fiction it sounds” it is possible to send Michael Jacksons TO THE MOON.
Pardon me but how exactly is going to the moon science fiction? Not exactly Brave New World is it? This is the equivalent of a talk with a bloke in a pub who knows someone who went out with Madonna. Michael Jackson is a mess of squeaking ecstasy on an answerphone message he leaves for Geller. Michael Jackson doing the moonwalk ON THE MOON.
So yes, just like the rest of his career, Uri Geller was selling snake oil. And boy did Michael Jackson lap it up? It was in his nature to believe the manifestly untrue. Like Geller tells us “Michael Jackson believed in the impossible”. Inserting his forearm into a 9-year-olds cancer victim's anus for example.
But he believed in the totally plausible too - like the ability of a hugely famous man to get a tour of the Houses of Parliament. Accompanied by that other shameless schmuck David Blaine and that blowhard gladhander Greville Janner, Geller and Jackson twat about for a while in Whitehall and Jackson gets it into his head that he deserves a knighthood from the Queen. If he only knew the power of a discreet donation to the Labour Party.
The freakshow continues. There's footage of the pair at Paddington station on the way to a function at Exeter City Football Club where Geller is joint chairman. As a well-behaved but curious crowd gather round Geller squeals “You're crushing him! Honour Michael!” and here we have an excellent demonstration of what a bullshitter he is. He says he feared for Jackson's life and that the weight of bodies simply could not be contained yet you're there watching the footage and there are just a few dozen people milling around, significant fewer than any given morning rush-hour. Believe Geller, though, and it's just a heartbeat away from the Hillsborough disaster.
But like all great friendships based on convenience, delusion and fame, it was to come to an end. The breaking point was Geller introducing Jackson to Martin Bashir with an eye to a career changing interview. It made perfect sense. After all, Bashir was the man who had rehabilitated Princess Diana.
The problem was that Diana was a pretty posh girl and fundraiser, wronged in relationships and life, with a 10th Dan in media manipulation. Michael Jackson was an emaciated puncture wound riddled baby rapist, wrong in relationships and life, with a 10th Dan in looking like a cunt. It's a much tougher sell, see?
When the documentary revealed a balcony baby dangling fucknut unfit to be anywhere near children Jackson blamed the first entourage groupie dipshit standing close enough. Sorry Uri! But you still have the tapes. That'll be worth something one day.
As with most documentaries about Michael Jackson, this held your interest - documentaries about endlessly fascinating fuck ups will do that. But Geller is such an unbelievable turd that you found yourself gagging on his pious self-serving commentary.
Realistically, we shouldn't be surprised. The Michael Jackson industry is peopled by liars lying - peddling a version of a story they know to be false. When you put it like that you realise that Geller is maybe the best person on the face of the earth to front such a circus.
The verdict on My Friend Michael Jackson: Much what you expected.
Marks out of 10: 7
Take That... for the Record
The 5th most popular member of Take That laughed like Brian Blessed as he tried to remember if he had sexual intercourse with Lulu. “If I did I don’t remember - I’m a gentleman!” - it’s more likely you were stupendously pissed, Jason. “If Lulu says I’ve give her one and she says I was great that’s fine by me”. Oh I bet it is you dirty fecker.
Success is relative. Jason is the least popular member of the most successful British band since The Beatles. He’s endured sex with Lulu but he also gets more ass in a month than most guys get in their life.
Such paradoxes littered Take That... for the Record -
Pardon me but how exactly is going to the moon science fiction? Not exactly Brave New World is it? This is the equivalent of a talk with a bloke in a pub who knows someone who went out with Madonna. Michael Jackson is a mess of squeaking ecstasy on an answerphone message he leaves for Geller. Michael Jackson doing the moonwalk ON THE MOON.
So yes, just like the rest of his career, Uri Geller was selling snake oil. And boy did Michael Jackson lap it up? It was in his nature to believe the manifestly untrue. Like Geller tells us “Michael Jackson believed in the impossible”. Inserting his forearm into a 9-year-olds cancer victim's anus for example.
But he believed in the totally plausible too - like the ability of a hugely famous man to get a tour of the Houses of Parliament. Accompanied by that other shameless schmuck David Blaine and that blowhard gladhander Greville Janner, Geller and Jackson twat about for a while in Whitehall and Jackson gets it into his head that he deserves a knighthood from the Queen. If he only knew the power of a discreet donation to the Labour Party.
The freakshow continues. There's footage of the pair at Paddington station on the way to a function at Exeter City Football Club where Geller is joint chairman. As a well-behaved but curious crowd gather round Geller squeals “You're crushing him! Honour Michael!” and here we have an excellent demonstration of what a bullshitter he is. He says he feared for Jackson's life and that the weight of bodies simply could not be contained yet you're there watching the footage and there are just a few dozen people milling around, significant fewer than any given morning rush-hour. Believe Geller, though, and it's just a heartbeat away from the Hillsborough disaster.
But like all great friendships based on convenience, delusion and fame, it was to come to an end. The breaking point was Geller introducing Jackson to Martin Bashir with an eye to a career changing interview. It made perfect sense. After all, Bashir was the man who had rehabilitated Princess Diana.
The problem was that Diana was a pretty posh girl and fundraiser, wronged in relationships and life, with a 10th Dan in media manipulation. Michael Jackson was an emaciated puncture wound riddled baby rapist, wrong in relationships and life, with a 10th Dan in looking like a cunt. It's a much tougher sell, see?
When the documentary revealed a balcony baby dangling fucknut unfit to be anywhere near children Jackson blamed the first entourage groupie dipshit standing close enough. Sorry Uri! But you still have the tapes. That'll be worth something one day.
As with most documentaries about Michael Jackson, this held your interest - documentaries about endlessly fascinating fuck ups will do that. But Geller is such an unbelievable turd that you found yourself gagging on his pious self-serving commentary.
Realistically, we shouldn't be surprised. The Michael Jackson industry is peopled by liars lying - peddling a version of a story they know to be false. When you put it like that you realise that Geller is maybe the best person on the face of the earth to front such a circus.
The verdict on My Friend Michael Jackson: Much what you expected.
Marks out of 10: 7
Take That... for the Record
The 5th most popular member of Take That laughed like Brian Blessed as he tried to remember if he had sexual intercourse with Lulu. “If I did I don’t remember - I’m a gentleman!” - it’s more likely you were stupendously pissed, Jason. “If Lulu says I’ve give her one and she says I was great that’s fine by me”. Oh I bet it is you dirty fecker.
Success is relative. Jason is the least popular member of the most successful British band since The Beatles. He’s endured sex with Lulu but he also gets more ass in a month than most guys get in their life.
Such paradoxes littered Take That... for the Record -
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