The Beekeeper, starring action hero Jason Statham, may be the closest thing we’ll ever get to a big-budget feature depicting the corruption of the Joe Biden crime family and associates. Complete with a drug-addled, escort-addicted, sociopathic, and selfish son of a U.S. president who corrupts CIA personnel and indeed our political system to benefit the family, the film earns its R rating the old-fashioned way: with shoot-em-up action and a bit of profanity. Yet it refrains from indulging in grotesque violence or indecent nude scenes.

Of course, family-friendly publications used to refrain from recommending R-rated movies. But as with so many things in our age of mixed-up priorities and morality, the Hollywood rating system is an utter mess. It smooshes together in the “R” category films that have very different reasons for their placement. So you get an R rating for raunchy soft-core pornography and sadistic horror, and you get the same rating for war movies with convincing battle scenes. Hence 50 Shades of Gray is lumped together with Saving Private Ryan and Nefarious. Sometimes I think I know who’s rating our movies: Ned Flanders from The Simpsons. Or perhaps it is some corporate diversity consultant named Karen.

I’m not super-sensitive to violence in movies. I became inured early.

I’ll never forget the time my middle-aged mother was sitting at a TV tray, eating her cream cheese and jelly sandwich and drinking a weak cup of tea, while watching Nightmare on Elm Street Part 72 or something. On screen some villain was opening a teenager’s skull with a bone saw, and the victim dropped the F-bomb. Mom went into outrage mode at the language: “Why’d they have to ruin this perfectly nice movie with that filth?”

Mom would rate The Beekeeper PG. (Because of the profanity, otherwise she’d give it a G and show it in schools.)

So now that the family advisory is out of the way, can I say how shocked and delighted I was to see that Hollywood permitted this movie to be made?  

That’s right. In addition to taking on themes that seem otherwise verboten in Hollywood today, everything about this movie is a throwback to a saner time in filmmaking—the result being an exciting and emotionally satisfying action film of the kind you might remember from the ’90s with Bruce Willis or Jean-Claude Van Damme. Moreover, we see a liberal president whose entire campaign is financed by her son’s elaborate empire of criminal activity—in this case, identity theft and wire fraud that rakes in billions. (It’s just a minor stretch of the imagination to sub in shady payments from Chinese or Ukrainian oligarchs and a doddering old man as opposed to a female president, but who am I to quibble?)

The film depicts CIA agents, Secret Service, and other deep state assets using government power and money to help the president’s son cover up his crimes. We watch as a few rogue FBI agents disobey their corrupt superiors’ orders, when they’re told to apprehend a lone vigilante, ex-intelligence officer Adam Clay (Jason Statham),  who is out to eliminate the corrupt First Son for preying on the helpless. Jeremy Irons does a star turn as an elderly CIA mandarin (complete with George H.W. Bush accent) who has summoned all his influence and power to protect this political crime family, out of class loyalty. (Think of all those bipartisan deep state panjandrums who lied through their teeth about Hunter’s laptop to swing the 2020 election.)

I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that Steve Bannon was behind this movie. I’ll have to call him and ask.

Of course, the movie doesn’t deliver the red pill whole. It expects us to believe that the president was 100 percent in the dark about the source of the billions of dollars her coke-snorting, ne’er-do-well son has somehow gotten hold of, and laundered for her campaign. It depicts government intelligence agencies as fundamentally decent, albeit sometimes corrupted by highly placed bad apples—when in fact we know that the opposite is true: These agencies are fundamentally tyrannical and corrupt, but sometimes compromised by a truth-telling patriot who somehow slips through their filters.

But people can only handle the truth in very small doses. I hope millions of voting-age Americans see The Beekeeper, connect the dots, and then go home and stream Dinesh D’Souza’s Police State. I hope they read articles which reveal how the Uniparty turned the intelligence community into a fourth branch of government, which doesn’t answer to and cannot be controlled by any of the other three branches—unless some courageous Congress finally cut off all its funds. Then I hope they write Speaker Mike Johnson and tell him to shut down the government and reopen it only if it seems absolutely necessary.