Mutterings aloud in the hope that I may find the plot that eludes me...
Friday, July 15, 2011
Murdoch - the titillation tables have turned...
Have been watching bemused, buoyed, yes, even titillated as Saga Murdoch plays out like some kind of fat, fabulous Aesop fable.
Retribution this sweet I thought only happened in the most formulaic of Hollywood plot lines.
The supposedly invincible media mogul with police and politicians in his pocket scurries around floundering and shooting from the hip as the global big guns round on his crumbling fortress. There is something quite delicious watching someone who's made an immense business peddling other people's misery now in the stocks themselves. Yes, indeed, hoist by his own petard. Well, it's all in the slavering public interest innit?
What's interesting is that you'd have thought that for someone so commercially astute there'd have been a contingency plan afoot. Surely they weren't so arrogant as to think that the underhand journalistic practices clearly rife, and seemingly endorsed at the highest possible level at wapping towers would never be exposed? Stories of a scramble to delete thousands of emails, bumbling to parliamentary committees 'oh, yeah, we've paid the police.... within the law, erm. What? When? Oh, did I say that, can't remember...'. Plus of course there was, allegedly, the deliberate withholding of documents from The Enquiry that proved widespread, salaried, hacking, but the apparent accidental submitting of emails to The Enquiry revealing the signing off of four figure payouts to police.... Fortress Wapping, Fawlty Towers, Phenomenal Fuck-up. What were they thinking?
And then as the worms start to put on a pace out of that can and the whole cloud of stench starts to rise, the powers that be clearly have no idea when it comes to damage limitation. You can imagine the scene.....
'Fuck, share price is tumbling, BSkyB looks shakey. A scalp, a scalp! My kingdom for a scalp! But not the curly auburn one, she knows too much. Nor the specky, stubble one. He's family. I know, what about the rag itself?? Yeah, let's give them hundreds of scalps. Worthless hacks, marketing, production heads, ad sales staff, printers, yeah yeah, all of them. What? what do you mean innocent scalps aren't really scalps at all? Scalp-goat, scapegoat, it's all the same. Just do it, and quick! Oh, and whatever you do, keep smiling. FOR FUCK'S SAKE, KEEP FUCKING SMILING.'
Several days later....'Ok, that didn't work. What now?'
And so, there you have it. In keeping with all the best tabloid stories, the subjects of this coup, the biggest the media world has seen, those big cheese barons who thought they ruled the world and our tawdry minds, are being stripped bare, bent over and right royally spanked with canes in real time.
Hubris. Humbug. Humiliation. You couldn't make it up. Who knows where it will all end, but, when it does, will the last person to leave News International please turn the lights out.