What I never knew about extraordinarily wealthy people like David and Jackie Siegel, the subjects of Lauren Greenfield's fantastic 2012 documentary, The Queen of Versailles, (which I caught up to last night via Netflix instant streaming) is just how much they let their pets defecate in the house. When you have a staff of nineteen, apparently scooping up the waste is easier than training the animals.
And I can't think of a better statement about the way we Americans live now. What's shocking about this film is not its excesses; it's the familiarity of those excesses.
The arc of the film follows the Siegels as they struggle to keep their Titanic-sized lifestyle afloat after the collapse of the housing market in 2008. Eventually, they have to layoff the bulk of their staff, and, while the shit doesn't quite hit the fan, it certainly does pile up on the floor around it.
The Queen of Versailles is an extraordinary documentary for several reasons. It's a great indictment of American addiction to consumerism (the Siegels often look like the country's wealthiest and most accomplished hoarders), however the film is never malicious to those it depicts. I found myself surprised at how much I liked Jackie, as well as Victoria, her daughter, who seems grounded and well-intentioned. There are even moments where I felt certain Jackie is playing up her seeming out-of-touchness for the cameras: a sly smile at a car rental agency where Jackie inquires what her driver's name is (drivers, she pretends to be shocked to learn, don't come with ordinary rental cars) show a woman having fun, not at all afraid to poke fun at herself.
But most of all, the film shows how much the Siegels represent a pattern seen throughout the world they inhabit; they reach beyond their means in the same way the people they sell timeshares to reach beyond their means. The Siegels make reference to bankers lurking like vultures around a casino the Siegels built but can no longer afford (purchased with money garnered from a mortgage for a $100 million-dollar house David Siegel could have paid for in cash--but why do that when you can make more with the cash than it would cost to pay the interest on a mortgage?), but in this world, everyone ends up carrion.
"My father always wanted a real concrete house," says the nanny, who is working to amass enough money for her family in Puerto Rico but seems instead to have lost her family to time. "He got a concrete tomb."
Her statement echoes. At times, the Siegels' place itself seems more tomb than home. By the film's end, David Siegel is all-but-unreachable in his den, buried among stacks and stacks of boxes and papers, staring unhappily at a large-screen television, seemingly as cutoff from his family as his hired help is from theirs. He seems like a man who desperately wants the cameras to go away and leave him to his misery, because what he thought would be a film about the construction of the largest single-family house in America has turned instead into an examination of that very building's hollow, unfinished guts.
The Queen of Versailles is that remarkable look at the very wealthy that left me free of envy, thinking instead, "I hope I can at least learn to live better than that."
And for their sake, I hope the Siegels do, too.
Film Stack Rating: 4/5
The Queen of Versailles is rated PG.
No comments:
Post a Comment