tom-998-761733
Lifetime Total
50+
Lifetime Name
10+
Lifetime Filmo
25+
Lifetime Plot
1+
Lifetime Trivia
1+
Lifetime Title
1+
IMDb Member
13 years
Reviews
Absolutely Fashion: Inside British Vogue (2016)
The Work of an Arch Cringe Demon
My word. What an atrocious piece of film-making.
I never look up the makers of documentaries (who does?) but on this occasion I had to know who was to blame for such an excruciating, cataclysmically bad piece; whose nauseating fetid voice, with that awful ague-inducing amateur cadence - reminiscent of a tone-deaf would-be singer furtively taking the microphone and delivering epic levels of unadulterated cringe - the painful faux(?) idiocy - the constant inanity - had blighted my television screen.
Richard Macer- my God. From which hole in the ground did you crawl out of? Please crawl back. If this is one of those Florence Foster Jenkins situations - let me be the first to tell you- you are thoroughly, toe-curlingly bad. I mean off the richter scale, time-to-put-the-dog-to-sleep awful.
How on earth the people at British Vogue took such a huge misstep allowing you onto the scene- one shall never know.
As a documentary there was no clear angle, no story, no interest in the content- you got the feeling you were watching the hopeless holiday video camera footage of an awkward, stuffy self-conscious teenager, whose own self-consciousness was so extreme it became infectious even to the adults; sort of low-key sulky and constantly feeling left out- I could almost feel the droop of the head of Mr Macer as he attempted to... what? I don't think even he knew what he was doing there.
The non-existent narrative was accompanied by shoddy camerawork and almost constant parodic levels of cliche stock music - just one example - Macer attempts to make out there is some sort of confrontation occurring (there was not) - which is then accompanied by a vaguely Wild West off-the-shelf archive guitar twang.
On a more serious note- there was a constant, background covert, passively unpleasant undertone- again like a slighted juvenile - which gave the two episodes a curious, discordant and uniquely unpleasant aftertaste- think yogurt gone sour, or finding someone's fingernail in your soup. That's Macer's style.
It was clear he made the individuals at Vogue uncomfortable, and more than once seemed to step over the line actively upsetting, seeking to sow discord; I was left with a thoroughly, utterly unpleasant impression of the petulant thing hiding behind the camera.
What on earth was he doing there? Did his work experience forms get mixed up?
Honestly I might go watch some of his other work just to marvel at such a nuanced cringe demon.
Mr Macer, it's a shame you weren't maced out of the Vogue building.
I never look up the makers of documentaries (who does?) but on this occasion I had to know who was to blame for such an excruciating, cataclysmically bad piece; whose nauseating fetid voice, with that awful ague-inducing amateur cadence - reminiscent of a tone-deaf would-be singer furtively taking the microphone and delivering epic levels of unadulterated cringe - the painful faux(?) idiocy - the constant inanity - had blighted my television screen.
Richard Macer- my God. From which hole in the ground did you crawl out of? Please crawl back. If this is one of those Florence Foster Jenkins situations - let me be the first to tell you- you are thoroughly, toe-curlingly bad. I mean off the richter scale, time-to-put-the-dog-to-sleep awful.
How on earth the people at British Vogue took such a huge misstep allowing you onto the scene- one shall never know.
As a documentary there was no clear angle, no story, no interest in the content- you got the feeling you were watching the hopeless holiday video camera footage of an awkward, stuffy self-conscious teenager, whose own self-consciousness was so extreme it became infectious even to the adults; sort of low-key sulky and constantly feeling left out- I could almost feel the droop of the head of Mr Macer as he attempted to... what? I don't think even he knew what he was doing there.
The non-existent narrative was accompanied by shoddy camerawork and almost constant parodic levels of cliche stock music - just one example - Macer attempts to make out there is some sort of confrontation occurring (there was not) - which is then accompanied by a vaguely Wild West off-the-shelf archive guitar twang.
On a more serious note- there was a constant, background covert, passively unpleasant undertone- again like a slighted juvenile - which gave the two episodes a curious, discordant and uniquely unpleasant aftertaste- think yogurt gone sour, or finding someone's fingernail in your soup. That's Macer's style.
It was clear he made the individuals at Vogue uncomfortable, and more than once seemed to step over the line actively upsetting, seeking to sow discord; I was left with a thoroughly, utterly unpleasant impression of the petulant thing hiding behind the camera.
What on earth was he doing there? Did his work experience forms get mixed up?
Honestly I might go watch some of his other work just to marvel at such a nuanced cringe demon.
Mr Macer, it's a shame you weren't maced out of the Vogue building.