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JAN MOIR: Damian Hurley's new film is not terrible, it's not awful, it's not bad - it's worse than all of that
Hugh Grant and David Furnish were among those at the premiere of Damian Hurley's debut film. What did they think as the full horror of Strictly Confidential unfurled before them?
Yet once you set aside the novelty of a nepo son exploiting the fading sex appeal of his 58-year-old mother for commercial and artistic gain, you are left with a lot of poshos twitting about in bikinis and plunge frocks — the cleavage count is at Austin Powers-esque level — spouting inane dialogue. From calamitous no-hoper Brooklyn Beckham to Lily-Rose Depp to Kate Winslet finding a co-starring role for daughter Mia Threapleton in a recent production called I Am Ruth, the rich and the famous are always going to push their own offspring or relatives to the front of the queue for plum jobs — and I don't even blame them. Since humans first crawled out of the swamp, yak handlers and plumbers and nurses and gardeners and TV executives and accountants and shop owners and jam makers and dog walkers and merchant bankers and everyone else have all used their influence and insider know-how to encourage or usher their nearest and dearest in the family business.
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