|
|
 |
| |
A scene from Starsuckers, which examines the state of the news media |
Star film on why our celeb cults suck
STARSUCKERS
Directed by Chris Atkins
Certificate 12a
PULITZER prize winning journalist Ralph McGill worked for the southern US paper the Atlanta Journal-Constitution at the height of the civil rights movement.
He prided himself on the fact that his paper stood up against white racists. He gambled his reputation on “...the proposition that it is journalism’s sacred trust to find and publish the truth and that the majority, if properly informed, will act for the good of the community and the country”.
This sprung to mind as the credits rolled on a film that will make anyone who values newspapers as a means of empowering people by spreading information feel utterly depressed.
The premise is this: director Chris Atkins has put together a study of how we have reached the point where our world is utterly celebrity-obsessed, how there is an unhealthy relationship between PR people and newspapers, and how damaging it is for us to be constantly bombarded by tales about nobodies’ sex lives, drug addictions and that type of malarkey. Using interviews with the likes of Max Clifford, paparazzi, gossip writers, psychiatrists and psychologists, the film considers what the allure of celebrity culture is and whether it is all harmless fun or more sinister than that.
The conclusion is that news and entertainment have morphed into one. The film asks: “Who cares if what we read is true and important?” The sole aim of our mass media now is to entertain (a little) or shock (a lot) and therefore flog newspapers.
As well as showing how celebrity columnists are set up with false “stories” that they run without checking, the film notes how one “story” quickly gets sent round the world via the internet. No one ever checks if there is a grain of truth in it or not, and it quickly becomes “fact”.
One aspect this film does not explore fully (and it is one of the most damaging aspects of this awful state of affairs) is the rampant misogyny that exists in celebrity columns. Women are treated as objects. This sexism has leapt like a virus from the tabloids to the broadsheets, who print alluring pictures of semi-clad women to promote their weekend lifestyle supplements.
And then there is the point that celebrity nonsense endlessly slips from the gossip pages to the news pages. Whenever a gossip column has what in its jaundiced eyes is a cracker of a tale, it is instantly pinched by the new desks, further eroding the gap between properly researched and important stories and mindless drivel.
Is there an element of killjoy about all this? Isn’t there room for some idle tittle tattle about what the rich, famous, stupid get up to?
Perhaps – if it is properly checked, balanced, stood up and if it wasn’t always so mean. So sit back and boo loudly at the procession of creeps who roll across the screen – the editors of red tops who cut their teeth on gossip columns, followed by Rebekah Wade and Paul Dacre defending their papers at a parliamentary committee considering the usefulness of the Press Complaints Commission (which is chaired by Paul Dacre).
It would be funny if it wasn’t so scary.
This film is depressing. I recommend it with caveats: see it if you have something beautiful lined up to do afterwards. Have close to hand a loved one to cuddle, a chocolate milkshake to drink, or a bubbling jacuzzi to sink into (celebrity style). |
 |
|
|
| |
|
|
|
