A billionaire feast of ego and excuses, James Packer’s latest interview is less redemption arc, more degustation of delusion, writes Naomi Fryers.
IN WHAT CAN only be described as a full-course spectacle, James Packer’s latest interview served up a menu of confession, deflection and lightly charred self-awareness — garnished, of course, with a generous sprinkling of billionaire delusion.
First course
Packer opens with his “very toxic relationship” with alcohol and addiction. Ordinarily, such disclosures warrant compassion. But when the speaker is a man who keeps a Trump card tucked into every designer jacket, the public goodwill cupboard tends to run a little bare.
He then acknowledges his failings as a businessman.
Let’s call that the soup: bland enough not to carry the meal, but with just enough spice to prepare the palate for what’s to come.
And because no Packer broth is complete without a flourish, he marvels – genuinely, it seems – that he ever failed at business at all. A hint of cobb-crust arrogance bubbles to the surface, a reminder that even his shortcomings arrive as a “shock” — to him.
Entrée
Barely has the spoon hit the bowl before Packer moves on to praising the “impressive” genocidal war criminal who allegedly shepherded him away from his toxic relationship with the turps.
Drink up, I say.
Some of us would take the Centurion challenge on Jamieson’s before sourcing our moral life rafts from that particular corner of history — but perhaps that’s just me.
This alone could have closed the kitchen for the night. Instead, Packer cheerfully orders another round from the chaos menu.
Main course
Then we arrive at the main: Packer lamenting that he can barely return to an entire Australian city without risking run-ins with the long list of people he’s fallen out with.
That’s not a tasting plate.
That’s a full degustation of fist fights in Bondi with Nine executives and poor life choices.
At some stage, a man either needs fewer enemies or broader horizons. Fortunately for Packer, he has a billionaire’s yacht — the kind that comes with ready-made horizons on demand.
Dessert
Dessert is, as always, best served cold — and often with a citric twist.
Here, Packer refers to our self-made Premier from Wangaratta as “human filth” for nearly ruining his business and life.
Not the gamblers who lost their lives in, around, or because of the empire built under his watch.
Not the families shattered.
Not the regulatory failures that let his fortune flourish.
But what would I know?
I only lost a loved one to gambling — and quite possibly to the very “crap regulation” Crown benefited from.
The digestif
Poor Jimmy wouldn’t know when the meal is over, even if someone carved “That’ll do” into the side of his yacht with a silver spoon.
At this point, like many Australians, all I want for Christmas is a little less Mariah... and a lot less Jimmy.
Ding ding.
Bill the table. Clear the plates. Hand him a fruit platter for the road — hell, give him the whole ice bucket while you’re at it.
Season’s greetings to the big fella.
May his next course be served with a humble sliver of accountability — and just a teeny bit more introspection.
Naomi Fryers is a journalist living in Naarm. She is a former editor of Lot's Wife and The Good Men Project. You can follow Naomi at @just-naomi.bsky.social.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Australia License
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