ARTISTS routinely deride businesspeople as money-obsessed bores. Or worse. Every time Hollywood depicts an industry, it depicts a conspiracy of knaves. Think of "Wall Street" (which damned finance), "The Constant Gardener" (drug firms), "Super Size Me" (fast food), "The Social Network" (Facebook) or "The Player" (Hollywood itself). Artistic critiques of business are sometimes precise and well-targeted, as in Lucy Prebble's play "Enron". But often they are not, as those who endured Michael Moore's "Capitalism: A Love Story" can attest.