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What better way to while away an hour of a long flight to LA than to muse on the nature of film satire with a dead professor?

By Mark Cousins   May 2010

I’m on a flight from Heathrow to Los Angeles, in seat 35b. We’ve only been in the air an hour but already my legs have seized up. A man in my row is reading a Michael Crichton, a woman is watching Colin Firth in A Single Man. I’ll be filming in LA for a month, trying to tell the story of Hollywood’s zero sum game between glamour and the gutter—and I’ll report back on what I find next month. For now, though, thoughts of movie satire are keeping me awake.

Why? Several reasons. Chris Morris’s film Four Lions, a suicide…

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