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BOOK REVIEW BILL MACPHERSON Money


Martin Amis (Penguin Books) John Self is a film director – and


a thoroughly despicable man. He’s a cad and a bounder with very few redeeming qualities. Flying back and forth between London and New York continually, the book begins with him drunk and stupefied on his way to the city from JFK. Full of bile, he insults the cab driver and is unceremoniously dumped for his slurs and all-round nastiness, only to accost the same cabbie on the rebound. It’s funny as hell. Set in the hedonistic years of century, Money is all


tail-end 20th


about the need for same. Against the backdrop of the artificially self- important film industry, the excesses of decadent behaviour are justified by the prevailing belief that money is no object. There is always loads of money to be had, permitting easy and constant abuse of the many vices our lead man indulges in. Self (ironic name here) is a


believer as he fumbles through the making of his first feature film. He is flattered and soothed by the money men, the hangers-on and the various other industry types who bolster his ego and reassure him fawningly. He’s deluded – and often dejected – in his dealings with the ridiculous demands and volatile temperaments of his stars. The film is a mess, just like our protagonist. When he has moments of lucidity,


Self is often raging and full of self-pity over the arc of his life. When he isn’t worrying about the unfaithfulness of his tart, Selina, or dealing with his reptilian pub-owner Dad and his cronies, he’s deceiving, lying, cheating and indulging in general depravity. It’s an unreal world that isn’t pretty or sustainable. Initially undeterred, life/


work is a never-ending series of debacles for Self. He is insulting, outrageous, and boorish to the extreme. Everyone overlooks his vulgar behaviour, though, inflating his importance and “star” talent. And, of course, reassuring him the


money flow is endless. The constant promise of unlimited cash enables his overindulgences, even as the film flounders, and he does too. To rescue it, Self ultimately


brings in a London neighbour and writer named – Martin Amis! It is a confident writer that can place himself into a story so cleverly, or is it arrogance? Can the new script writer salvage the film, or is it beyond saving due to Self’s excessiveness? Amis has a special talent for creating particularly unlikeable


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