Hollywood dreams turn queasy in David Cronenberg's brilliant nightmare
Tea and absolutely no empathy … Julianne Moore in Maps to the Stars David Cronenberg 's new film here at Cannes is a gripping and exquisitely horrible movie about contemporary Hollywood – positively vivisectional in its sadism and scorn. It is twisted, twisty, and very far from all the predictable outsider platitudes about celebrity culture. The status-anxiety, fame-vertigo, sexual satiety and that all-encompassing fear of failure which poisons every triumph are displayed here with an icy new connoisseurship, a kind of extremism which faces down the traditional objection that films like this are secretly infatuated with their subject. Every surface has a sickly sheen of anxiety; every face is a mask of pain suppressed to the last millimetre. It is a further refinement of this director's gifts for body horror and satire. Maps to the Stars has been written for the screen by Bruce Wagner whose Hollywood novels have the same sociopathically unc...
