Remainder--What a Schmeckel Head!

I got an idea pretty early on when "I"(do we ever learn his name?) would not let people use the loo at party despite them begging and banging on the door so he could draw that stupid crack.  Is there a more odious behavior?

I was making notes about the connectedness of things until I ran out of room:  telephone wires, the tube, streets, the stock market--all things that link people, one way or another.  And then the patterns that kept drawing him in:  the sports field, tyre marks, floors, carpets--the details of the world that make it authentic.  Which is the same for the sounds:  Hoover, piano,

"I" had not authenticity himself.  "I" didn't know who he was and had to create a world.  Here's where the total control of other's comes in.  "I" hired people to act exactly how he wanted them to act, even to the point of the speed of their actions.  The re-enactors were at his whim day and night.  The building was either in "on" or "off" mode.  At times re-enactors could stand down.  Re-enactments took place when "I" wasn't there to watch.  It gave "I" a thrill to know that the re-enactment was going on over and over.  The re-enactors had no control over their lives--no agency.  Their acting was bought--they were commodified and there seemed to be no complaining--a silent workforce almost enslaved. The poor piano player took a couple afternoons off and left a tape.  "I" didn't even realize it was a tape until he caught him sneaking back in.  What is authentic and what is not is blurred throughout.

All the situations created were not authentic.  The re-enactments and stages and props were based on "I's" crazy ideas.  The production by the workforce was a total waste. Their efforts produced nothing of value other than amusing "I."  The re-enactors had nothing to show for their labor; their could be no pride in work produced.  

Eventually it wasn't enough to re-enact a killing, "I" got his jollies by seeing one of his re-enactors shot and bleeding out.  Then "I" shot one himself for the thrill.

"I" kept going and going.  The last we see of  "I" is banking and re-banking in the private jet.

What was it all about--the productions costing tons of money, the hours and hours of labor to produce nothing.

"I" was a schmeckel head (pardon my Yiddish).