Crockumentary: Less Is Moore

Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences darling Michael Moore won the 2002 Documentary Feature Oscar for his film Bowling for Columbine and is projected as a runaway to win again this year for Fahrenheit 911.

Merriam-Webster online defines documentary as:

2: of, relating to, or employing documentation in literature or art; broadly: FACTUAL, OBJECTIVE. Ex: a documentary film of the war.

Hmmm….

Factual. Objective. Employing documentation.

Not even close.

The irony here is that Moore may be ineligible for the Academy Award this year, not because his film thumbs its nose at what should be the spirit of the category (it does), but because he is contemplating airing the film on PBS the night of November 1st (seems while the Academy is pretty lax on just how much fact and objectiveness go into the documentaries they laud, they are pretty stringent on whether a film has been seen for free or whether it’s viewers had to shell out their hard-earned scratch).

Now the more I’ve read about this charlatan, the more I’ve seen documentation that his primary answer to his critics is “conspiracy”, and to suggest that – simply put – it’s just the Right Wing (or one of their numerous paid cohorts) who are out to get him.

Funny thing is, I don’t consider myself Republican or Democrat, and it’s not because I waffle or can’t decide. I don’t believe in extremes. I don’t believe any one party could possibly represent everything that is righteous because by definition if everyone did what was right, both party’s platforms would be identical.

So what you are invariably left with is a choice between the greater of two talking heads. Which means, more than ever, you need to be able to figure out who really means what they are saying. Sure, you can listen to what each candidate proclaims and pick based on that vitriol, but which one really means what he says? You can’t listen to the ads:

One says to-may-toe, one says to-mah-toe.

Surely someone out there is honest and forthright, objective and principled. After all, it’s what I teach my son: integrity above all else.

Well I wanted to find a sage, someone for whom honesty was a bedrock principle. I was searching for that elusive beast, the ephemeral wraith of the twenty-first century: the truth. Isn’t that what most sane people yearn for these days? Aren’t we tired of these carnival barkers masquerading as journalists? Do we really need these jaded pundits – practitioners of propaganda – to tell us where the bear shits in the buckwheat? In a time when hypocrisy and spin seem to reign supreme, I crave the raw truth.

Which is why I laid down the greenbacks to see my first Michael Moore film: Fahrenheit 911.

Never having seen any of Moore’s films, nor read any of his books, I gleaned enough of his rhetoric from the background noise to know he was a purported champion of the little man, and I thought well, maybe this guy has something to say. Maybe there is a message in there somewhere that I need to hear.

Turns out, I was right and wrong in the same moment. This guy definitely has something to say, he just doesn’t support anything he says with a little something we in the real world like to call the facts.

And there is most definitely a message in his movie, and that message is as subjective as it is crystal clear :

Michael Moore loathes George W. Bush and will do anything, say anything, distort any reality, and step on any number of toes it takes to dismantle the President’s reputation, with the sole purpose of swinging an election.

Which is a real bummer, because I am hardly looking to defend George W. I was truly hoping for some objective substance from this film. Some answers to the questions gnawing at my basement wiring.

See, I voted for Bush, choosing what I felt was the marginally better candidate out of some fairly poor choices. Thing is, I am not sure I think Bush is the answer for another four years, and I don’t think I am alone. It’s getting harder and harder to wade through the sewage -- simply put, it's hard to know who to believe.

So could Michael Moore and his films (or his books) shed some light on this shadowed ground?

Turns out, not by a long shot.

Moore exacerbates the problem with a load of pure tomfoolery, elements taken out of context, spun with a master’s loom. This guy should have titled his masterpiece The Blair Witch Project 2: Bush is the Devil.

I’m only sorry I offered stipend to his ever growing bank account in my moment of misguided hope. Of course I blame Moore in part, for looking the role of Average Guy with his respectable girth, disheveled appearance, Spartan lid, and baggy clothes. But no. This man is a con-artist in Wal Mart clothing, a carpetbagger selling swamp water as miracle tonic. Worse, he lives off the profits of his disingenuous campaign against the rich, all the while becoming richer and more disconnected from the masses he purports to champion.

But don’t take my word for it. Want documentation? Below are two sources I highly recommend, one book and one website. I believe every person owes it to themselves to make their own decisions, but also I think it is a tragedy to make one uninformed.

http://www.spinsanity.org/columns/20031016b.html

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0060763957/qid=1093703720/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/103-3279748-5550238?v=glance&s=books

People like Michael Moore make me sad for the future, mostly because they represent the worst in all of us: closed-minds, partisan politics, disreputable motives, solipsistic goals, and a relentless desire to hoodwink the masses. Yet still these pugnacious hucksters are rewarded handsomely for their efforts. They grace the covers of our magazines, monopolize the talk shows, and grow fat off the ruin they help to create.

