The Moment

No matter how powerful or pampered, celebrities are still human. They have their own foibles and panic attacks. So we all feel it when Charli xcx’s looks are mercilessly savaged in Aidan Zamiri’s anarchically absurdist mockumentary, The Moment.

Charli escapes to Ibiza for a few days to get away from the fractious implosion of her Brat concert movie, being shot in a pigeon-infested warehouse in East London. Skipping the huge waiting list to see the hotel’s in-demand facialist results in the singer’s ego being blow-torched. Apparently, her dry skin physically drains said specialist to the point of snoring.

Tossed out unceremoniously, the Apple singer crumbles. A collapse further crumpled on bumping into Kylie Jenner, who raves about the barking mad facial-abuser and the documentary filmmaker who has caused Charli so much grief: Johannes, played with passive-aggressive condescension by Alexander Skarsgård. 

He’s a tacky stuntmeister who wants the show, and therefore his film, to lean into giant cigarette props and a less vomit-hued green, dolling up Charli in the drag queen sheen favoured by Chappell Roan. Johannes breathes down the neck of Marty Supreme actor Hailey Gates’ creative director, Celeste, who’s battling to move on from Brat. But the singer is so wigged out she doesn’t know who to trust, let alone her gut.

A wild ensemble of celebrities playing warped caricatures includes Rachel Sennott, who speedily overcomes caution to huff K on camera. Some disappear – into supposed normie roles, with Jamie Demetriou the stand-out. The Fleabag alumnus excels as a bumbling assistant whose constantly confused shuffling of impossibly shifting demands brings big Veep energy.

It works because the satire’s coming from inside the house

A blistering take-down of the social media-driven celebrity culture, The Moment combines the anxiety-inducing mayhem of If I Had Legs I’d Kick You and the omnishambles clusterfuck of The Thick of It. It works because the satire’s coming from inside the house. Zamiri, co-writing with Bertie Brandes, shoots music videos, innately getting this bizarro world.

Manipulative music execs, epitomised by an imperious Rosanna Arquette, abound. As do claustrophobia-inducing fans and mealy-mouthed hangers-on. A particularly gasp-inducing joke, nodding to Asif Kapadia’s Amy documentary, is a brutal reminder that superstars are not invulnerable, lending the film real tension.

With Charli suddenly all over cinema, including the Wuthering Heights soundtrack, her willingness to piss-take herself is admirable. While The Moment isn’t Spinal Tap or Best in Show, our sympathy for her is a knife that cuts deep.