Conspiracy Theory:
It's 2000, and James Cameron, tired of hearing all the criticism about how his 1997 film was overly long and drawn out, poorly written, over-acted, cliched, undeserving of the Best Picture award, etc. etc. etc., decides to go into action.
One night, rather intoxicated due to all this internal consternation and self-doubt, Cameron says to himself, "They want to see a bad movie about the Titanic? They'll get a truly bad movie about the Titanic."
Pausing briefly to admire his 24 carat solid gold toaster oven, he cackles, "One for the ages...."
(Dramatic scene break)
He commissions a group of unknown Italian film makers, sadly living in absolute anonymity from the Hollywood scene, to concieve of this brutally terrible scourge upon humanity. When the Italians tell Cameron they have dignity, they can't do this, etc., Cameron only chooses to press forward harder.
Finally, under the guise of offering them free mint gelato, Cameron forces the Italians into his study, hands them multiple suitcases filled with several millions of dollars--to which he informs will be all theirs if they just "write the damn movie like I told you to!"--and instructs them not to emerge until the job is finished.
When the Italians express to Cameron that they have no heavenly idea how exactly to write a truly excrementally bad movie about the Titanic, Cameron goes to his DVD cabinet, pulls out a copy of "Titanic," "Cinderella," "An American Tale," "101 Dalmations" and several other Disney and Don Bluth concoctions, and through a peppered series of obscenities tells them to get to work.
He slams the door to the study, effectively holding the Italians prisoners against their will, and locks it tight. He then proceeds to walk out to see his gardener (who had promised to demonstrate to him the newly installed diamond encrusted sprinkler system hooked up to a supply of 1921 Motrachet) and then...stops....and walks back.
Cameron unlatches the door, opens it, and peers his head into the study to address the Italians (by then, their heads buried deep in their hands.)
"One more thing," says Cameron.
The Italians look up. Cameron smiles diabolically.
"Add...a rapping dog."
(Second dramatic scene break)
Two hours, thirteen minutes later, the Italians emerge from the study literally shaking, with "Titanic: The Legend Goes On" in its final form in hand. They hand it to Cameron, say in Italian, "Che non รจ finito" ("It is finished") and then promptly run--RUN--from Cameron's sight, not stopping their sprint for over an hour until finally reaching the safety of a small taqueria in East L.A.
Still sitting unopened in Cameron's study are the briefcases intended for the Italians containing tens of millions of dollars.
(Epilogue)
And this is why today--in 2012--when speaking of "Titanic: The Legend Continues," reviewers, commentators and pundits will now continiously refer to the "vastly superior 1997 James Cameron film" or the extent to which James Cameron's Titanic is a "timeless classic" and that the animated 2000 "Italian" film despoils the memory of "one of Hollywood's greatest films ever." (As opposed to snide comments concerning Kate Winslet's breasts or desires to gouge one's eardrums out after hearing "My Heart Will Go On" for the 18,456th time).
And James Cameron smiles.