Kritiken

You could read the languor generously, as a conscious new direction in Curtis's work. Or it could simply be the sign of burgeoning self-indulgence, the kind of thing cult figures often become susceptible to. Or perhaps, at this late stage in his career, Curtis is deliberately producing self-parody in order to please a semi-ironic fan-base, in a contorted attempt to comment on the very medium—the internet—that has transformed his approach.

Curtis continues to use the not-yet-fully-defined space of BBC iPlayer to expand his style, but he hasn't created something so politically urgent since The Power of Nightmares. If you want to know how we got into this mess, how we've all been convinced to go along with it and what nightmare possibilities the future might hold, tune into Channel Curtis ASAP.

In his sprint through the movements and exigencies of the past half-century, Curtis refuses to register—indeed, obliquely snubs—feminism. That political action and collective consciousness might _also_ work to enrich the individual spirit—once a rather uncontroversial claim on the Left—is to him an insidious contamination of political sensibilities by our narcissistic present.

The film suspends you in nauseating limbo between reality and fiction. Non-coincidentally, Donald Trump plays a starring role. For Curtis, the figure of Trump signifies the takeover of American politics by money – and when he goes bankrupt he still maintains his Midas-like public image, the power of showmanship and media only reinforcing illusions of wealth and power.