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| Best Korea's Glorious Leader Kim Jong Un firing a pistol |
PYONGYANG — In a groundbreaking cinematic crossover that no one saw coming — least of all the censors who usually ban anything with laughter — North Korean state media has announced the re-release of a "revolutionary adaptation" of the 1983 Jerry Lewis classic Cracking Up (originally titled Smorgasbord), now retitled Cracking Up: The Supreme Leader's Glorious Range Day Therapy.
In this Juche-approved remake, the hapless, suicidal klutz Warren Nefron is replaced by Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un himself, who plays "Comrade Kim Nefron," a man so overwhelmed by the burdens of running Best Korea that he repeatedly attempts to end it all — only for every effort to hilariously backfire in true Lewis slapstick fashion.
The film opens with Comrade Kim Nefron dramatically stepping off a ledge atop the Ryugyong Hotel... only to land softly in a pile of imported American cheeseburgers that "accidentally" cushioned his fall. Next, he tries poisoning himself with what he believes is capitalist hemlock, but it turns out to be a new flavor of Taedonggang beer — extra refreshing. A noose tied to the ceiling of his private train carriage snaps, catapulting him backward into a vat of kimchi, where he emerges pickled and giggling uncontrollably.
One extended skit shows Kim Nefron in full Lewis-esque clumsiness, donning oversized safety goggles and a leopard-print hunting hat (a clear homage to Jerry's safari antics in other films), attempting to "test" a prototype AK-47 on a row of malfunctioning refrigerators labeled "U.S. Sanctions." The gun jams spectacularly, ricocheting bullets that somehow spell out "Juche Forever" on the wall before he accidentally mag-dumps an entire drum into a portrait of himself — which, of course, smiles back approvingly.
In the film's emotional climax, Nefron-Kim stands at a firing range, tears streaming down his face as he double-taps a cardboard cutout of a certain orange-haired former president. "Why can't I just... enjoy the boom?" he wails in exaggerated Jerry Lewis fashion, arms flailing, voice cracking into high-pitched sobs. The psychiatrist nods sagely: "Comrade, perhaps the path to inner peace is not destruction of self... but destruction of bourgeois lawn furniture. With extreme prejudice."
The movie ends on a triumphant note: Kim Nefron, now fully embracing his inner gun enthusiast, leads the newly formed "People's Therapeutic Shooting Brigade" in a slow-motion montage of blasting watermelons, old tractors, and suspiciously Western-looking piñatas — all while a triumphant orchestral remix of the DPRK anthem swells. Fade out on the Supreme Leader beaming, rocket launcher casually slung over one shoulder like a golf club, whispering, "Finally... I feel seen."
State media hails the film as "a masterpiece of socialist surrealism" and "proof that even the Dear Leader can find joy in small-arms recreation." Tickets are mandatory for all citizens; declining attendance is considered a symptom of bourgeois depression and may require immediate range therapy.
As of press time, international film critics are divided: some call it "the most unhinged propaganda ever committed to celluloid," while others simply mutter, "Well... at least it's better than the last ICBM test.
State media hails the film as "a masterpiece of socialist surrealism" and "proof that even the Dear Leader can find joy in small-arms recreation." Tickets are mandatory for all citizens; declining attendance is considered a symptom of bourgeois depression and may require immediate range therapy.
As of press time, international film critics are divided: some call it "the most unhinged propaganda ever committed to celluloid," while others simply mutter, "Well... at least it's better than the last ICBM test.
