Saturday, March 5, 2011
A lot of postpunk (Wire mainly) suffuses the film with an aura of pop-star impenetrability; Carlos is meant to be taken as a pop-star of a kind, a terrorist who finds himself sufficiently justified by the media attention he attracts. "They would pay very well for my head." That seems to be the only reason for his existence: media and the cult of death that surrounds the making of every pop idol. The last segment is a lame cough, a stumble and tumble, a pathetic overweight fall in comparison with the exhilaration of the first two parts. It all ends, as the "15 mins" tend to do for the reality TV star, in swollen testicles, paralysis, and easy capture.