"If you're

growing,
you're not in
recession
right?" The
speaker is
Hank
Paulson, the

former US
treasury
secretary,
and, as it
happens, the
former CEO
of Goldman
Sachs. In

Charles
Ferguson's
documentary
about the
great
financial
crash,
Paulson's

shrugging
remark sums
up the
attitude of the
super-rich
banking
apparatchiks
and their

eager political
supporters.
As long as the
bubble's
getting
bigger, there's
no worry
about the

bubble
contracting
right? But
that is not
what happens
to bubbles. In
2008, the pop
was heard

around the
world.
This film is as
gripping as
any thriller.
Aided by
some
fascinating

interviews,
Ferguson lays
out an awful
story. In the
1980s, the
markets and
financial
services were

deregulated,
and the
driving force
for this
liberalisation
was Alan
Greenspan,
formidable

chairman of
the US
federal
reserve board
from 1987 to
2006. Banks
and loan
companies

were freer to
gamble with
their
depositors'
money; they
were
themselves
freer to

borrow more;
they were free
to offer
investors
dizzyingly
complex
financial
instruments,

with income
streams from
different
debts
bundled up,
including
high-interest
home loans

offered to
high-risk
borrowers
the so-called
"sub-prime"
market that
offered
mouthwateri

ngly high
returns.
The good
times rolled.
The banks
ballooned.
They offered
their traders

mind-blowing
bonuses to
encourage
risk-taking
chutzpah,
corporate
loyalty, and a
neurotically

driven
pursuit of
profit.
Ferguson
argues that
crucially, the
banks were
allowed to

insure against
bad debts
with credit
default swaps
any number
of these
insurance
policies could

be purchased
against one
particular
risk.
Chillingly, the
banks now
had a vested
interest in

selling
insanely risky
products, as
they
themselves
were lavishly
insured with
these swaps.

Perhaps the
most
sensational
aspect of this
film is
Ferguson's
contention
that the crash

corrupted the
discipline of
economics
itself.
Distinguished
economists
from
America's Ivy

League
universities
were drafted
in by banks to
compose
reports
sycophantical
ly supporting

reckless
deregulation.
They were
massively
paid for these
consultancies.
The banks
bought the

prestige of
the
academics,
and their
universities'
prestige, too.
Ferguson
speaks to

many of these
economists,
who clearly
thought they
were going
to be
interviewed
as wry,

dispassionate
observers. It
is really
something to
see the
expression of
shock,
outrage and

fear on their
faces as they
realise they're
in the dock.
One splutters
with
vexation;
another gives

vent to a ripe
Freudian slip.
Asked by
Ferguson if
he has any
regrets about
his behaviour,
he says: "I

have no
comments
uh,
no regrets."
This is what
Ferguson
means by
"inside job".

There is a
revolving
door between
the banks and
the higher
reaches of
government,
and to some

extent the
groves of
academe.
Bank CEOs
become
government
officials,
creating laws

convenient
for their once
and future
employers.
Perhaps only
the pen of
Tom Wolfe
could do

justice to
these
harassed,
bald, middleaged masters
of the
universe, as
they appear

in Ferguson's
film. The
director
shows how
their bodylanguage is
always the
same:

somehow
more guiltylooking when
they are in
the White
House rose
garden in
their career

pomp, being
introduced to
the press,
than when
they are
facing openly
hostile Senate
hearings.

They look
uneasy,
shifty, in
weirdly illfitting suits,
as if they are
oppressed by
the scrutiny,

and worn out,

possibly, by
the strain of
suppressing
their own
scruples.
Their
financial

capacity far
outstrips
their capacity
for enjoying
themselves.
They look
very
unhappy.

Occasionally,
British
figures
including
Mervyn King
and Alistair
Darling are to
be glimpsed

in these
photos,
reminding us
that we Brits
have been
ardent
deregulators,
as well.

One of
Ferguson's
interviewees
is Charles
Morris,
author of The
Two Trillion
Dollar

Meltdown,
who
amusingly
discusses the
effects this
megawindfall has
on the

individual
banker's
mind. He
became
absurdly
rich and "he
thought it
was because

he was
smart".
I was
reminded of
Michael
Lewis's Liar's
Poker, his
very funny

book about
the financial
mentality of
the 80s
boom. He
noted that if a
regular
person won

the lottery, he
might roll
around on the
floor, kicking
his legs up
with glee, but
when bankers
won their

arbitrary
lottery, they
instead
became
solemn,
pompous,
overwhelmed
with their

own
importance
and
stateliness.
Their
recklessness
and excess
coexisted

with an
almost
priestly sense
of worth.
Even more
than rich
lawyers, rich
bankers

felt that their

money
proved their
superior
cleverness
and also
moral
worthiness as

the
generators of
prosperity.
Yet that
prosperity
didn't trickle
down very
far.

Generally,
this is the sort
of film that is
praised
because it is
not as wacky
and tricky as
Michael

Moore. Yet it
is clearly
influenced by
him it's like
a Moore film
with the gags
and stunts
removed. And

it's worth
noting that
without
Moore's
pioneering
work, this
documentary
could not

have been
made.
Once again,
the phrase
that comes to
mind is
Milton
Friedman's:

socialism for
the rich, free
enterprise for
the rest. An
ordinary
person
defaults on
his debt, he

gets to live in
his car. A
banker
defaults, and
the taxpayer
can be relied
on to bail him
out. No

wonder the
bonuses are
back. But
what can be
done about
all this?
Ferguson has
no answers,

other than a
faintly
unedifying
hint that
bankers could
be brought
low if
rumours

about their
systemic
addiction to
drugs and
prostitutes
could be
made to stick
legally like

Al Capone's
tax evasion.
But only a
new political
mood for
regulation
will do, and
this still

seems far
away.