Trumptastic!

It's an ABC Premiere Event, y'all. This movie has never been seen before. This is your first opportunity. Do you ever get the feeling you were born into precisely the right generation at precisely the right moment? Pause and, like, reflect on that. We are informed that this "dramatization" (read: "pile of crap") comes from "published accounts" ("Page Six"), and includes "time compression" ("Trump is actually eighty years old now") as well as "composite and representative characters, incidents, and dialogue" ("stuff you can't prove couldn't theoretically have happened, not that we're claiming for legal purposes that it did"). Never has a disclaimer disclaimed quite so much of what you would normally expect in quite so short a time. It's a model of efficiency, if not a particularly good sign. Plinkety-plink piano plays on the soundtrack over the words "Trump: Unauthorized." Shockingly, someone has decided to begin this biopic of a real estate developer with a shot of -- oh, yes -- a little boy playing with blocks. It's kind of a rule of the biopic -- if you are a railroad baron, you will be shown playing with electric trains. If you are an adult entertainment magnate, you will be shown looking up the teacher's skirt. And if you are Donald Trump, provided you are not shown blow-drying one of those big Barbie hairstyling heads, you will be shown doing precisely this. A little boy's eyes concentrate hard on the tower he is building as a man's voice comes from offscreen, arguing with someone. In a nod to the legendary subtlety of Billy Budd, Sailor, the man's voice informs the other end of the phone that "what matters is what something looks like." The producers of the film are trying to get the "What's with the gold-plated toilets?" question out of the way as soon as possible, apparently, and it all goes back to this guy -- whoever he may be. He goes on to say that what's important is "the front, the outside, the façade!" The artifice, the superficiality, the illusion! The book of words, the dictionary, the thesaurus! The conversation continues along these lines for a while as we watch this old-school businessman chat on the phone about his great reputation while a different little boy, who is presumably one of the Wright brothers, is shown zooming a toy plane around the room with great enthusiasm. The exposition grows even more graceful as Phone Man hollers into the phone, "What's my name? What is it? What's my damn -- that's right, you got it. It's Trump. Fred Trump! T-R-U-M-P!" I'm not joking -- he says it, he says it again, and then he spells it. And I fight an almost irresistible urge to call someone and say, "What did he say his name was?" Only I don't know anyone who's watching this other than me, because my friends have lives. And then Papa-T refers to the plane-flying kid as "Fred Junior." Who was the last kid who was actually referred to in casual conversation as "Junior"? "Come back here, Steve Junior!" "Take that out of your mouth, William Junior!" It's a little awkward, is what I'm saying. Anyway, poor F.J. is told that his plane has only one wing. Do you suppose that's a metaphor? One can only scratch one's head and wonder. It certainly would be if Martina McBride had written this movie. Papa-T complains about his stupid child to whomever is on the phone, and then he makes with the business talk and hangs up. He tells F.J. about how "you've gotta kill" and so forth, because this is the portion of the movie where we learn that Papa-T is gruff. Papa-T then turns his attention to his other boy. "Right, Donald? Kill, kill, kill!" Papa-T says to the building-blocks kid, who is still assembling his tower over by the window. Mini-Trump places a few more blocks as we look past him out the window at the Manhattan skyline. As it turns out, he is building two towers of blocks that spell out "DONALD" and "TRUMP." Do you get it? He liked his name on things from the beginning. I came up with that all by myself, because I am a professional television viewer. And now the music changes, and we find ourselves in Papa-T's office many years later, where Donald is complaining about the pain in the ass that is working for his father. Donald is busy insisting that Manhattan is still where it's at, and his father is insisting that New York City is dead. Dead! They've done up poor Justin Louis in a sort of wavy, unkempt 'do, by the way, which isn't doing him any favors. Anyway, the conversation escalates, and they yell at each other, and Donald stomps off. But first, he pauses at the door and says, "Love you, Dad!" "Love you, son!" Papa-T says right back. Because they love each other, even though they sometimes argue. "Call your mother later!" Papa-T adds, because that "Haw!" of an ending is included in The Great Big Book Of Domestic Exposition, from which this sequence was taken. Damn you, Executive Producer: Barbara Lieberman! There is now a credit informing us that this movie is based on two books. One is Donald Trump: Master Apprentice, by Gwenda Blair. The other is The Trumps: Three Generations That Built An Empire…by Gwenda Blair. Gwenda is an enthusiast. Trump is seen rattling around in what I guess is supposed to be his dumpy New York pad, which he lives in because he loves this city. Loves it! Now, Donald pays a nervous visit to Mr. Eichler, an apparent financier, whom Donald is attempting to talk into investing in a large project. "You're a very tenacious young man!" Eichler remarks, as he must, and young Donald trails on his heels, talking all about the underdeveloped Penn Central rail yards, and how they're waiting to be ravaged, and Donald thinks he's just the man to do it. He wants to build an enormous apartment complex, but Eichler isn't keen on it. He wants to build a convention center instead. Donald immediately switches gears, stammering that that's okay also, and he can work on that instead. Eichler accuses Trump of being "someone's son," leading Donald to remark meaningfully that "every man is some other man's son." I pause the recording while I reflect on that for a moment and enjoy a handful of salty pretzels. Then, back to the movie, which seems even less substantive now that I remember what it means to enjoy things of substance, such as pretzels. Eichler tells Trump that for his first deal, he should start smaller. "Smaller is easier," he argues weakly like the straw man that he is. "No, it isn't!" Trump says with rhetorical guns blazing. And then there's some metaphorical discussion of Christopher Columbus, but if we stop for every piece of figurative hoo-hah in this movie, we will get through it sometime around Easter 2007. Suffice it to say that Eichler winds up being asked whether he would rather have a whole new world or a bowl of fruit salad. See? Sometimes, it's more fun just to open your eyes and wake up at the destination, rather than looking out the window the whole time. Eichler tells Trump that if he can round up the support of Mayor Beame for the project, they'll be off to the races. This, of course, is an ultimatum delivered in a hateful, you-will-never-pick-all-the-lentils-out-of-the-fireplace-Cinderelly kind of way. Eichler is sleeping when his phone rings, and when he groggily answers, he is told that his limo has arrived. But he didn't order one! What could be happening? In the limo, he finds breakfast, most prominently featuring two orange slices. Wow. That's confidence-inspiring. I can't imagine what could go wrong with this multimillion-dollar real-estate project unless someone gets crazy and wants a donut. Anyway, Eichler is brought to what seems to be the mayor's office, where Beame assures him that he will throw his support behind "whatever Fred and Donald Trump want." And then before you know it, our hero Donald Trump is appearing at a press conference at an ugly and undeveloped site, where he tells everyone that this is the future site of a yooge convention center. "People will be amazed," he promises. I have to say, I do give Louis credit for the fact that without sounding like he's trying too hard to sound exactly like Trump, he does have something about the halting, weird cadence just right. "What do you mean, 'name it after us'?" Papa-T asks Donald in a later conversation taking place in the former's office. (Don't try to follow all the transitions too carefully -- this movie is trying to cram in everything that happened to Trump between birth and Burnett, so there's a lot of jumping around.) Donald doesn't know why they can't name it after themselves. "It's not done!" his father says. "Why not?" Donald asks. You know, some men see tacky things that are and ask why; Donald Trump sees tacky things that never were and asks why