The “Woman King” Cast Is Too Epic—And Honestly, It’s Rude
Let’s address the elephant in the room: the Woman King cast didn’t have to go this hard. Viola Davis? The Oscar-bait factory herself, casually swinging a sword like she hasn’t already colonized our tear ducts in every drama since 2001. Then there’s Thuso Mbedu, who apparently decided acting in one critically acclaimed historical epic (The Underground Railroad) wasn’t enough—she needed to double-dip into greatness while the rest of us are still figuring out how to adult. It’s excessive. It’s unnecessary. It’s like showing up to a potluck with a five-tier cake when everyone else brought napkins.
The Offense, Ranked (Because We’re Petty)
- John Boyega: Known for saving galaxies, now casually dropping emotional depth bombs in between battle scenes. Overachiever.
- Lashana Lynch: Fresh off kicking James Bond’s ego into orbit, she’s here to remind us she can also out-act, out-fight, and out-swag an entire army. Rude.
- Sheila Atim: A Tony-nominated witch (thanks, The Crucible) who now wields spears? Stop making multitasking look so easy.
And let’s not forget the supporting cast, which is stacked like a Jenga tower of talent. Every time a new face appears on screen, you’ll mutter, “Wait, isn’t that the person from [insert that thing you loved]?” Yes. Yes, it is. They’re all here. They’re all flawless. It’s like the Avengers, but with more emotional range and significantly better wigs. Hollywood really said, “Let’s gather every actor who’s ever made you cry or question your life choices and…have them fight colonialism.” Coolcoolcool, no pressure for the next historical drama ever made.
Breaking News: The “Woman King” Cast’s Muscles Have Their Own Agents
Biceps Now Negotiating Screen Time, Demand More “Kale Clauses”
In a shocking twist that’s left Hollywood baffled, the rippling biceps and quads of steel showcased in The Woman King have reportedly hired their own representation. Sources confirm that Viola Davis’s triceps alone are represented by CAA, while Thuso Mbedu’s deltoids are repped by a former WWE negotiator. “They’re not just ‘supporting actors’ anymore,” said one anonymous bicep agent. “These muscles carried the entire third act. They want residuals—and a seat at the craft services table.”
Gym Contracts Leak: “No Shirtless Scenes Before Coffee”
Leaked rider demands reveal the absurdity behind the scenes:
- Viola Davis’s shoulders require daily rubdowns with shea butter and a personal shoutout in the credits as “The Real MVPs.”
- Lashana Lynch’s abs insisted on a “no kale, no deal” clause, demanding organic spinach smoothies be available within 10 seconds of grumbling.
- John Boyega’s calves (yes, they’re freelance) allegedly threatened to go on strike unless given “adequate shadow definition” in every fight scene.
Rumors suggest the muscles are now in a bidding war between Peloton and Old Spice. Meanwhile, the cast’s actual human agents are reportedly “confused but respectful,” muttering things like, “Look, if bicep curls can land a Super Bowl ad, who are we to argue?”
Confessions of a Jealous Blogger: The “Woman King” Cast Stole My Will to Live
I Wrote This from a Puddle of My Own Existential Despair
Let me set the scene: I, a humble blogger who considers “doing laundry” a personality trait, sat down to watch The Woman King expecting a fun historical romp. Instead, I was sucker-punched by Viola Davis’s biceps, Thuso Mbedu’s ability to out-act me in my own daydreams, and John Boyega’s cheekbones, which could cut glass and my fragile ego. Why are they all so good at existing? I’ve spent years perfecting the art of typing in bed while eating cereal, and these people are out here redefining human potential. It’s rude.
Their Talent is a Personal Attack on My Mediocrity
Let’s break down the crimes against my self-esteem via bullet points (because lists are the only thing I can control anymore):
- Viola Davis’s ability to convey 17 emotions in one glare → My face only does “tired” and “slightly more tired.”
- Lashana Lynch’s fight scenes → I pulled a muscle opening a jar of pickles yesterday.
- The entire cast’s chemistry → My Zoom call group chats are just 90% “hello? can you hear me?”
And don’t get me started on their abs. Those things aren’t muscles—they’re Renaissance sculptures forged by vengeful gods to mock my “exercise routine” (read: pacing while arguing with Twitter bots). I’m now convinced the Dahomey warriors didn’t just train for battle; they trained to annihilate the self-confidence of bloggers who still use “I’ll do it tomorrow” as a life mantra. Respect.