Imagine being Fisher in that scene and having to be all like "damn, Rian Johnson, you fuckin' smart, risk-taking with your outlandish ideas and horrific execution. I would totally call you a champion of womens' rights, both my character and the real me." when all she really wants to do is another line in her dressing room. Like seriously imagine having to be Carrie and be rotting away while the CGI department edits your lifeless corpse, the favorable lighting barely concealing the morticians' makeup, and just sit there, in the afterlife, while they made this scene. Not only having to tolerate Disney parading your corpse like a Macy's Day Parade as the crowd shouts YAS QUEEN and THE FORCE IS FEMALE because they're not the ones who have to have their likeness on screen flying like Superman. You've been fucking nothing but a healthy diet of midgets and actors and later the Grim Reaper for your ENTIRE CAREER coming straight from the success of Star Wars. You've never even seen anything this fucking disgusting before, and now you swear you can taste the false sense of pride and accomplishment when they thought putting this horrid sceen in the movie was a good idea, the idea that Disney thought would inspire hope instead of laughter. And then the director doesn't take this embarrassing scene out of the movie, and you know your vengeful spirit could kill every single person in this room before the studio security could put you down, but you sit there and endure, because you're fucking Carrie. You're not going to lose your standing in the afterlife over this. Just bear it. Do another line and bear it.
