you to the airport, huh?” and Owen Wilson will try to refuse but they both know it’s futile. and, halfway through the drive, Wes Anderson will smile and say, “I’ll miss working with you” and then perfectly jump and roll out of the car, wiping off his corduroy pants, while Owen Wilson’s Prius swerves into a local patisserie, bursting into flames
