Yes, staring wide-eyed into the television’s glow. The movie settles into mediocrity straightaway, as a narrating Sidney Young tells of his early infatuation with celebrity over images of him as a child staring wide-eyed into the television’s glow. The book begot a play, which begot this intermittently enjoyable but watery movie from Weide, director of a couple dozen Curb Your Enthusiams. After being booted from both magazine and industry after one stunt too many, Young wove his exploits into bestseller gold. There his insouciant musings and acid takedowns earned him a reputation, which in turn bought him access to the same elite restaurants and parties he’d been crashing since his no-name London days. Vanity Fair served as the real Young’s sounding board. “What a rapscallion,” Robert Weide’s film version of journalist Toby Young’s memoir begs us to exclaim, as we follow Young’s “fictionalized” self from London to New York, where he seeks to establish himself King Rake of the high-end pop journalism world.
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