An alignment of the stars this week meant I watched, back to back, two films that could fall into the category of "political documentary". Both profile instantly recognisable, highly polarising figures and both offer glimpses into great rooms of power. But that's where any similarity ends.
The opening credits give immediate warning: I’ve not seen one name mentioned so many times since Barbra Streisand’s magnum opus Yentl. Melania Trump is producer, star, all-round muse – making her responsible for the 15 minutes of footage in which she discusses, with fawning stylists, the shoulder pads on her inauguration suit, after which I’m ready to stick the much-discussed hatpin into my own forehead.
The rest of the film focuses either on Melania’s stiletto heels – stepping out of a limousine, onto a private jet, through the doors of her gold-plated Trump Tower home – or on the back of her head, so we get to see her golden tresses and the silencing effect she has on bystanders. As a study in iconography, it is fascinating, the only problem being icons don’t stand up to extended scrutiny. Just as a car’s value decreases the minute it drives off the forecourt, Melania’s effect diminishes the longer she stays in the room, and we're here for 104 minutes. So yes, fascinating, but let’s not call it a documentary. "One-woman Robert Palmer video" would be more accurate.
And yet, from titles to credits, not one word of explanation, justification or circumspection is solicited or offered. The nearest we get is her husband’s verdict that "she’s very difficult, but there’s no one like her". There is no hint of how she squares her pursuit of people's rights, never mind her own immigrant history, with the actions of her spouse, or how she justifies being a feminist purely by virtue of putting all her chips on marital orange. Every sentence she utters tells us less.
Critics, from Jeremy Corbyn to Clare Short, queue up to bury Caesar, and Blair answers every question, even those that begin, “Now, be honest with me…” It is sometimes uncomfortable, but necessary viewing, and deserves to be called a documentary. The Melania show is equally uncomfortable, but unnecessary – even if it does tell us exactly what’s under the hat.
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