If you are an executive, this is your day: a scruffy man in a Hawaiian shirt walks into your office and says, “I need you to be personally responsible for giving me one hundred million dollars so I can go to Ireland and have people who pretend for a living act like they’re fighting imaginary dragons.”
”Will I get to see the dragons first?” you ask hopefully.
“Oh, no the dragons won’t exist until after we’re done shooting. The professional pretending people will be yelling at sticks. Occasionally, they will flee from a mop.”
And your job, as the exec, is to write him the check.
Any sane man would break.