perfection in imperfection

I recently read consumer society written by a French sociologist, and I don't know who the author is competing with. He uses enough words to make this book a review material for the American Spelling Grand Prix. I'm glad I didn't watch the French version, otherwise I would have suspected that I was paranoid: Have I ever learned French? There are some interesting points, but each one is surrounded by tons of clunky ideas, like moldy desserts. For example, he said that the biggest heroes in the consumer society are no longer explorers and entrepreneurs, but the hero of consumption. He also said that waste is an essential feature of the consumer society. It is possible for people to show wealth through waste, but he does not stop. He insists that productivity is in the waste. Waste in contemporary society is productive waste, like a poem.
Why bother with self-torture? I threw the book back to the library after reading half of it, and found Sidney Lumet's Network, and found that the chairman's frantic speech in the film almost perfectly explained the ideal society in the hearts of capitalists: society is like a super large company, and everyone is a Shareholders, everyone is a consumer. Rarely does a film have such a powerful speech.
People with pure capitalist minds always complicate their ideas, although that is the innate instinct of any living being: to make their own resources more, more, and infinite. The complexity of people, when they are impatient to teach you life lessons, is directly dismissed as simple and childish. In the film, the female choreographer who is obsessed with the ratings lives in a "complex" network, facing criss-crossing ingenuity, relationships, and interests all day long, which is unbearable for non-strong people. But the life she shunned, which she considered meaningless, was more complicated. In philosophical language, the external network is nothing but an appendage of human beings, created and manipulated by human beings, and human beings, as the noumenon, are thrown into an irrational world without knowing who created them. Facing oneself and facing one's accessories are two-level issues.
I think the performance of the female choreographer is not good enough, and she is not thorough enough, but she is undoubtedly a wonderful character. She has an affair with an old man, talking about the ratings while eating, talking about the ratings while taking off her clothes, and talking about the ratings while foreplay. Rate, talking and talking, reached a climax.
The roles of her and the chairman are perfect in this imperfectly good movie.

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