|Trump V Branson
||[Oct. 23rd, 2004|10:25 am]
Donald Trump is flying in the Trump helicopter towards the Trump tower. The music is a mixture of grandeur and high anxiety that sounds like an off-cut from Orff's Carmina Burana. Trump-world is the only place to be.|
The last episode was twice the length. Bright-eyed Bill won out over laid-back Kwame. Bill's prize is to oversee the building of a new Trump tower in Chicago. It will set new standards in architecture.
They say there's going to be a British version of the show. I don't suppose it will feature Trump himself. He is too fabulous, too orange for us uptight little islanders. The British way of handling business success is to apologize for it.
The only British businessman with anything like Trump's degree of celebrity is Richard Branson. But the style couldn't be more different. Trump is the orange emperor, Branson is the world's best mate- a kind of plutocratic Jesus in beard and jeans. Trump has hair, Branson has teeth. The teeth are fixed in a perpetual grin. Please love me; please forgive me. Trump calls his empire Trump. Branson wriggles uncomfortably and calls his Virgin.
(It's a joke. I'm just playing at this, see. Such fun. And now come and watch me set a ballooning record.)
Whoever they get to front it, the British version will be a fascinating exercise in compare and contrast.