Directed by Michael Winterbottom.  Reviewed by Mike Riddell 

Russell Brand is a polarising figure. He’s either an egotistical rich prat with a foul mouth and a childish chip on his shoulder, or he’s an impish prophet who acts out an incisive and defining spiritual perspective on life. In The Emperor’s New Clothes, director Michael Winterbottom combines with Brand to offer a documentary critique of the consequences of neo-liberalism.

It’s a case of the prankster versus the banksters. In homage to Michael Moore, Brand takes the case against criminal corruption and massive filching of money into the lobbies of many of the big-name banks. Unsurprisingly, the villains of the piece never front — leaving it to their low-paid security guards to escort the ever-cheeky Brand off the premises.

It’s worth the price of admission to hear Rupert Murdoch described as a “liver-spotted tarantula”. But whether the film succeeds or not can be gauged only in terms of its agenda. To anyone who reads more deeply than the mainstream media, nothing here is particularly new. Western inequality is growing, the banks and financial institutions are uniformly corrupt, and governments don’t care.

There are better and more detailed critiques than the populist slogans offered by Brand. But this project is not aimed at closet intellectuals or listless university professors. It’s a cry to the heartland of those damaged by a relentless economic ideology. The film seeks to go straight to the reality of the people suffering directly from heartless policies.

Brand is at his best when hanging out with the stoic underclass savaged by Britain’s selective austerity. He’s easily at home among those who do “shit work” for wages that don’t quite meet the costs of staying alive. The most moving and dignified scenes of the film have Brand chatting with a young black woman who has found her way to employment despite advanced cerebral palsy.

Like all good documentary work, this is where the soul is — the inescapable confrontation with the human face of the rigid death-dealing dogma that is neo-liberalism. Brand resists it not with ideas (though there are some good practical suggestions at the end), but with a bit of a laugh and a compassionate prodding as to whether life might be more than all this.

The title is well chosen. Brand is the child in a parade of adults, giggling at their unrecognised nakedness. Will the film change anything? I doubt it. But I have new-found respect for Brand as he carries a guttering flame of hope in the midst of a hurricane of structured oppression. I hope his dimly-burning wick is never extinguished.