That was a pretty funny piece Guy
Rundle wrote about Pamela Bone in yesterday’s Crikey. Not in the least
bit incisive in terms of accurately satirising what she does, but
nevertheless amusing if you don’t believe that satire should have any
connection to the truth.

Guy engages in a kind of
parallel-universe satire that has no real connection to its target. It
relies on a strategy of creating a straw man (or woman in Pamela’s
case) and then ripping it apart using a beautifully crafted yet totally
inappropriate critique, like applying a Clement Greenberg essay on
Jackson Pollock’s action painting to a portrait by Rembrandt, an
entertaining but ultimately pointless exercise.

It’s odd that
Guy uses this off-the-mark device in print and television when he has
proved to be so spot on with the stuff he writes for the live stage
shows featuring the inordinately talented Max Gillies. Maybe Gillies’
skill as an impersonator masks Rundle’s tendency to misfire. Maybe Guy
believes he’s such a twinkle twinkle in the small world inhabited by
the chattering classes that no one would ever dare call him on his
pratish rants.

Rundle has an enviable capacity to string an
elegant sentence together. What a pity he doesn’t put it to better use.
And maybe Guy would make better use of his summer hols rethinking his
complete dog of a TV program. Sorry, that’s overstating it. Vulture has
vastly improved since they wound back Guy’s sad attempts at satire and
moved closer to the format of the program it replaced.