The episode begins with an art exhibit so uninteresting and devoid of talent that it could be real. Three models are caked with mud and hanging from ropes. One of them complains when she begins to bleed. The photographer, Simon, tells his assistant Nishi to give them some money to get rid of them. Or, as we say in the real world, pay them.
He later arrives at a showing of his dreck. The vacuous, trend-sucking ignorati wildly applaud him as he walks into the party like he was walking onto a yacht. A sad little critic in a please-notice-me suit and please-please-notice-me over-sized glasses ridiculous even for the 1980’s lavishes praise on the smug artiste. He responds, “I don’t care what you critics think. You’re just policemen.” I applaud his refusal to be swayed by critics, but he speaks as if he is saying something profound and is profoundly not.
The great Simon pulls an automatic weapon from beneath his Jedi robe; yeah, he is dressed in a robe. He says, “Would you like to see a suicide?” and places the barrel in his mouth.” Before I can say yes, he swings the rifle around and shouts, “How about a mass killing?” He then blasts automatic weapon fire over the heads of his cowering sycophants. As he leaves, blonde model Christina gushes, “You’re incredible.”
The sheeple naturally give him a standing ovation — now that standing up will not get their heads blown off. Christina runs after him to his car. She begs him to let her pose for him. He says, “To model for me you have to be a victim, a slave.” Who could pass up that opportunity? She gets in his car.
That’s it for me. The big city art elite are laughable and ripe for derision and satire, but this comes off as one of their own products. The only emotion it evokes is tedium. We have the thoroughly unlikable anti-hero because decency is for the rubes. We have the empty headed poser desperate to be part of this hollow world. Compound that with the usual terrible 1980s light shows and synths and this is unwatchable.
Go read The Painted Word instead. It won’t take much longer than the episode and, unless you’re reading in a dim light, will be easier on the eyes.
- From the writer of the dreadful The Legendary Billy B, but I blame the director for that one.