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Faded beauty queen Jackie Siegel got my eye twitching with her comment halfway through The Queen of Versailles--something to the effect of, "Wasn't that bailout money supposed to go to us regular people?" The documentary chronicles a year or so in the life of her husband David and his company Westgate, the Cadillac of the time-share condo business. Up until the market crash of '08, he was sitting on billions of dollars and enough hubris to fill a Carnival cruise line septic tank. As the film begins, David brags of hobnobbing with celebrities, conspiring to steal the 2000 election with his buddy George, and cutting the ribbon on the latest symbol of Las Vegas excess--a towering time-share hotel hard-sold to blue-collar scrubs wanting a taste of the high-life. But with the sub-prime mortgage collapse, the life he's built on easy credit and over-leveraged assets begins its death throes. The Versailles in the title refers to the dream home he, his wife and their eight children begin to build at the worst possible moment. This $100 million monstrosity is modelled on the actual Palace of Versailles, a hated relic of the ancien régime for reasons these nouveau riche podunks likely did not appreciate the irony behind. The company's financial problems halt construction of the beast, and as the weeks and months pass, the massive structure becomes the world's most spacious mausoleum. Forced to downshift from disgusting to merely nauseating means, David becomes a ghost of a man, sloughing around his insecure mansion shirtless and--for a man of his nature--spendthrift. All the while his company, house and legacy sinks into the muck. When troubles arise, rich folks seem very quick to point out their humble beginnings. Both Jackie and David can recall their hardscrabble youth, growing up in homes with a mere three bedrooms, and having to wait to use the terlet. As their fantasy lives begin to collapse, we, the bank loan declinees, could be forgiven for gloating at their misfortune or revelling at an opportunity to use a flashy term we learnt in a 200-level German course. And yet--drat their oily hides--I felt a twinge of sympathy for these fuckers. I don't buy for a minute that these are "regular joes," but they are nonetheless mammalian. Jackie is a Pollyanna and not exactly bright, but keeps a smile even as her face swells from a microdermabrasion. David by the end is humbled, meek, and nearly penitent. They blame the bankers, just like us. And when they're forced to downsize the help, their dumbass crotchspawn step in dog poo poo, pacified by wealth and privilege. It's unfuckingconscionable that Westgate was allowed to operate the way it was. David mentions that when times were good, he was buying properties in cash and then mortgaging them to cover payroll. Hollow as their bitching may appear at face value, they speak to a corrupt and mind-boggling mismanagement by the usurers in charge. If losing Versailles is what it took to take a big swingin' dick like David Siegel to realize the folly of the free market, perhaps the PH Tower was worth the price. Even low-income me, living on a lifeboat, tossing a chum bucket at the circling creditors, can feel for these prick bastards. Maybe it's all Hollywood pixie-dust (Abigail Disney is a co-executive producer). But for things to improve, we're gonna need at least a few of these rich fucks to see things our way. I thought I was gonna get a massive hate-boner for the Siegels, but The Queen of Versailles had me sadjaculating an hour in. Four stars for this interesting film.
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Feb 19, 2013 01:40
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 07:03 |
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