In the boldest experiment in concert crowd-control since the velvet rope, Will Smith stands accused of staffing his tour video with a crowd so enthusiastic it had to be compiled. At last, a crowd that cannot boo, only download.

Eyewitnesses report fans whose cheekbones matched like standardized testing bubbles, all clapping on ones and zeros, as if Clip Art had discovered rhythm and a group rate. Even the wave looked copy-pasted, surfing the stadium like a tax deductible dolphin.

A spokesperson called it sustainable ovation, an eco-applause that leaves no footprint except on the server farm stomping like a techno-Clydesdale. Fans were assured the claps were ethically sourced from a cruelty-free keyboard.

Meanwhile actual attendees say they were outside wrestling a parking app that kept insisting their car was a bicycle, while the algorithm inside achieved catharsis at 120 smiles per second. Their ticket barcode finally worked right after the encore rendered.

Merch tables allegedly offered wristbands that paired with the roar via Bluetooth, plus an add-on DLC called Standing O Premium; superfans could even take home a ‘concert-grade hologram projector’ to rehearse being overcome by emotions that ship by courier. Merch quality was guaranteed to be indistinguishable from emotion at ten meters.

Tech sleuths slowed the footage and spotted clone rowdies repeating the same chest-bump loop, an infinite party where nobody sweats and beer exists as a PNG with foam. Witnesses swear a guy in Section 209 high-fived himself eight times in twenty seconds, a personal growth arc.

The background-performer union demanded a sit-down with the pixels, insisting that if polygons are going to take human jobs they should also take our parking tickets and our lower back pain. Negotiations stalled when the polygons demanded exposure and a chiropractor patch.

Tour insiders say the AI crowd was trained on archival footage of every encore since fire was invented, plus three episodes of a cooking show just to spice the dataset. The model now recognizes thirty species of scream, from surprised to surgically impressed.

Philosophers weighed in to ask if a celebrity drops a beat to a stadium of parameterized silhouettes, does the vibe make a sound, or does it bill you monthly like a ‘cloud-based fan generator’ with unlimited woo. Bards nodded and invoiced the moment.

One hype architect, a person who used to be a publicist before titles evolved into weapons, clarified that the project was not deception but reality enhancement, the same way a spray tan is technically weather. He then apologized to weather.

Legal teams floated a new rating: PG-13 for synthetic ovations, mild duplication, and thematic cheering, along with a content warning that says some adoration may be portrayed by models trained on other adoration. Trailers will feature the line based on a true story, then wink and load.

As this courtroom-usher of a reporter hits publish, an invisible stadium rises to its pre-rendered feet, but the only genuine noise is the snack machine coughing up exact change; once again, the volume is enormous and the plot is optional. In fairness, that is also how some franchises mistake volume for plot.