Artificial Stupidity Brings Dolph Lundgren to Malta: How a Hollywood AI Gaffe Turned into Comedic Gold for the Islands

Artificial Stupidity Leads to Wilder Return – and Malta’s Comedy Scene Is Loving It
By Hot Malta Staff

Sliema’s seafront was unusually packed last Saturday night, but the crowd wasn’t queuing for gelato. They were lining up outside Eden Cinemas, phones in hand, to watch a hologram of 89-year-old Maltese comic Freddie Portelli roast an AI chatbot that had just tried to book him on a Gozo ferry that sank in 1978. “Artificial intelligence? My foot!” he cackled. “More like artificial stupidity – and it still owes me €2.30 in old lira!”

The punch-line landed because everyone in the room had read the morning’s headlines: a glitchy AI casting tool in Hollywood had accidentally green-lit a sequel to the 1980 boxing flop “The Wilder” by feeding it footage of Maltese festa fireworks instead of fight scenes. Studio executives, fooled by the algorithm’s 98 % “positive sentiment” rating, flew the original star, Dolph Lundgren, straight to Malta for re-shoots. The result: a bizarre Mediterranean musical in which Lundgren punches through pastizzi while belting out “Għanja” folk verses. Maltese Facebook exploded; within hours, #WilderReturn was trending above Eurovision.

But beyond the memes, the screw-up has become a mirror for Malta’s own uneasy dance with tech. Government’s AI-powered traffic cameras still can’t tell a donkey from a delivery van in Mdina, and last month a chatbot deployed by Malta Enterprise greeted foreign investors with “Welcome to Melita, would you like to buy a rabbit?” No wonder locals greet every algorithmic announcement with the same raised eyebrow reserved for a politician’s pre-election pledge.

Cultural critic and Valletta resident Prof. Maria Camilleri argues the gaffe has actually done the island a favour. “We’ve spent five years trying to brand Malta as the ‘Blockchain Island’,” she says, sipping a ħelwa tat-Tork latte in Strait Street. “This ridiculous film reminds us we’re more than a server farm with a passport scheme. We’re storytellers, skeptics, pranksters. Artificial stupidity just gave us permission to laugh at the hype.”

That laughter is translating into hard cash. Tourism Malta reports a 22 % spike in searches for “Malta film locations” since the trailer dropped, largely driven by Swedish fans who want to recreate Lundgren’s pastizzi punch on the steps of the Upper Barrakka. Ferry operators have already cashed in, branding the 04:30 Gozo crossing the “Wilder Sunrise Tour” and flogging €8 tickets that include a complimentary ħobż biż-żejt wrapped in mini boxing gloves. Gozitan farmer Ċikku Pace, whose unsuspecting goat became an extra, has started charging €5 for selfies. “She’s more famous than me now,” he shrugs. “I might run her for MEP.”

Not everyone is amused. Local screenwriters who fought for years to get modest funding feel the insult. “We submit thoughtful scripts about migration or Caravaggio, and a robot sends Lundgren to a festa and gets millions,” complains Paula Debattista, co-founder of the Malta Screenwriters’ Co-op. She’s organising a “Human Intelligence Film Week” in September, featuring workshops on how to sabotage an algorithm with nothing but a kazoo and a plate of imqaret.

Meanwhile, Malta’s tech sector is scrambling to save face. Start-up hub TakeOff has rushed out a crash course titled “AI Ethics for Mediterraneans”, complete with pastizzi-scented slides. Lecturer Andrei Zahra admits the timing is awkward. “We tell students to build responsible systems, then Hollywood uses our island as the punch-line for irresponsible ones.” His solution? Embed local comedians in every product team. “You can’t launch anything in Malta until it survives two hours of improv with Toni’s ħamalli troupe.”

Back in Sliema, Freddie Portelli wraps his set by serenading the hologram chatbot with a rewritten version of his 1970 hit “Viva Malta”. The new lyrics warn Silicon Valley that “if you send another dumb machine, we’ll teach it how to swim in St. Julian’s Bay – face first.” The crowd erupts, waving plastic boxing gloves painted with the Maltese cross.

As the lights come up, tourists and locals spill onto the promenade, arguing whether the film will actually premiere here or end up relegated to Netflix’s comedy section. One thing is certain: Malta has reclaimed the narrative. In a world increasingly run by black-box algorithms, the smallest nation in the EU just proved that a sharp tongue, a sense of history and a well-aimed pastizz can still knock artificial stupidity flat on its back.