Satyrica

Trimalchio of the studio backlot. Like a latter-day saturnalia, the studio system promised dazzling reversals of fortune, dressing destitute, aspiring performers in momentary glory. But amid the glamor of a film empire at its height, two performers, Bette and Rita, find the ennui of decadence tends toward petty cruelty, and even love may be an insufficient antidote, just another snake bite oil cure. Trimalchio of the studio backlot. Like a latter-day saturnalia, the studio system promised dazzling reversals of fortune, dressing destitute, aspiring performers in momentary glory. But amid the glamor of a film empire at its height, two performers, Bette and Rita, find the ennui of decadence tends toward petty cruelty, and even love may be an insufficient antidote, just another snake bite oil cure. Trimalchio of the studio backlot. Like a latter-day saturnalia, the studio system promised dazzling reversals of fortune, dressing destitute, aspiring performers in momentary glory. But amid the glamor of a film empire at its height, two performers, Bette and Rita, find the ennui of decadence tends toward petty cruelty, and even love may be an insufficient antidote, just another snake bite oil cure. Trimalchio of the studio backlot. Like a latter-day saturnalia, the studio system promised dazzling reversals of fortune, dressing destitute, aspiring performers in momentary glory. But amid the glamor of a film empire at its height, two performers, Bette and Rita, find the ennui of decadence tends toward petty cruelty, and even love may be an insufficient antidote, just another snake bite oil cure.