PLUTOCRAT PORN IN THE NEW YORK TIMES

(Bumped to the top because I like it better than this mediocre post.)

I've actually never seen Wall Street, but I've always assumed that it was a skeptics' critique of an avaricious culture. Well, not according to an article in today's New York Times by Christine Haughney. Apparently it's a feel-good movie for fat cats:

Bankers who have spent two decades quoting Gordon Gekko's sayings -- or what they remember Gekko saying -- like "Greed is good" and "Lunch is for wimps" hope to lap up more of his insights when the sequel, "Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps," comes out this fall.

And I guess the movie and its forthcoming sequel are also supposed to be feel-good movies for Times readers: Haughney's article, part of a new Times series called "The Appraisal," is about the fabulous Manhattan apartment used by the young protagonist of the new film, which in real life belongs to (naturally) a finance guy. Is this what Times readers really want at a time of near-10% unemployment? A new series of apartment-and-house porn (well, that kind of thing is always popular here in the New York area) that begins with the digs of a Master of the Universe (i.e., plutocrat porn)?

Hard to say. But the apartment itself, and the movie it's going to be featured in, are already piquing the interest of the moneyed class:

"Most of my clients have already seen the trailer. They know they're making the sequel to the best-known finance movie of all time," [real estate broker Jonathan] Isaacs said. "There will certainly be a very interested group."

Well, one thing we know: they certainly don't expect the movie sequel to offend them.

As for the apartment, well, I'm not sure if what Haughey gives us is porn exactly. The heart of the article is an extended portrait of the ever-so-mysterious real-life owner. Read on -- this is like something out of a romance novel:

The owner, not surprisingly, works in finance. He declined to comment, saying the bank he works for would not allow it; because of populist anger over Wall Street bailouts, financial institutions have been asking their high earners to keep as low a profile as possible. He did not even want to be named.

So with a meticulousness that Gekko would admire, the owner cleared his apartment of nearly all traces of his identity before a reporter and photographer visited. He does not have his name on his buzzer and his brokers did not allow access to his home office. There were no outward signs of his name in his apartment except for a black "RMW" monogram on his bathroom towels.

Still, he left a few clues about himself. The space is filled with a mix of passed-down family heirlooms and signs that a sportsman lives there. Behind the apartment's tall mahogany doors, the owner has filled his custom closets with painstakingly organized baseball gloves, skis and Dartmouth caps and sweatshirts.

His front closet has more than two dozen brown and black coats. In his walk-in bedroom closet, he has more than two dozen pairs of khaki pants, 10 sweatshirts and rows upon rows of shoes. His linen closet is filled with only white sheets. In his screening room were a copy of the Vanity Fair "Money" issue and five books -- all about finance. His movie collection includes "The Hobbit," "Taxi Driver" and "Lost in Translation."

I really think readers of this are expected to imagines themselves luxuriously availing themselves of that monogrammed towel, after a long, languorous bubble bath.

By the way, our mysterious stranger has done quite well on this property, the Great Recession notwithstanding:

The owner bought the apartment in 2003 for $1.4 million. After conducting extensive renovations, including constructing the second floor, he put it up for sale in January 2008 for the Gekkospheric price of $16.5 million, according to the Web site StreetEasy.com. He lowered the price to $14.5 million and then $13.7 million, and is now considering asking $12 million to $14 million.

Yeah, he renovated, but it's really worth ten times what he paid for it? After seven years? Despite the downturn?

That stirs up my class anger. But I think the Times hopes it stirs up envy and aspiration -- or at least inspires daydreaming. And I fear that's what the new Wall Street movie is going to do, whatever its intent may be.