not. His father insists that the convention center will clearly be a total failure, so there's no point in tying their names to it for all eternity. I don't know about you, but I'm thinking Papa-T would be the best student in his parenting class. "I never should have introduced you to the mayor," Papa-T says scornfully. "It's not going to happen, Donny," he continues, insisting that New York is in an economic freefall, blah dee blah. "You have to step over a body just to buy a pack of cigarettes!" he points out. Manhattan has apparently really improved since this movie was set, because I was there this week for several days, and I didn't step over one body. Papa-T insists that nobody will give money for this ill-conceived boondoggle, meaning that clearly, Papa-T has very limited experience with public financing of construction proposals, a field where "boondoggle" is treated the way normal people treat the words "chocolate" and "free hookers." We return to the press conference, in a move that's a little disorienting, and when it's over, Donald Trump is leaving the event when he's approached by a slumming Saul Rubinek, who introduces himself as Peter Wennik. But Trump doesn't want to shake his hand, leading to the movie's one outright mention of Trump's germophobia. "I'm afraid people don't wash properly," he says by way of explanation. Trump then exposits that Wennik (who, as I understand it, is one of those "composite characters" we've heard about, meaning there is no such person) is "the lawyer." Trump has to explain this, because lawyers don't wear little railroad engineer caps or anything else the writers could think of to use as a visual cue. Gavels are a tiny bit inappropriate, and people find them unsettling. Papa-T has told Donald, we learn, that Wennik is "amazing," "crazy," and nearly in charge of the city. "True, untrue, and...true," Wennik says. What we are not told is how, exactly, Wennik "practically run[s] the city," something that might have made a nice tidbit to accompany all that riveting business about germs. Wennik makes various ominous and possibly promising (hey, it can be a fine line) comments to Trump about his ambition, and hands him a card, saying, "I can usually be found here." I suspect that card says, "Lair Of Intrigue." But before we can hear more, they part, as they must, in order that we may later see them encounter each other again. We then watch Trump cleaning (with undiluted bleach, probably) a simple apartment while rehearsing a presentation about his big project. As he works and talks and works and talks, there is a knock at the door. Trump opens it and says, "Freddy!" I actually went into this scene figuring you'd be able to set your watch by the time it took for one of these guys to call each other "big brother" or "little brother," in case you don't remember from the opening scene, and on first viewing, I thought they had actually not done it, which was very impressive. On second viewing, I realized that it is said so quickly when the door is opened -- "Brother!", Freddy exclaims -- that I had actually missed it by the time I started looking for it. Jesus. Anyway, they chitchat, and Freddy clumsily exposits that he is a pilot (as the opening dictated!), and then Freddy ultimately reveals that he's quitting piloting. "Didn't work out," he says, and Donald tells him that being a pilot is for suckers anyway. A smart man will own the airline! He could buy and sell you all! Sigh. Donald toddles off to bed, and we move to a close-up of the kitchen counter. Wow, I wonder what this is about. I have another pretzel while wondering whether this might be important, and then, Freddy's hand comes into the frame, dropping onto the countertop one...two...three little bottles of airline booze. Barely enough to get a debutante tipsy, but nevertheless, we have arrived at the Freddy Is An Alcoholic section of the movie. Or at least the Freddy Is An Alcoholic moment of the movie. There's a lot of ground to cover, after all. Siblings who are addicts can't be hogging all the screen time. We've got wives to get through. We then watch Trump address a bunch of potential investors, a task he takes on with great ineptitude, expressed in the gentle, textured storytelling you would expect from this film when he puts a chart on an easel upside-down. In other news, I'm not sure if the real Donald Trump would make randomly placed references to being tall, but the movie Donald Trump does. It's very mysterious and not very sensible. Trump assures people that the city is going to turn around, and when it does, he'll be ready. After a certain amount of bumbling, we watch as an annoyed Trump finally leans down to address one guy, looking past said guy's feet up on the desk and saying, "My dad is really behind me on this, okay?" And then, back in his crappy apartment, he throws something against the wall in frustration. But it's not even a real tantrum. I have to say that so far, this movie is suffering from a total lack of awesomeness that I did not expect. Justin Louis, in the part of Trump, isn't even putting on a decent show of unbelievably bad hair. It just looks kind of shaggy and '70s. Where are the stripes? Trump walks up to the maitre d' in a dark club of some sort where, in the foreground, the previously introduced Peter Wennik is in repose. Trump announces that he is not a member of the club, at which point he is told that the club is for members only. Trump makes a lame joke involving the word "riffraff," and then he says he's there to see Wennik. Wennik sips wine meaningfully, then calls out to Trump, who says that he "can't do it alone" on his project. It briefly appears that the two will make out, but they resolve the tension when Wennik invites Trump into the club to enjoy a tasty and riffraff-free meal. Clearly, Peter and Donald become fast friends, because we immediately move to a scene of them bustling down the sidewalk, where Wennik can barely keep up with the exposition being hurled by his overeager, oh-so-Trumpalicious friend, who is explaining that the convention center is almost dead in the water on account of resistance from the bureaucrats, and that if a certain upstart by the name of Ed Koch is elected mayor (remember, time is nonlinear in this production, so this could be happening any time between about 1950 and last Tuesday ["not to step on your punchline with this, and I only know it in the first place because I happen to be reading a book right now in which Koch's candidacy figures heavily, but in case anyone cares, it's 1977" -- Sars]), they're sunk for sure. And then Trump announces that the garbage-strewn, ugly building they are now looking at is what they are there to see. It's the Commodore Hotel, and it's Trump's idea of the big thing. Wennik is skeptical, because it's that part of the movie, but Trump insists that the great location will make it all worthwhile. Lame "oh, that wacky Trump" joking around follows. Inside the Commodore, Wennik listens to Trump's explanation of how the convention center project is for suckers (projects are treated with about the loyalty shown to wives, in case you're keeping track at home), but he's convinced they can turn the hotel into something fabulous. He even stops a couple of hookers to portentously tell them that they will ultimately have to find somewhere else to ply their trade, leading one of them to protest on behalf of the needs of her hungry children and "candy-ass husband." I'm thinking her husband already isn't too happy with the situation as it stands, what with the fact that his wife is having sex for money, so maybe he'd be able to endure a little deprivation while she relocates to a different hotel. On the other hand, I have heard he's a bit of a candy-ass. Papa-T tells Donald that "the Commodore Hotel is a whorehouse." In case you didn't notice, with the way it was a house full of whores. Magnificent whores! Which are the best kind, incidentally. Donald mentions the great location again, and Papa-T sensitively says in front of a suddenly present Freddy that if it were Freddy's idea, he'd think it was "the booze talking." So as relates to the fact that Freddy's drinking continues and is now noticed by others, you'd best count yourself told. Seamless! Papa-T continues his rant about the fact that "New York City is dead," and then threatens to change his name to "Chump, Fred Chump" if Donald keeps up the shenanigans. So now we know where Donald got the incredibly shitty sense of humor, which leaves only about a half a billion genetic, logical, sexual, and financial mysteries remaining. A bar. An air of inevitability. Freddy and Donald. Bad, rhythm-proof head-bobbing. An exotic female. The shooting