Lola On Film

A crowd-pleasing, somewhat flimsy, at times witty, thoroughly self-congratulatory film about a sensitive, difficult topic, the envisioned tone of Netflix’s Scoop (2024) was perhaps not a good idea to start with. Such a juxtaposition of the pert and the painful is rarely pulled off without a sacrificing the heart of the story — which in the case of Philip Martin‘s dramatisation of the (in)famous BBC Newsnight’s 2019 interview with Prince Andrew are the very real underage girls, mostly from underprivileged backgrounds, sex-trafficked by the late convicted sex offender and paedophile, financier Jeffrey Epstein.

Not for a moment do I believe that taking the subject matter lightly was the intention of the filmmakers. Firstly, a few direct references to the predicament of the young victims have been made, but they seem to fade into the background of the general mood of the film, which is unabashedly triumphant. Hence the title, a slang term for a journalistic securing of a major story — and beating one’s rivals to it.

Secondly, the making of this film must have been met with some trepidation in lofty, powerful quarters, i.e. Buckingham Palace — thus the screen adaptation of ex-BBC producer Samantha McAlister’s book on the interview probably was a daunting prospect, and not an easy project to bring about.

Nevertheless, the actual story behind the scoop turns narrative hostage to the story of acquiring the scoop. McAlister, the booker on the highly respected programme Newsnight, was the one that landed the jaw-dropping interview, and what we get, predictably, is her own perspective. The tough, outspoken McAlister is played to rushed, leopard-print-heeled, bleached-blonde perfection by Billie Piper, cutting a figure of stark contrast to her dry, reserved, beige-clad, high-brow surroundings, that is her often critical colleagues at the Beeb, for whom she was, at times, a jarring presence. The class angle of the clash of personalities is dealt with humour and surgical precision, in what is, perhaps, the saving grace of the heavily flawed Scoop.

Emily Maitlis, the journalist who so boldly and skilfully interviewed the Prince on his dealings with Epstein seems to have been allotted the place of second-fiddle to McAlister’s daring coup in making the entire event happen. A frequent guest of Epstein’s, the Prince was papped in 2010 walking in Central Park with the financier, while being his houseguest (yet again) after Epstein was released from his first sex-offence against a minor prison sentence. This story lingered — now accompanied by accusations of sexual assault of a minor by the Prince, himself, made by one of Epstein’s alleged sex-trafficking victims, Virginia Giuffre, in a civil lawsuit, now settled out of court.

The steely, steady, battle-ready Maitlis is eerily embodied by another wonderful actress, Gillian Anderson, here also channeling a more approachable version of Maggie Tatcher (plus a pet whippet) — Anderson’s role in Netflix’s The Crown (2016–2023) was Tatcher, which, amongst others, Martin also directed — or in fact being like any posh British woman of the ilk, ambition, and circumstance.

And that’s the rub. Despite all the stellar acting involved (and the cast here is top-notch American-British talent), a great deal in Scoop relies on the recycling of tried and tested stereotypes, which might hold a kernel of truth, but universally fail as plot devices. The final result is little more than passing entertainment, igniting always that necessary spot of controversy.

Rendering the Prince pompous and clueless, rather than perhaps a bit sinister, and maybe even aware of the implications of his alleged transgressions, is seamlessly achieved by the charismatic Rufus Sewell, in full make-up, steering the audience towards a somewhat of a simpatico view of the disgraced royal, and away from real public enquiry (or outright condemnation).

My takeaway from Scoop (if I did not know better) would be that the British public had a harder time dealing with Prince Andrew’s faux pas during the said interview — his poor form, lack of remorse, and blatant insensitivity — rather than the actual accusations he had to face in the aftermath of Epstein’s downfall, and his sudden and heavily contested demise (i.e. suicide while in incarceration).

Maybe the centrality of the destructive (and epic) glibness of the playboy prince, causing real distress with his mother late Queen Elizabeth II (he is rumoured to have been her favourite child) — which saw him finally walk straight into Epstein’s net, is not too far from the truth. Also, Prince Andrew has hence stepped down from all his duties, and was stripped of his royal patronages and military titles, in the aftermath of the PR disaster (and probably genuine shock) that was the interview and the settlement (the Prince has persistently denied the allegations).

But that is all (sort of) beside the point.

Jeffrey Epstein was a mephistophelian figure, certainly, luring in powerful people, using their character weaknesses (and possible perversions) to gain leverage. But, anyone who may have participated or just silently witnessed, even entirely laterally, his criminal activities and debauchery, must have at least a speck of that same darkness in them. Despite the mitigating factor of an out-of-touch naïveté which often accompanies a pampered existence — in this case amplified by royal titles as blanket against scrutiny.

“I don’t know why everyone’s so upset about my friendship with Mr. Epstein. I knew Jimmy Savile so much better.” — quips an annoyed Prince Andrew, and this is probably the closest we get to a perhaps more truthful (and certainly more interesting) probe in that particular direction.

Scoop not only shies away from approaching this elephant in the ballroom type of subject, but makes its entire proceedings solely focused on brave-heart journalism, and speaking truth to power, which, in this case, considering just how fairly delicately the prince has actually been treated, seems a tad hypocritical. True, he is shown, in moments, as foolish, short-tempered, infantile, endlessly entitled, as well as (!?) buck naked, but otherwise he is presented as essentially amiable, happy-go-lucky, family-orientated, loyal to his friends, including Ghislaine Maxwell (Epstein’s partner, and partner-in-crime), and mostly kind to his staff (except when he snaps). His devoted private secretary, Amanda Thirsk, portrayed by Keeley Hawes, is clearly decent person, and yet she is Prince Andrew’s most fervent champion, eager to restore his public profile and dignity. So, we thus summerise, Thirsk must know things we do not know about the royal. He might have a heart of gold. Nowhere do we get even a glimpse of anything more troubling than the (briefly alluded to) ‘Randy Andy’ trope.

While Maitlis’s relentless interrogation of the Prince in the Newsnight interview was astonishingly direct, unapologetic, and well-conducted, this film, itself, sadly does not follow the sentiment.

One cannot have it both ways — advocate having courage, and then fail to have it yourself.

All in all, Scoop is a missed opportunity to seriously deal with the interior turbulence and social consequences of a member of the British royal family involved in a scandal of a super-nova magnitude, such as were the abhorrent criminal dealings of Jeffrey Epstein — even though accusations towards the Prince did not lead to a conviction, and he vehemently denies them. Allowing more real screen time for the victims, and probing more deeply into the connection between the Prince and his one-time friend Epstein, specifically in terms of elite circles the latter kept in his orbit, would have not taken anything away from the story.

Which, in truth, ends as an upbeat tale of a working-class woman struggling and succeeding in gaining professional recognition and peer respect in an organisation such as the BBC, which prides itself with its equal-opportunities credo, while undergoing a notable crisis of mass redundancies.

Yet, Scoop does show a divided society — tainted by injustice, stratified by status, education, presentation, and the potluck of birth. And then, it inexplicably decides to make the pleasures of social mobility its point.

★★✩✩✩

Author: ©Milana Vujkov