Last weekend, almost by accident, I caught Michael Moore’s latest salvo, Capitalism: A Love Story. It’s what you might expect from the man that Bernard Goldberg identified as the most dangerous person in America; let’s just say that the title’s a tad sarcastic. In fact one could argue that with this and Fahrenheit 9/11, Moore has created a cinematic diptych that defines the Noughties, a two-part Film of the Decade.
In fact, that’s what I thought for a few days: until I saw Chris Atkins’ Starsuckers, which reminded us that, even if our era is bookended by two New York institutions collapsing into dust, many of us have been distracted by Britney and Brangelina, by Jade and Jedward, and by the weird wish that maybe, just maybe, we could have a tiny slice of the same pie. Just a little too late for my book, I’ve found the film that sums it all up.
6 comments:
Trailer leaves out the entertaining placing of fake showbiz stories, and their subsequent further embellishment - eg Amy Winehouse's hair catching fire in Barnet. That was all shameless shameful fun.
Errr, Tim, I know this is probably not the proper venue (couldn't locate any other contact information) but we dearly miss your blog at The Guardian. I keep checking for something new but "The Battle of Bangkok" keeps popping up. We hope you still have a tenure there and wonder what became of Bangkok.
BWT: I know... they'll just have to go and see the film, won't they?
Thanks, Mike. I have been a bit slack on the Graun front, and the BKK piece wasn't one of my best, was it? Will have to think up something pungent for them.
The WV, incidentally, is 'cretwarb'. Sounds like a Klingon insult to me.
Incredible as is is to me, people DO give a fuck about fame and celebrity. But isn't just a globalization and media-ization of the act of chatting over the back fence about what happened at the neighbour's last night? Some of us may sublimate our desire to see what F4BF people do into somewhat more innerlecheral pursuits, like reading the biographies of dead white males/females and/or rockstars, but whatever; the world thrives on gossip. Novelists are just semi-fictionalizing gossip columnists, as has been pointed out by better people than me.
This, (crotchety_old_man_voice) by the way you young rascal Mr Footman (/crotchety_old_man_voice), is neither new nor specifically Noughtie.
And I think this pointing out of fads is merely a fad.
The core activity is not new; the sheer amount of it, and the speed with which it can travel, is new. Just as crotchety old men have always complained about stuff that other people write, but now those complaints can reach a wider audience.
Starsuckers looks like a timely blast.
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