down of Donald Trump. The boasting of Donald Trump about all the tail he'd be getting if they all knew how important he would be someday. The fact that he won't tell them, because he wants them to love him for his mind. On with the show! Trump gives the most pitiful press conference in history to a tiny number of reporters in the lobby of the Commodore, in which he announces his intent to make this rat-infested flophouse into a luxury hotel. A reporter who is skeptical enough to dismissively eat a sandwich right through the middle of all this (in case you didn't know, eating a sandwich while someone is talking is the way that Hollywood represents bored, world-weary cynicism) mentions to Trump that he hasn't even put any buildings up yet. Trump banters back that the reporter doesn't have a Pulitzer yet, either. And, of course, I use the word "banter" very loosely, and wouldn't even have known that was meant to be sharp-tongued if Wennik didn't immediately and exaggeratedly cover his eyes with his hand, all, "Oh, that was a painful one, Karnak, now let's talk about Steve and Eydie!" After the press conference, an ever-supportive Freddy tells Donald that he's going back to the office, and then Wennik consoles Trump with the following bon mot: "I know that things look really, really rough right now, but remember this. [Failed pause for the development of comic tension.] It'll get worse." Wennik should have his own show, and it should have the word "beleaguered" in the description in TV Guide. And I shouldn't watch it, but I know people who should. Later, a cigarette is dramatically lit as Trump and Wennik discuss their progress. Wennik exposits that the financing for the project isn't going to come through without "a huge tax abatement from the city." Wow. Nothing spices up a TV movie like talk of public finance. The irony is that the city won't do the abatement until the financing is there. Get it? IT'S A CATCH-22. And it's because of bureaucracy and the government's need to control your ass. Let's all stop and go read Animal Farm and Lord of the Flies. The explanation of the plot continues with unbelievable clumsiness as Wennik tells Trump things he would already know, which amount ultimately to the fact that a tax incentive is awaiting their use, but they can't use it unless they work on a project that is "an industrial project in a substandard area." Trump comes up with the brilliant idea of promoting tourism as an industry and all of midtown Manhattan as a substandard area. Yeah, not sure what's groundbreaking there, but something clearly is. They speak of the deliciousness of this rather obvious plan, and then Wennik mentions that Papa-T would probably have to be involved. All of a sudden, this same Trump who recently cited his father in desperation is utterly enraged, spinning to order Wennik not to bring up his father. "Do you want this or not?" Wennik demands to know. And by "this," he means the project, but it would have been awesome if he had smiled coyly and cupped his pecs on that line. I would have worshiped him until the day I die. A restaurant. A dinner. A table full of guys celebrating the progressing Commodore Hotel project. A forced reference to "Robert," who is Trump's "baby brother," also now working for him. A non-funny series of witty banterisms about what to call the hotel. And then, off to the side...a blonde. A lack of available tables. An accent. "My country, I am known for the telling of the joke." An enamored Trump. An approach. A bribe to the service industry. An available table. A meaningful look. An introduction. "I am Ivana [zomething zomething something]." A cut to a romantic dinner. "In Czechoslovakia, everyone worked in factory." True love. And then, BAM! Donald is preparing to propose. Things move fast around here in Compression-Of-Time-ville. As I have pointed out. Trump tells Wennik that he doesn't want a pre-nup, because he "really love[s] this woman," but Wennik insists, based on Trump's insistence on proposing to "a marginally successful eastern European model who skis." What the hell does skiing have to do with it? I'm so confused. Anyway, Donald continues to resist, but Wennik apparently prevails, because we soon are watching Ivana argue with her own lawyer about why anyone would be so crass as to make plans for a divorce before the wedding. And she can't figure out what all this "give back" business is about. In her most mocking voice, she says, "I want no more to be married with you, so you will return to me all of the jewelries and slippers from Christmas I give to you." Because you know what Trump will be giving his wife for Christmas? Slippers. (And not, as I originally thought she was saying, "sleepers," not that I didn't enjoy the image of Trump gifting his long-suffering wife with a pair of pajamas with feet.) Ivana shakes her head. "Barbarism," she declares, and then she wonders aloud, "And what am I to do? Return myself to the factory? My father's factory and make another shoes?" I have to say, basically everything Ivana Trump says in this movie, I could say all day long. "Return myself to the factory? My father's factory and make another shoes?" Say it to yourself. You want to say it again already, don't you? You do. You tried it, didn't you? YOU TRIED IT OUT LOUD! And it felt good. It even feels good if you use the wrong accent. Try Cajun! Or redneck! Anyway, then there is a meeting of the lawyers in which there is no "give back" of the jewelries and slippers from Christmas, so she apparently prevailed on that point. The pre-nup is signed. Ivana and Donald make goo-goo eyes at each other and make out, which is like seeing Penn and Teller ride a tandem bike. It's like you know they go together, but not doing that. It's a good thing the song "You Sexy Thing" exists, or the ABC Department of Suck TV Movies would have had to invent it for the scene in which Ivana and Donald are shown in their wedding finery, returning to their luxury apartment. Not clear where all the money is now coming from, but okay. He teases her about all the junk she's had shipped from Czechoslovakia, and then about the five children he wants, and then she calls him a lunatic, and then we fade to what is presumably the Blackness of Offscreen Sex. Oh, how I love it. The Blackness, that is, not the Offscreen Sex. The music just keeps funking away as Ivana and Donald cuddle in a chair at some later time, enjoying their beautiful -- or possibly "tacky" -- surroundings. We sure did get that man married off and domesticated in a hurry. Sometime later, Ivana visits her husband at the Commodore, where work continues. He introduces her around, and then she starts in talking about walnut paneling and columns and decorating ideas, because we have now entered the Ivana Trump Was Totally The Brains Behind The Operation section, making Ivana the Joyce DeWitt of the piece. Ivana begins giving instructions to the workers, and we are off. Oh, and also? Ivana and Donald suddenly are carrying around a baby, a little scamp known as "little Donald." Papa-T visits, and he doesn't like Ivana's involvement in the hotel decorating scheme at all. Because chicks aren't for working; they're for making babies! In fact, we immediately cut to an uncomfortable dinner in which Papa-T sarcastically points out that in a multimillion-dollar renovation budget, Donald is "doing it exactly right" by putting it all in the hands of "a Czechoslovakian ex-model with no design experience." Oh, and there are some slams about the marriage, too, and then Papa-T makes a really weird reference to "flag[ging] down a unicorn," which is the best accidental potential euphemism I've heard since "sneezing on your knockwurst," one that I actually picked up while watching Full House this week. (Not "watching" so much as "failing to shut off in the background," I would say in my own defense, as lame as that defense may prove to be.) It turns out that Papa-T is going for some kind of "it's like in a fantasy!" vibe, but it all gets very weird when it ends with -- I am not kidding -- his sarcastic speculation about how the "homicidal residents" of something called "Goo-Goo-ville" will ultimately wind up clubbing him to death. What this has to do with remodeling a hotel, I admit I do not know. And then Papa-T insults the soup they're all eating. What is going on here? Am I dreaming? Is this heaven? Grandma? Ivana participates in some kind of promotional shoot for the ongoing Commodore project, during which she lolls about in a hot red dress on a ladder all around the construction-related doodads, and someone who speaks in the same awesome language she does tells her, "Make-a love with the hammer!" You won't hear that