Capitalism: a love story
Beyonce the debt…
I was afforded the luxury of a Friday afternoon off so I went to see Michael ‘Ian Storey’ Moore’s ‘Capitalism: a love story’ at the pictures. It’s a fine film and you should take your pants down to the Cornerhouse* this week to see it. It’s a two hourer as you’d expect from the rotundy one but it gets you there. I cried twice near the end but then again I’m a big blubberer when it comes to people fighting back.
And that’s what it is, a little pilot light of resistance shone upon by the big light of the cameras. You know how Moore’s films go but that is in no way a denigration from me. He exposes the callous, unforgiving, corporate greed and the evil ball bags of excuses for human beings that perpetrate it and it gets you hot diggety mad. Within that hotness of your diggetyness and that swirl of hopelessness and the there’s-fck-all-we-can-do’nessness he finds that hope. That May the twelfth that is not the May the twelfth of fck-the-Glazers-have-done-it but the May the twelfth of fck-we-can-do-it.
There’s no point in me giving you a ‘the-butler-did-it’ review, it would just be to your good health if you went to see it. Obviously the man’s a bit of a fat get with one of those fatback backs and an appalling addiction to brown felt coats but I’m glad he’s on our side and continuing to be a pest. I wouldn’t want him to visit our house though as he looks like one of those blokes that smell of chorizo sausage. And his burps might hang around a bit longer than is necessary.
I’d still give him honorary Mancunian status. He produces that Manchester spirit, patience and gentleness that this publication so admires. The fact he put a ‘:’ in the title of his film like we do with ours just shows he likes us too. And why wouldn’t he? We’re very pleasant people.
There’s a great swing version of an old song as the credits go up which is entertaining so don’t nipperteez off too quick at the end. Obviously you don’t have to take a blind bit of notice of me and nobody is skulldragging you there but if you’re anything like the people who contribute to this site – good jesus – then you’ll feel better for doing so. There’s no knocks in it though.
*With all the recent publicity concerning Mossad I found out that they like to be called the Mossad. There are certain very likeable characters at FC United of Manchester with an involvement at the Cornerhouse. They, unlike Mossad, would like us to call it just Cornerhouse. No ‘the’. And they have a point as just Cornerhouse is what it is called. Unfortunately that is not my fault that it was misnamed. Just saying “I’m going to Cornerhouse” makes you sound like a proper Leigh backward.
And a proper Leigh backward may have named it that way as you know Mancunians are very tolerant. And it might just be that a josskin sneaked in and named it without a ‘the’. Unfortunately for the Leigh backward trying to change Manchester talkology, the Cornerhouse is on Oxford Road not on Pig Gristle Foot Lane so you can go and piss you cow-heel-stew-through-a-straw faced fckr. It’s called the Cornerhouse. It might be full of some right Chorlton gobshites but it is still a cute little place that is worth your occasional patronage despite the dear beer and the Loach spat.
It deserves its ‘the’. Anything else is just josskinism. And nobody wants that in the city. And we’ll be the ones fighting it. I do like a pie on a muffin though. That was probably ours anyway and they’ve just appropriated it. Give them an inch and they’ll take your backyard.