A hypocritical indictment of conspicuous consumption, this bargain-basement satire never strikes beyond the obvious. Nominally attempting to bury the cult of brands, The Joneses instead praises them – name dropping and extolling cars, fragrances, golf clubs and all the effluvia touted in the ad pages of the New York Times Magazine. To be so gauche is understandable. To be so boring, inexcusable.
The story is predicated on the precise tracking of purchases by acquaintances of a fake family. How dey do dat? Dey don’t.