on Full House! (Unlike "sneezing on your knockwurst." Why the Parents Television Council isn't all over that, I simply do not know.) Later, in the Trumpartment, Donald is working in a boring manner as Ivana alternately talks decorating to him and tries to seduce him. And as much as I know you're all already tired of it, I can't not point out that she really should have tried something about sneezing on his knockwurst, which would sound so wonderful in her fake accent that I cannot even tell you. But she doesn't. Instead, they make out while he talks about naming the building after himself. Okay, that's a little bit awesome. Because that? Totally hot! "The Best Of My Love" plays as we visit the gala opening of the Commodore Hotel in its remodeled form, where Donald and Freddy discuss the success of the project and Donald tries to convince Freddy that he (meaning Freddy) was helpful, which he clearly wasn't. All Freddy does is drink! I know that because it's a theme. Up at the podium, Papa-T talks about how pleased he and Equally Proud Mary are with their boy and his spirited frontal attack upon the landscape. The fabulous Younger Trumps are introduced to the crowd, which lavishly adores Donald and his exotic blonde wife. Donald tells the group how pleased he is that the skyline bears his mark. It's like peeing on trees, writ large. But why are we really here, in this scene, enduring these speeches? Well, we are here so that when Ivana steps up to make her speech, she can use -- for the first, glorious time -- the words "The Donald." In a shot right out of a class at the If You Can Trace Tippy Turtle, You Can Do This, Too School of Filmmaking, a journalist breathlessly writes it down. "The Donald"! So, you know. There's that coined. Donald and Ivana make out. "He's going to guarantee us Page One," Wennik observes in the audience, where he is in the company of Baby Brother Robert, Trump's non-pilot, non-alcoholic sibling. "And she's going to guarantee us Page Six." Oh, Peter Wennik, you irrepressible cynic. You're going to guarantee yourself Page Crying On The Inside! We now join Donald Trump, already in progress, being interviewed by a radio host who questions him about the fact that his new hotel is "booked for months -- years -- in advance." So things are going well, in case you didn't know. Time really is compressed! The host reveals that the hotel is not everyone's cup of tea, and that its critics call it "conspicuous," "garish," and "over the top." But "the people, they are really liking it, man." That was a very meaningful scene. I love it when a DJ opines about what "the people" are "really liking." It's usually a bad band or a surgeon who does LASIK procedures. And now, The Story Of Difficulties. Papa-T tells Donald he doesn't understand how Donald can need a loan when the hotel -- the Grand Hyatt, formerly known as the Commodore Hotel Whorehouse Of Magnificent Whores, that is -- is doing so well. Donald insists that he "overshot" on an item or two, but Papa-T admonishes him that when he trained the boys not to spend their own money on real estate, he didn't mean to suggest they should instead spend his. Still, he wants to know what he can do to help, which Donald finds hilarious for reasons entirely unknown to me. Oh, wait -- now, we're back at the radio interview. What? Time is apparently not only compressed, but also bendy. There isn't even anything to this, except the host giving Donald shit about his incoming money and the pressure to "top [him]self." Trump assures the host that he is already at work on a new plot to buy a big building and name it after himself. I'm not sure that really qualifies as a plan, so much as a birthday wish, but I'm sure that to Trump, it's totally a plan. I cannot tell you how lame and goofy the segment is using words I've learned during my first three decades as a conversationalist, but as Donald Trump makes his way through some lobby or other, a series of voices -- the Judgmental Public judges you, Donald Trump! -- are heard on the soundtrack saying that Trump is a "one-hit wonder," that Ivana is hot, that a wait-and-see attitude should be taken...that talking about Trump is boring, and that Trump is "what America is all about." I'm serious when I tell you that we are to believe that Trump is thinking real hard about how to come up with a bigger, better project, and he's doing it because he hears strangers' voices in his head, and because those voices doubt his awesomeness, he is determined to spite them. They may be on the TV, by the way, but that's less excellent, so I'm ignoring the small possibility that that's the case. And then we are watching Ed Koch on TV, yammering about priorities. It's really exhausting, the entire thing. And where is this TV? Well, it turns out that it is in the Trumpartment, where young Donald Junior is running around playing with another kid (whom he could buy and sell eight times over, obviously). Ivana's voice can be heard hollering into all the chaos, and then she uncorks my favorite line of the entire movie, which I repeated after I watched it until several different people wanted to choke me with their bare hands just to watch me turn blue. And it goes like this: "You vill stop da scrrrreaming, and da shooooting of da best friend!" Oh, Ivana. I have literally spoken that line in three different major (and semi-major) American cities in three different states (and, in the case of Wisconsin, "states") over the last week. Ask anyone who's seen me during that time, and they'll tell you I did that line for them. Sars? ["Three times!" -- Sars] Anyway, then Ivana is hollering for the nanny, and it's just all-out amazing in the Trumpartment with Ivana's gold shiny skirt and so forth, and there's so much happening, and now I suddenly kind of feel like Jacob, except that I don't regretfully think Trump is slightly awesome and I don't have any compassion for him. Trump comes home just in time to pick Ivana up and give her some smooches (who thought Donald Trump was so romantic?), and then it is family bedlam, because Daddy has just had a brainstorm. Or a migraine? Or an attack of sleepiness? Something, anyway. We now move to Trump's office, where he is working on a great idea that will one day be a little something called...Trump Tower. And he's selling it to a Boardroom (seriously) full of guys, making the case by promising them a tax abatement (more public finance talk -- HOT) in the amount of $40 million. We learn a little bit about how diabolical (?) Donald Trump can really be when he tells his architect that the sketches look terrific, but that he needs another set of plans for "the ugliest freaking building that you can come up with." The architect looks befuddled, because Trump has almost always seen the worst buildings he can come up with just in the normal course of their working together and his efforts to meet Trump's specifications, but the architect agrees, because he doesn't want to be dangled out a window by his feet. Trump now meets with a representative of Tiffany, which is located to the planned site. He demands the air rights needed to build the glorious Trump Tower he has planned, and vows that if he doesn't get them, he will build...that's right. The ugliest freaking building that you can come up with. And apparently, this plan works, because we immediately find ourselves in a bar -- again -- where Donald is regaling a group of bored, annoyed men led up by a snoozing Peter Wennik with his tale of victory over Tiffany (whatever), as they all stare dumbfounded at a model of Trump Tower. Everyone toasts, or something, and it's amazing how there is so much happening in this movie and so little happening in this movie, all at the same time. I think the point is that Trump Tower is now going to be built, provided they can get the city to go along with the tax abatement. Shockingly -- not -- this is the cue for the poor guy stuck playing Ed Koch to stroll in and start shaking hands and asking, as he must, "How'm I doin'?" He approaches the table where Trump is sitting, but the two acknowledge each other only minimally. So...again, a moment in which the punch line is that nothing occurs. There might have been something else that would have been more useful to see, although I'm just guessing. At the Trump offices, Papa-T is listening to a rant from Donald about how much he hates Ed Koch, and how the only way to help is to go back in time and keep Koch's parents from mating. "Koch" and "mating" do not belong in a sentence, I acknowledge, so I apologize for that. Anyway, Koch now gives an interview in which he suggests that he doesn't support the abatement for Trump Tower, and then we learn that, indeed, it