I haven't seen it. But I'm thinking about it.

 Fully five people have asked me to review the Melania film. Unfortunately none of them are the editors of well-funded magazines - do they still have those? - and I'm loathe to give either of the two billionaires involved in Melania any of my money. But that's a shame. Because I really do want to see it. If anything is a cultural snapshot of where we are now, it's this vacuous bum-blast of expensive nothingness. I'm anticipating something from the same cinematic universe as Kim Kardashian's All's Fair, but with an even more leaden central performance. And it will be a performance because we can never know anything about Melania. I bet she's had a very interesting life and seen some terrible things and signed a lot of N.D.A.s. She is, before, everything else, a survivor. After everything else as well, perhaps. I don't know why we set such store by survivors. They're humanity's stubborn stains. I bet she's seen a few of those as well. 

She is interesting. Clinically interesting. But we'll see none of that in this film. I'm anticipating a glossy stroll around Trump's reimagined White House, like being trapped inside a wedding cake forever, while Melania drones on in her I-Speak-You-Weight voice about how much she loves being a mother, while staring at you like she wants to kill you, with her sleek, were-cat face. 

Melania is the ultimate doom-scroll experience, and Trump at his most North Korean. It will have less depth than the screen it's projected on. 

I really do want to see it. But I'm not sure how I'll feel afterwards. I'll stock up on scouring pads. And eye-bleach.