Hot-potato documentary is untidy, unapologetic and is sure to raise hell.
These days the person carrying the enormous bull’s-eye on his back could surprisingly very well be the man behind the camera and not the subject matter itself. Everyone’s favorite underdog filmmaker can thank the MPAA, Disney, dirty politicians and mega corporations for the snowball effect the film has got months before its release. Perhaps Michael Moore can be applauded not for the debatable quality of his films or for its shockingly unfavorable political content but for the way in which the man uses the same peddled propaganda to fight back.
Robert Drew’s 1960 doc Primary gave a compelling bird’s-eye-view into the politics of being a politician. Flash-forward almost half a century later to Flint, Michigan’s Michael Moore’s heavily-publicized and easily critized oeuvre which slaps an “I’m with Stupid†label on the activities of the man in the most powerful position in the world. One can anticipate cheers to replace pre-screening jeers after its opening weekend release as in many ways the year’s best satire is also the year’s most poignant documentary. Similar to Alejandro González Iñárritu’s auditory bit in September 9-11, Moore opens with a blank screen and harsh reality of people in pain which is furthered explored by the gruesome side of the Iraq war. In a simple connect-the-dots assignment through video footage and paper trails, Moore blasts Bush Jr. for everything from his actions, to his reactions to simply existing –- basically making him into America’s most wanted man. The Palme D’Or winning film portrays the President as a jack-ass through archival footage, examines his relationships with foreign business partners and puts this in an amusing collage and scored with fun pop music. It’s a one-sided full-out assault that considers why Iraq was just an excuse for profit. Moore piles on the facts, the obvious ones are that oil and war are obvious profit-making schemes and that the 9/11 aftermath was a perfect set-up for scaring the American population into thinking that they are a nation underattack — “you can make people do anything when they are afraid”. Overall, it’s a thorough examination of ‘power’ — one that is felt within the text of the film not only in the front of Saudi embassy.
While Moore uncharacteristically spends less time in front of the camera, this is a traditional Moore run-them-into-the-ground political agenda with a video camera. If you’re a fan of Moore’s style or not, one thing that can’t be disputed is that the man has honed his craft of finger-pointing and Fahrenheit 9/11 comes across as a personalized, merited, poisoned love-letter to the Dubya. Critics can question his fast-food filmmaking tactics; however, the clarity of his message is clear and profound. This message is emphasized with the cerebral journey of one of those flag-waving proud-to-be-American mothers who birthed a solider and lost him to Government lies. Her last pit-stop in the country’s capital shows the type of reaction that many people have been having as of late especially with the ongoing American soldier body count.
Like Tarantino, Moore has inspired a generation of filmmakers such examples can be found in (The Corporation) and (Super Size Me). Fahrenheit 9/11 will most probably torpedo the future of November Republican campaign for a second term and hand a man his walking papers. It’s a convincing argument from a man who complains about his government and at least does something about it. Let the heads fall.