has been refused. Trump goes on a rampage in the general direction of his beleaguered friend Peter, all stomping and complaining about how he's going to be stuck in court forever trying to get his abatement sorted out. "This is not gonna happen to me! Keep pushing!" he orders. And push is just what Wennik does, because the time we see Trump, he is sitting on his couch and the guy on the news is expositing that Trump has decided to sue the city for $138 million based on the refusal to grant the abatement. Koch is railing on the screen about how unfair it all is, and Ivana is crawling around with drawings and books in the space between Trump and the TV, apparently working on her decorating mojo or something. Trump asks her if anyone would believe that Sophia Loren or Prince Charles and Lady Diana would want apartments in the new building if it weren't wonderful. She asks playfully whether Charles and Di have really expressed any interest, and Trump admits that they haven't, but insists they will. They will! And then he adds, "Or they'll say 'no comment,' which is just as good." It is? It is! Whatever. I'm still very confused. It's not that I don't understand about dream projects ("Ladies and gentlemen...Dragonair!"), but Trump does seem prone to losing his senses just a bit when it comes to his own great works. "Would you like to be making love, Donald?" Ivana asks matter-of-factly. It's all about the romance with these two, I tell you. He says yes, so they are to be making love -- but before they can get a move on, she says something about "the vindows" and calls off the whole thing. Donald grumps that there are times he forgets she's his wife, or that she's a woman. She doesn't listen, but tells him to just go in the bedroom and "make warm in the bed." Again? Spicy! And then, the press conference previously promised, in which Trump insists to a bunch of reporters that his proposed project will attract Charles and Diana as well as -- and don't get too excited here -- Liberace. Because Trump is, first and foremost, classy. He mentions Sophia Loren again, and the king of Saudi Arabia, and then Ivana, watching this interview up in the Trumpartment, notes to Peter Wennik that she doesn't understand why he keeps bringing up Sophia Loren. "Why, are you worried that you have a rival for his affections?" Peter asks. "You mean aside from you?" she asks. Oh, Ivana. You will stop with the whining and the dissing of the best friend! They share a chuckle, because your husband's homoerotic friendships are nothing if not hilarious, and she tells Wennik that she and Donald remain a perfect match. There's some love-related metaphor about her and Trump and windows, which I'm convinced is in here only because they love the way the fake accent sounds when she says "vindows." Wennik pretends to know what she's talking about. Of course, he's also pretending to actually exist, so, whatever. Wennik meets Trump as the latter arrives on the Trumpicopter, and the former has good news -- the abatement has been granted. But as they get into the limo, Wennik admits that they had to alter the plans slightly. We cut to the Trump home, where Papa-T is playing pool as he welcomes Donald with congratulations on his victory over the city. But Donald is grumpy, and why? Because of the changes. Specifically, the city has approved only 58 of the planned 68 floors, so the building will not be as tall as Trump was hoping. Trump insists that he's still going to call the top story the 68th floor, whether he has 68 floors or not. It will go directly from the lobby to the 10th floor. The amazing thing is that I had a very blasé reaction to that, because I've seen Trump do things that are stupider than that. Trump insists that he can call the floors whatever he wants. This is some brilliant television, y'all. Freddy -- did you notice him in the room? Neither did his father -- suddenly busts out with some kind of drunken tirade about how much he hates everything Papa-T and Donald ever do, and you can tell that this is another "time compression" moment in which they're trying to explain that at times, Freddy was quite tortured by the family business. They could have put this in the form of a Pop-Up Video sort of thing, but they didn't. And really, once you reject the most obvious "write a substantive script" method of explanation, it doesn't really matter which way you go. Freddy argues against the enormous and excessive sorts of things his family builds, and then he says, "Buildings fall down, Donald! Nothing lasts!" Papa-T is ready with his rebuttal: "Your difficulties, young man, are not a byproduct of this family's business. Rather, they are proof positive that the weak get weaker, the more nothing they do." Ooh, burn! Freddy's feeling that one all the way to therapy and back. When Papa-T has stormed out of the room, Freddy stands there being tortured, and then he says to Donald that he remembers their mother telling him he was "a dolphin born into a family of sharks." He congratulates Donald on having the DNA to play the game, and then gives up the movie's only decent insight on Donald Trump (sorry to blow the suspense): "You hyperbolize like it's a bodily function." Ah, that's the stuff. Two hours of that, I would have enjoyed. At any rate, Freddy blathers drunkenly some more, and Donald offers him "some help," in the Very Special Episode sense, but Freddy won't take it. He leaves, accompanied by a flock of vultures, a gaggle of black cats, his open umbrella, and a taboo idol he found at a construction site. I wonder what will happen. Later, Donald returns to the Trumpartment -- in his pink tie! -- to find Ivana doing something-or-other with the marble for the bathrooms, and I really couldn't tell you what, unfortunately. They bicker over her drive to do everything herself, meaning that in a two-hour movie about the entire rise and fall of Donald Trump, we are now watching a scene about Ivana's inability to delegate. I smell misplaced priorities. "Sometimes, you forget that I am a voooman, yes?" she asks him. "But you never let me forget that you are a man." Somebody got paid to write that, kids. Lie down and weep. Anyway, Ivana gripes that her work is just as important as his, and then there's more bickering, and this is how their marriage breaks down, so watch closely. Just as this is happening, Trump receives a call from Papa-T. A fateful call, you might even say. Because in this fateful call, he learns that Freddy has bitten the dust. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Freddy is no longer with us, having suffered a massive heart attack just after serving his main purpose in the storyline. It's very sad that this really happened to poor Freddy, and even sadder that it seems like such a cheap plot device in this particular setting. Ivana tries to comfort Trump, but he's having none of it. And then, there is humming on the soundtrack, because singing without words is what happens when someone dies. We suddenly appear to skip forward in time two years, according to some very clumsy dialogue, to where Trump is attending the opening of Trump Tower, and in the limo, he's telling Peter that Freddy "could have been saved." You know how he could have been saved? By being renamed. If they had called him the Trump Freddy Trump, rather than just Freddy Trump, he could have been rescued, don't you think? At any rate, Peter finally makes Trump head inside, which he does, with full slo-mo of mourning and quiet sadness, and then we are inside, where it is time for Trump to explain that the Trump Tower is the most awesome building in New York. Trump says awkwardly that Freddy was "instrumental" in all his projects, which is entirely apropos of entirely nothing, and then he encourages everyone to eat the hors d'oeuvres. Nice. "My dead brother was awesome. Have a stuffed mushroom!" That wouldn't be awkward at all. Later, Trump is on the phone with Papa-T when Ivana returns to the Trumpartment. Donald starts to whine about his father and something something, and then Ivana says, "I bought for us a book." And you can kind of tell from her tone that it's a sex book, and the whole idea of trying to improve your sex life with Donald Trump is honestly so skeevy that it kind of freaks me out, but there you go. And indeed, Ivana says, "This book, it is a very good book, it is a racy book, is for the helping of the relationships." Trump looks amused, which is kind of rude, and then he laughs out loud, which is worse. He tries to tell her he's happy, but she coyly points out, "There is no longer the sexual aspect in our marriage." HOT! She pouts about whether he's looking at other women, which he insists is not the case -- it's