A heavily medicated Spader and Shatner recline on leather chez lounge, the air heavy with their talk, their faces thick with manly ointments. Cameras, glorious high definition models, whiz and dart on computer programmed tracks, capturing the wags as they sip their single malt scotchs with ‘sculpted, moon-polished lips’ and toke from fat brown Cubans. Shatner is a bear to Spader’s otter, an Alexander to his Hephaestion, imparting wisdom and wealth, and all is good in the world – hundreds of feet above the squalor and depravity.

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