The Prime Minister is full of surprises. Just when we thought he was a no-nonsense doer guy, it turns out he’s something of a thespian.His new year’s message is a case in point. Not for him the standard foreground shot with a Christmas tree, and possibly a fireplace, softly out of focus in the background. Instead, the message is a grand piece of theatre.

The opening shots show a bunch of vaguely Druid-like people dancing on the edge of a cliff somewhere near Golden Bay.

There’s also a grand piano, balanced precariously a few feet from the precipice. This is a somewhat unorthodox location to waltz to the greatness of the nation, but never mind.

The camera then cuts to a sequence of shots straight out of a tourist advertorial (the kind of stuff that Air Malta deems in-flight entertainment these days), and finally to musicians playing the national anthem near another drop-off, this time high above the harbour. Nationalism works best at high altitudes.

Maudlin kitsch aside, there are three things I find striking about the whole thing.

First, the national anthem is not at all necessary. Nor is it in order, because as far as I know, the national anthem should be associated with the presence of the head of state (current incumbent Her Excellency Marie-Louise Tan-Nies), rather than that of the Prime Minister.

Second, what we might call a designer nationalism that tries, and fails, to graft some style onto a frankly weary and unremarkable stock. We saw a lot of it in 2014, the Year of the Great Commemorations, and it seems that the Castille Leni Riefenstahl is not keen on redundancy.

In any case the national anthem works best as a ritual action, and in as simple and formulaic a form as possible. Played by cliff-top orchestras and danced to by people in flowing white robes, it begins to look distinctly self-parodic.

Third, there is an uncanny resemblance between the opening shots and a 1974 sci-fi film by Emidio Greco called L’Invenzione di Morel.

The location for that film was high ground somewhere near Golden Bay, and one of its more memorable scenes showed trendy people dancing close to the edge of a cliff.

The similarity goes further, because L’Invenzione di Morel is a film about technology and the nature of reality. Lured by one chimeric Faustine into a world of simulation produced by a special machine, the protagonist experiences the decay of his physical body. His real self collapses even as his simulated one feels more and more real.

Joseph Muscat’s penchant for spectacle and histrionics is making him look a bit like Faustine

I wish the Prime Minister well, and I am not suggesting that his body is decaying at a rate that’s faster than about average. I am, however, saying that his penchant for spectacle and histrionics is making him look a bit like Faustine, all jazz and young and art deco in the simulation, but an old woman in real life.

Not content with the surreal opening shots, the makers of the Muscat film proceed to show the Prime Minister visiting a young couple at their designer home.

They show him into the designer kitchen and stand casually around the designer island, as one does when a head of government visits.

Judging by the “orrajt, kif int?” (hi, how are you?), it would appear that the Prime Minister knows the couple well.

Certainly the friendship is warm enough for him to get down to business straight away and lecture them about government assistance for first-time buyers (it is reassuring to know that my tax money goes to fund designer kitchens), tax rebates, and such.

We learn that the economy is so fecund that the couple are expecting their first child. Obviously moved, the Prime Minister tells them about free childcare.

At which point the whole set-up looks more and more false and unconvincing.

It is about as real as a film that shows Kim Jong-un stopping randomly at a North Korean village and chancing across a beaming farmer who praises the Great National Fertiliser Scheme and tells the supreme leader about the astonishing abundance of the crop.

It is as understated, too.

This new year’s missive is not that of a statesman outlining his vision, but rather one of a politician keen on scoring points and patching up the inevitable damage of a year in power.

What kicks off all wild landscapes and billowing robes quickly turns into a piece of straightforward partisan propaganda, complete with statistics, references to dysfunctional past governments and fast-track cataract operations, and quips about evil people who ‘wished to foment fear’ (“kien hawn min ipprova jbeżża”), and who are loath to see the country make progress (“dawk il-ftit li jiddejqu jaraw pajjiiżna miexi ‘l quddiem”).

I assume he means the Opposition.

The Prime Minister seems to have absolutely no sense of occasion.

The New Year’s Day message should be all about letting viewers warm up to you and strutting your stuff gently, if at all.

As is, this year’s piece of self-publicity looks just like the scores of highly annoying posts on Facebook in which people list their achievements for the outgoing year.

Maybe it’s just me, but I felt a huge urge to stand at the top of a cliff, give the wind the finger, and scream profanities until I’m hoarse.

mafalzon@hotmail.com