the women who "can't keep their hands off" of him. Off of Trump? Ewwwww! Ivana promises she would kill any other woman Trump had, and then pouts some more about whether she's getting old and "saggy." Trump assures her she's beautiful, although he does remind her that she's "skinny" and "not a knockout in the boob department." You know, it's really depressing that these days, you can actually, like, shop in the boob department. Sigh. "I am an athlete; I don't grow the gigantic boobs!" Ivana protests. I wish I were making up some of this. At any rate, Donald suggests to his wife the treasured and always wise "open relationship." She looks at him incredulously. "Do you know how I vill kill yooo?" she asks. He apologizes, but she gets up and explains how she will ruin him if he cheats on her. Divorce, loss of the children, public ridicule. In fact, she promises to make his name "something dirty and foreboding for all of recorded history." Nothing is going to make him want to sit down with a dirty book like that approach, I'm quite sure. Anyway, he tells her they don't have to have that open relationship, then. He says he doesn't want a divorce, and she gets all teary talking about how this would make their marriage a failure, and he can't stand to fail, and considering how little he appears to care about their marriage based on this movie, it's a little hard for me to swallow that explanation, but...all right. "You build so many buildings, but you have yet to build a single home," she weeps. I think that's what they mean when they say the dialogue is fictionalized. Because that line most certainly was one that made me want to derisively snort, "Chuh." ANYWAY. Trump gets up and says something about how he doesn't either always ask for his father's help, and...she didn't even say that, so I think they cut that part out of her speech, which was kind of short-sighted, really. Trump kind of waves his hand and stomps off. Coherent! We see Trump at a presentation where he is explaining that he has a new idea -- an Atlantic City casino. He continues pitching Baby Brother Robert as they take a walk together (things are moving fast, see), and he ultimately tells "Bobby" that he needs "someone [he] can trust" on the project. They take off in the Trumpicopter. We return to Bobby and Donny strolling at the future site of the casino, where they are talking financing. It's no "screaming and shooting of the best friend," but the long and short of it is that the casino partners Trump wants to work with are willing to get started, but they want to see some progress in the form of a groundbreaking. The only problem is that they won't be ready to break ground for six months. CUT! What do you think will happen ? I'm guessing you're right. As you'd expect, Trump welcomes the investors to the site, and there are trucks driving around and construction guys doing a lot of milling. Do you get it? Because nothing's happening, but he's making it look like it is. This is as close as you will get to an explanation of what people think is the genius of Donald Trump, so try to enjoy it while you can. Trump manages to fool the Harrah's guy into thinking things are going well, although one guy does note that the trucks appear not to be doing anything. That guy is here to represent the voice of reason and is, of course, ignored. And then the casino opens. Speedy! Peter Wennik, Brother Bobby, and Trump take a walk outside the entrance in their tuxes during the apparent gala, and Trump incidentally mentions that he and Ivana are taking some time apart. Blink and you'll miss it. And then Trump is talking about how New York City doesn't have the world's tallest building, and he's getting That Look, and Peter Wennik is laughing and pantomiming his own death in faux horror about what Donald "Lucy" Trump will be getting him into , and things are crazy. Crazy! Weirdly, the time we see Trump, he's already talking about the new development, and Wennik is already looking gloomy for some reason. I think we missed some moment where Wennik started having doubts about everything that's happening, but I suppose imperfect character development is the price a guy pays for being a composite. Trump is asked at a press conference whether the "local community" will want the development, and he assures them that the community will love it, leading inevitably to the shot of the local community taking up picket signs in protest. Hilarious! And what are they chanting? "Hell, no, we won't go." About a development? They're not very good protestors, I have to say. Because...won't go where? They do not say. Maybe they won't go to the development. Maybe they're not angry, they're just not interested. Anyway, as the press conference continues, Wennik smokes unhappily. Still not sure what's bugging him, really. I diagnose him with a sinus infection or an existential crisis. We cut to Koch's office, where he's talking about how nobody wants Trump's "Television City" development with a "suburban mall" in Manhattan and so forth. And then we cut back to Trump, who is very unhappy about the m-word being used to describe his "masterpiece." Wennik tells him that it is, after all, pretty much a mall. This is another of many scenes in which Wennik and Trump talk, and Trump blusters about Koch, and Wennik tries to calm him, and blah dee blah. For no apparent reason, Ivana strolls into the middle of this discussion to demand "a more advantageous nup." She stands with her hands on her hips, and Trump looks confused -- as I am myself -- until Wennik amusedly points out that she means "pre-nup." Ivana protests, of course, that it's no longer a pre-nup, now that they're married. It's a "nup." Get it? Get it? Sigh. He says no, she says yes, and he says, "I'll think about it." There is enough dramatic tension in this room to power an electric razor! Trump returns to bitching about Koch. We now watch Trump and Koch on the telephone disparaging each other in a montage I truly never thought I'd see. Or, I should say, "live to see." Or maybe "have to see." Doop-dee-doo, they hate each other and talk at the same time, and they are enemies. Ultimately, this ends with Trump getting a call from Wennik. While they're talking about how exactly to foil Koch, Trump is watching a report on TV about the deteriorating Wollman Rink in Central Park. And he's getting a wonderful, Grinchy idea. The TV journalist talks about how run-down and awful it is, and Trump literally watches in disbelief and says, "Cut it out." As you can probably imagine, this leads us into the montage in which Trump rescues Wollman Rink from the brink of ruin, showing up Koch by doing the renovation cheap and fast, and it's not entirely clear how this really does a lot to put Koch on the spot, but it apparently does. I guess. Whatever. Rink! Skaters! News reports calling Trump an "angel"! When this is a fait accompli, which takes about 15 seconds, Trump chats up Wennik over dinner, and they agree that it shouldn't be a problem to get the building approved now that he's a local hero. Oh, New York is such a cheap date. Trump is seen polishing the silverware in a restaurant like the germophobe he is, and he pauses when he gets a call. As it turns out, he has lost the battle on the building, and the city has still ruled against him in spite of his good deeds. Wennik cautions him that he's "overextended," and then Trump speaks the magic words, "I refuse to listen to anyone else ever again." That's as opposed, I guess, to the consensus-builder he has been to this point. He blathers about how he won't be pushed around anymore, and then we get a sidebar in which Trump -- for literally no reason -- chooses this moment to show Wennik the mock-up of the cover of his book, The Art Of The Deal. With so many of these things, it's like they're just throwing them in there to make sure you don't think Gwenda Blair doesn't know Trump wrote a book. Anyway, Trump talks about some bike race that might be organized, and Wennik gives him some shit about his helicopter (don't you hate that?), which Wennik reminds him he can't afford. This leads Trump to proclaim, "There's nothing I can't afford." We also discover at this point that he has purchased Mar-a-Lago, which I really hope means that he's already commissioned that totally fucking awesome painting of himself. And then Trump puts his feet on the desk and tells Wennik that he's about to tell the press he's running for president. Wennik suddenly looks tortured. It is still basically unclear why Trump would bother Wennik now, when he hung in through the days of the shitty casinos. Papa-T and Proud Mary watch a TV report about Donald's helicopter and the Trumps in general. It turns