Shame on you, Michael Moore. You offer up a dog turd wrapped in a silk of your own design and call it hope.

It is you who is a blight on this country.

The back seat is quiet.

Boodles and Ice

So I am reading Esquire magazine the other day – if you are familiar with the publication, you may feel as I do that it’s a lot of fish wrap for the vain with some interesting chum for those of us who don’t measure worth through the eyes of Calvin Klein or Kenneth Cole (if you are willing to swim long enough through the quagmire of pretty boys and girls and the smell of a French whorehouse each time you turn a page).

Okay, so you are hopefully getting the sense that I am jaded.

I am. More and more these days I bite into what I expect to be the tender, juicy Filet Mignon of life only to find a leathery piece of skin that would do Jack Palance’s famous mug proud.

One of the columns I enjoy in Esquire is titled Ten Things You Don’t Know About Women. Invariably this is a beautiful actress or model proclaiming the ten things that make her smile, love, giggle, flush, sigh, or moan. Of course, the point is that it’s normally not big pecs and a tight ass – case in point, a few of the most recent Things (from Mariska Hargitay, in the September issue) are: creativity, high erotic IQ, imagination, and making a woman feel cherished.

Fact is, I am not so incredibly naïve as to believe that Paris Hilton is going to fall for the average schmoe because he has a high erotic IQ and sends his lady a different flower every day of the week.

Okay, bad example. Paris would fuck a leper after enough Finlandia and Red Bull. But you get my point. Imagine my dismay when I thumb backwards (trust me, if you've never tried, you just can’t read a copy of Esquire in the traditional way without becoming lost in the chaff) to find the magazine’s idea of Least Believable Trend is:

“Fat guys and their hot wives on CBS.”

Have we really sunken to this level as a society? That the sight of a fat guy on television (who happens to be funny, charming, and most definitely cherishes his woman), partnered with an attractive spouse (who happens to be curvy rather than waifish, strong rather than flimsy, and sweet rather than slut), is cause for incredulity?

Look, if we are going to measure a man through his qualities – physical, as well as emotional and intellectual – then Esquire is about as far from being a trusted source as you can get.

My suggestion?

Read John D. MacDonald. Namely, get to know Travis McGee.

Once you’ve read any of the twenty-one McGee stories, you need never look further to acquire the mold from whence the perfect man emerges.

Travis McGee, while fictional, and written by a man who ironically shared none of the perfect physical credentials of his muse, takes erotic IQ, creativity, and cherishing a woman, to a new level.

Granted, McDonald created McGee in a simpler time, and the writing – while brilliant and full of prose to be admired – to some may slant a bit toward cheesy when compared in context to more “contemporary” literature. Still, you will never come closer to the epitome of what should make a man tick.

And damn does Travis know how to live life.

He stands 6’ 4”, and in middle age maintains a physique to be admired. A “salvage expert” by trade, his physical presence is matched only by the size of his heart. While he never gives it wantonly, he gives it freely, and cares more for the women he encounters than most have before. He loves and fights like an athlete with a PhD in Physics and Masters in Anatomy and Kinesiology. He understanding the angles, speeds, and forces that bring an opponent to his knees while at the same time harbors the knowledge of the pressures, touches, movements, and timings that make a woman sated. McGee lives on a houseboat in South Florida, his best friend is a hairy economist, and he drinks Boodles and Ice.

Need I say more to intrigue you? Yes, it’s just a ham-handed attempt to summarize the character to be sure; I could never do MacDonald justice. You should read the man and see for yourself. In that regard, here is a good link to a bibliography of the Travis McGee series:

http://members.bellatlantic.net/~mwarble/slipf18/series.htm

I once read an ad for Boodles that proclaimed:

“...full-bodied…this is a classic combination of power and finesse…”

Goes to show MacDonald’s diligence in character construction, assuring that each nuance of McGee tied to the whole.

Would that Esquire, or any other publication that lays claim to the inner workings and the outer appearance of the quintessential man, truly examine the species as John D. MacDonald did.

From his musings, we could learn a thing or two.

For now, here’s a Boodles and Ice to you.

The back seat is quiet.

First Blog

This is really just my first blog, an attempt to post something simply to see the format.

So apologies for the initial preponderance of bone. I really just wanted to get this thing started. Hopefully in the future there will be something here worth reading. After all, that is the point, right? To publish something that might be of interest to someone out there?

Unfortunately, if you are reading this you have arrived in a state of construction, most likely either by chance or by mistake, and are disappointed at finding the cupboard bare.

At least let me offer you a favorite quote, that you might not leave vanquished:

Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.
- Sun Tzu