There is an elite class in the movie that is absolutely tiny, and even they have to deal with privation when a pound of meat is a big deal. The only party in the movie is held by the women who are “furniture” or sex slaves. In case you haven’t noticed, the Governor of New York is a woman. I’m a skilled blue collar worker who would rather take an occaisional excursion to NYC or Vegas than own a Harley or a bass boat. The fact of the matter is that the only lines in NYC aren’t for food, they are for show tickets and entrance to fancy clubs. The author of essay seems to think that the world of Soylent Green is imminent, and anyone who actually goes to New York City for a minute can see that is ridiculous. In the movie, Detective Thorn didn’t even know how to read. How do we get to that?

Jessica or whoever you are, why don’t you leave whatever backwater you live in and travel around a little bit, meet some new people, and have some fun too. Your gloom and doom is tiresome, and you’re not better than anyone else. If I had a choice to live like a stray dog on the street with a bunch of smelly losers, or work at the Soylent Plant and sleep in a bed, show me my locker and hand me my timecard. I’m not even going to virtue signal over a half century old movie, like you.