out that this is a full interview in which he earnestly explains that he's "a streetwise kid from Queens," not a kid who was just born rich. He calls himself a "self-made man," and his father, watching from a living room, finds this all rather ridiculous and says, "Did Donny ever have a self-made bed?" Hilarious! Okay, not really. I'm trying to use false enthusiasm to make up for the absence of real enthusiasm. I feel it's in the spirit of Trump. At any rate, Trump tells the interviewer that he loves the fight, and makes mention of running for president. Asked how she would feel about her husband being president, Ivana tells the interviewer that Donald is "perfect husband, perfect father." And she'd vote for him. The status of their marriage throughout all of this goes sort of ignored, except that they occasionally look at each other coldly. We move to Trump's book signing, where he is now explaining that he's not running for president after all. So much for that subplot. Did you like it? A young woman steps up to have a book signed, and Trump happens to tell her that he's about to buy an airline and call it the Trump Shuttle. She smiles blankly and says her name is "Marla. Marla Maples." He signs the book for her, and she adds that coincidentally, she was once a stewardess. The honking of whimsy, seeming ridiculously out of place in this movie, picks up as Wennik looks over unhappily from behind what he's reading to note that Trump is making smitten faces at Marla. Wacky! See, he met a girl, which is inconvenient, because he's married. Indeed, later on, Donald is polishing more silverware and telling Wennik something about trying to move Ivana out of Atlantic City in order to accommodate Marla. Wennik chooses this moment to break it to Trump that he is "leveraged to the hilt." But Trump doesn't listen, probably because he's thinking about delicious, delicious Marla, and instead starts asking about his "style." When Wennik asks him to please listen, it launches Trump into a hilariously silly and weirdly timed monologue about how money isn't money. Money is a "belief system." And he calls himself "a mogul," "a magnate," "a baron," and "American royalty." Wennik looks horrified at what Trump has become, because I guess he...never saw it coming? Don't know. At any rate, he tells Trump that "this has to stop," and Trump basically has no idea what "stop" means, so you can imagine how that goes. "Peter, change the world with me or go away," Trump says. And Peter gets up and goes away. Dramatic! Wennik boards the Trumpicopter. There is more humming on the soundtrack, and you know what that means. Yes, it's time for more death. And this time, it comes in the form of a call Donald receives as he's lolling around a bedroom with a pink-clad Marla. She's babbling on about her TV work, and she's telling him she loves him, and she's asking him whether he's "spiritual." Incidentally, Marla is being made to look highly ridiculous, which again would appear to be the Ivana DeWitt factor kicking in, or the fact that Gwenda is an Ivana sympathizer. At any rate, the death call comes, revealing to Trump that Wennik hasn't shown up in Atlantic City for the meeting where he was expected. And you know why? Because as it turns out, the helicopter went down. We watch an impromptu meeting with the employees at which Ivana explains that Peter and two others, in addition to the pilot and co-pilot, died when the plane went down. The meeting breaks up when Donald receives a phone call from a reporter who questions Trump, who tells the reporter that he was planning to be on the helicopter, but wound up not going along. This means that there are headlines -- with humming -- about how Trump cheated death. There is some implication that this isn't true, but because of the fictionalization and time compression, it's not clear that we would have seen it if it were true, so some of the impact of the dark implications is lost. To say the least. Who knew that unstructured, terrible writing would have negative implications for the development of dramatic tension? Trump opens another building, and he devotes it to the memories of Wennik and the others, sort of. This movie grows stranger and stranger, and I'm very glad that we're approaching the late stages. Oh, you didn't know? Well, we are. Don't panic. In the only part of the movie I thought was remotely interestingly made, we now watch a montage in which the beleaguered Ivana DeWitt undergoes a series of cosmetic surgeries, while a primping Marla Maples enjoys her youth and beauty while trying to dodge the hungry, aggressive, unrelenting press. Oh, and the Taco version of "Puttin' On The Ritz" is playing, which is awesome. Rhapsody allowed me to listen to it while writing this, because it is part of the album The Best Of Taco. No, really. And that album also contains renditions of "Singin' In The Rain" and, remarkably, "Chattanooga Choo-Choo." They sound exactly like "Puttin' On The Ritz," only weirder. I KNOW! I really, really don't understand Taco, but I'm glad he's returned to my life. Anyway, the press accosts Marla. Surgeons cut Ivana. Can you see how Donald makes everyone suffer even when they love him? Kind of like Taco, actually. Papa-T chats with Donald about whether he loves Marla. Donald points out that Marla doesn't want anything except to make him happy. Well, that's a recipe for an interesting relationship. Papa-T points out that it's kind of ridiculous to think that a guy who wants more than one car might settle for one woman. That is seriously the best and most romantic analogy ever, and would completely work on me. Papa-T goes on to explain that "women are to be flattered, made love to, and bought off." And how! I was wondering how I was going to pay off my law school loans. Step right up! Ravish me and pay up! I don't have all day here, people! Okay, anyway. Papa-T says that it's not good for a woman to ever think you might be falling in love with her. That's totally true. We're bitches that way. Papa-T ends on the always popular piece of fatherly advice, "Don't get caught." I loved everything about that romantic, romantic sequence. We then observe a montage in which Ivana and Donald visit Aspen for Christmas, along with a lot of other celebrities including Don Johnson and Melanie Griffith, who are referred to as "hot hot" so that you remember that this took place a really long time ago. Once the Trumps have exited their car and entered their love nest (or whatever), another car pulls up. The door opens. Marla steps out, apparently ignored by the press that was just stalking her like crazy freaks only one montage earlier. Things really do change in a hurry. She makes her way unmolested into the lodge, or chateau, or whatever. Inside, Donald is telling Ivana he's surprised the press hasn't said anything about her boob job, although he doesn't actually say "boob job." He says "uh," which, when it comes out of the mouth of this particular incarnation of Donald Trump, means "boob job." "I'd just like to be able to recognize you in a crowd," Donald complains. He is totally the Suzanne Somers, incidentally. "Husband should recognize vife with bag over head," Ivana intones. I get all confused about whose head the bag is supposed to be over in this stern-sounding admonition, but am then distracted by the fact that she adds, "Vith no head at all." I think that would be an awesome improvement to both of these people. He goes off to make calls, and she tells him something rude about having a third arm attached. No, really. And then he closes the door, and she sadly mutters to herself, "Maybe a spare ass." A spare ass indeed, lady. A spare ass indeed. Elsewhere, in another room, Marla is all vapid in her mint-green pantsuit (she's the Don Knotts, basically), telling her mother on the phone that she feels sorry for Ivana, because it is Marla herself whom Trump really loves. In fact, he wants her to marry him. She even breathlessly says Donald wants to put her in a scene on Dallas with Larry Hagman. What? I...never mind. She does admit, however, that Ivana looks "great." And then amends that to say she looks "better." Wow. Don't get too complimentary, there. And then she says this: "Me? No way. I'd probably wind up looking like a Playboy bunny somebody hurled through a windshield." I love how they explain everything about real estate as if I'm in third grade, but they expect me to understand what the fuck is going on with that line. Someone comes to the door, and she runs to answer. It's Donald! They're totally in looooove. Later, Donald and Ivana are out on the slopes when she starts demanding that he tell her whether he's sleeping with Marla. Ivana? Not too