It’s the conduit through which the shitty detritus of late capitalism makes its way into the gutter. And Elwis can afford his candour: his array of squidgy toys, art and craft tat, cheap glassware, cookery books and England flags has made him a rich man. This documentary is often queasy viewing; Elwis, by definition, profits from the failures and disappointments of others and watching him make his derisory offers for the physical remains of various crumbled dreams is pretty soul-destroying.
But then, that’s modern, free-market economics: more losers than winners, banality triumphing over idealism and the race to the bottom becoming the only game in town. Not cheerful viewing then, but sometimes the truth hurts.
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