bright, there. Donald insults Ivana's accent as a distraction (good one, asshole), and Ivana comes back by referring to Marla as "Marla Mooples." "Talk also theeees television star weeth the big shoulder pads," Ivana complains, lamenting the press coverage regarding possible dalliances Trump is having with...Joan Collins? Linda Evans? Joe Montana? At any rate, Donald tells her that "the important parts work" in their marriage, and she gets all "I vant to be loooovers!" in this weird way, and Trump kind of wants to just ski, but Ivana totally spots Mooples and goes over to confront her. Fight! Fight! Fight! Ultimately, Ivana and Mooples have a big yelling fight that we don't actually get to see, mostly just getting shots of the extensive press coverage of it after the fact. "You vill stay away from my husband," Ivana demands. "You are tramp!" she states. Oh, tramps. They're the happiest people, really, and they get an unfairly bad rap. There's lots of shoving and stuff, and the press reports that this turned into an "Ivana went crazy" situation. Later, alone in her desolate apartment, Ivana tears up some tabloids and is all, "Hiiiya!", kind of like Miss Piggy. She then decides there's only one thing to do, so she calls Liz Smith. You know, Jacob pointed out recently that "One Way Or Another" is really, really played at this point, but here it is again as Donald and Ivana give warring stories to Liz Smith about the breakdown of their marriage. And the song is still really, really played. Blah blah blah Donald is only letting Ivana run the Plaza Hotel to keep her quiet blah blah blah Ivana was betrayed blah blah blah Blondie. And then we get to see the "Best Sex I've Ever Had" headline that we all unfortunately do remember regarding Donald and Marla. Eeeeeew! In case you haven't figured out that the tabloids covered the shit out of the end of Donald and Ivana's marriage, we watch as Mooples, in her lime-green teddy (!), weeps and moans and rolls around on her bed on a pile of her own press. Do people really do that? I'm thinking that's more of a thing that you not only don't do outside of a movie, but you don't do outside of a montage inside of a movie. Trump and Bobby are now having a conversation about the Taj Mahal and the money problems and the fact that Bobby declares Donald's head "officially below water." Donald ignores the warnings and vows to charge ahead. And then we watch a series of moments in which Trump reads all about his own fall from grace. And then we look at a close-up of Trump's face. And then the movie achieves release when we actually see a tear drip off of the unfeeling, waxen eyeball of Donald Trump. He's crying, people. He's weepy. And what does he do to solve it? He reaches for the phone. He makes a call. And claiming to be someone named "John Baron," he says he's a Trump insider and that the press should show up for the opening of the casino with film in their cameras. Montage! Trump exits the limo in his tux, complete with red carnation in his lapel. He reaches back toward the limo's open door. A hand emerges with a large diamond ring on its middle finger. (Middle. Yeah.) High-heel-wearing feet step onto a red carpet. Slow motion. Slow motion. Cheering and clapping. And, to the surprise of no one, the woman who has just stepped out of the limo is Mooples, who has apparently been rescued from Other Woman territory and ushered into life as Trump's real-life lady friend. Mooples tears up as she takes her opportunity to stand proudly beside Trump and his terrifying hair, declaring now and forever that she is the most treasured possession of all (or at least for about five years), no matter what anyone says. Elsewhere, later, Donald finds Bobby, who bitterly says that Trump apparently got what he wanted, with the chaos and the craziness. Bobby argues that even the casino's test runs were horrible, as they "couldn't take care of the cash," whatever that means. The brothers continue to argue, and Trump of course proposes to solve the problem by simply declaring that Bobby will fix it. Will! But Bobby says no, and walks out. We now find ourselves in a very grim meeting between Donald Trump and some of the many people to whom he owes money, I suppose. One gentleman in particular seems to be in charge of cracking the whip about all the things Trump owes money for and all the payments he has already missed when they were due. Trump is informed that he is $2 billion in debt, and that $800 million of that was personally guaranteed, and nobody even knows yet what he'll wind up owing Ivana. Trump then appears outside, telling the press that the organization is having some problems, but will bounce back. (Dammit.) But back in the meeting, which is magically still going on through the power of inept editing, Trump is told that the company will be dismantled. Bankruptcy is suggested, and Trump refuses to consider it. Trump appears in slo-mo some more as the press hounds him and Newsweek runs a cover suggesting that he has already gone through "Trump: The Fall." The financial enforcer, meanwhile, says that there will be a chief financial officer hired to oversee the organization while it rebuilds. Trump gets cocky, talking about how they apparently think they'll replace him. Somebody gets very much too cute when one of the finance guys suggests that Trump "fire some people" to make it seem like he's in charge. "I don't like firing people; I've never been comfortable with it," he says. See, it's funny because of TV. Do you get it? Trump is all alone in his lair, wondering how it all went wrong. He doesn't cry again, but he looks like he might. I really hope that won't happen. He has a chat with his father, who reassures him that he'll always have his name, mud though it may be. Papa-T tells him that if he were in the situation, he'd disappear for a while before attempting a comeback. Papa-T helps out some more by throwing disdain and personal insults at his needy and desperate son, making it easy to understand how Trump might have reasonably concluded that what people need when they're struggling is to be called "losers" a lot. A meeting. A bunch of people we've never seen before. Trump tells a bunch of suits that they loaned him money for business reasons because of his name, and now they need to understand that only his name can make the money back. If they make his name something "synonymous with surrender and failure," the money will be gone, and they'll never be repaid. If, on the other hand, they loan him even more money so that he can rebuild his empire, then he can make back his money and they can be repaid. The Love Theme From That's So Crazy, It Just Might Work plays as the headlines announce that "Trump Fights Back." Finance Guy tells Trump he is indeed getting a $65 million bailout, so...I guess that worked. However, he'll have to "live on a budget." Trump exposits that one of the things he's learned is that he doesn't have to own things as long as his name is on them. Awesome. Narcissism taking the place of investment. It's the natural order of things, really. "I'm happy," he announces. Whew! He signs on the dotted line and becomes a kept man. Later, Trump is interviewed by a high-school kid who asks him, if Manhattan is the Emerald City as he's always said, is he the wizard? Trump pauses and sucks up to the question, which you can totally imagine him doing, and then he says that Dorothy was crazy for wanting to go home when she could have stayed in Oz. So, so weird. There's then a totally weird moment in which he talks to Ivana on the phone, encourages her to take the kids to Mar-a-Lago, and tells her he loves her. No, really. Tells her he loves her. Now? This is so odd. When did we learn that their split somehow became amicable after he went public with Mooples? Whatever. Then suddenly, there is someone behind him in his office. Someone in a leather jacket. Someone...Australian. Someone representing...the Mark Burnett Accounting Firm and Alligator Wrestling Company, which is here to make him an offer. A reality show. About firing people. "Television is the new real estate," Burnett says, telling him that if you're not on TV now, "you don't exist." Which is just what I think, pretty much. More crazy-ass flattery ensues (as opposed to crazy ass-flattery, so don't let anyone tell you punctuation doesn't matter), and Trump protests again that he doesn't love firing people. "This isn't real life, Mr. Trump," Burnett says. "This is reality." That is so fucking deep. Trump laughs, and then it's over, and we move to the end notes, which state that Trump still oversells his net worth, that he later married and divorced Mooples, and that he followed with a marriage to Melania.