DIRECTED
BY Michael Moore
Did
you hear the one about the local woman watching some Track and Field event at
the Olympics (it may have been the 400m Relay)? An American athlete was out in
front, and the woman was none too happy. As the runner sprinted towards the
finish line, she could take no more – and started yelling at the TV
beseechingly, in a last-ditch prayer to some Higher Power: “Fall! Fall!”
True
story, apparently – and latent anti-Americanism may explain why so many
Cypriots are excited about Fahrenheit 9/11, the new documentary from
Michael Moore of Bowling for Columbine fame (I had friends asking me when
it’s coming out as far back as June). It goes beyond that, of course: even in
Britain, with its close ties and ‘special relationship’ with the US, huge
swathes of the population find the current Administration unpalatable. At the
Cannes Film Festival – where Fahrenheit scooped the Palme D’Or –
the film received one of the longest standing ovations in Cannes history.
Then
again, Moore’s film – an exposé of the Bush Administration’s
hypocrisy and mendacity, from the 2000 election to the war in Iraq – isn’t
aimed at Europeans, much less Cypriots with their memories of 70s inequities and
small-country urge to blame a bigger country for our problems. It’s aimed at
Americans, making it a much tougher sell since the US remains perhaps the most
patriotic nation in the Western world. Yet here’s the twist: whatever Moore
may think, Fahrenheit is actually aimed at half of America – the
half that are already anti-Bush, and take his cretinous villainy as a given. As
propaganda, or a hard-sell to the unconverted, the film is mediocre; those not
already armoured with the knowledge that Bush Is Evil may spend much of its 122
minutes going ‘But wait a minute…’
The
first half – up to the war in Iraq – is especially irksome, as Moore
trundles out one questionable charge after another. Bush spent much of his
first year in power on holiday at his Texas ranch, he scolds – but, as the man himself
points out, “You don’t have to be in Washington to work” (ah, but we all
know Bush never does any work). “Not a single Senator came to the aid of the
African-American Congressmen” protesting the election result in 2000 – but
was that because the Senate is racist and/or Republican, or because they chose
not to draw out what was already a national embarrassment?
After
9/11, it gets worse. Much is made of the fact that the President sat in front of
a primary-school audience for seven minutes after being informed of the crisis,
sitting silently while the class read a book called My Pet Goat (not
reading to them, as some have claimed); but what else was he supposed to
do, besides wait for the Secret Service to arrange safe transport? Not to
mention he couldn’t have known the full extent of the carnage (all we see is
an aide whispering in his ear for a few seconds). Later, in another
much-talked-about bit, Bush is on the golf course giving a statement on the
‘war on terror’ – then invites the journalists to check out his golf
swing. But what’s wrong with that? Would it have been better to put on his sad
face for the Press then go back to his golf swing as soon as the cameras were
off? Wouldn’t that in fact have been hypocritical?
The
film’s assault on the Bush family’s links with Saudi Arabia is especially
misguided. Moore uses clips from the old cop show Dragnet to wonder why
Bin Laden “family members” were allowed to leave the US before police could
talk to them after 9/11, as if the Bin Ladens were two kids and a dog instead of
an extended family numbering hundreds of people. There’s an ignorance – or
just wilful misrepresentation – here, monolithically equating “Saudi” with
“terrorist” when in fact the House of Saud have more to fear from the likes
of Al-Qaeda than anybody.
It’s
annoying when Fahrenheit doesn’t work, since it’s shooting at the
biggest target anyone’s had in years. Even beyond George W.’s personal
shortcomings as a public speaker, he’s been adept at surrounding himself with
slimy-looking people like Dick Cheney (first cousin to Mr. Burns from The
Simpsons) and led two mostly unsuccessful wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. The
latter is of course the main event, and the film really starts firing on all
cylinders when we get to Weapons of Mass Destruction – which is also, not
coincidentally, when it stops taking random pot-shots and starts acting like a
proper documentary.
That
Iraq was invaded on a lie seems pretty clear by now. Indeed, this paper was
among many that showed, months before the war (in a Gwynne Dyer piece, as I
recall), that years of sanctions and UN inspections made it near-impossible for
Saddam Hussein to have the capability for WMDs. The footage from Iraq is powerful,
often graphic (especially in exposing the lie of “smart bombs”) and often
moving – especially the interviews with young soldiers, who alone in the film
speak with candour and a knowledge of what’s really going on (it’s clear
that many joined up for idealistic reasons, and now feel betrayed).
Even
here, however, Moore goes for the cheap shot, the centre-piece of his Iraq
section being an interview with the mother of a dead soldier. As the mother
weeps, and reads a letter from her son blaming Bush for the debacle, the viewer
becomes dimly aware of emotional blackmail going on – the implied suggestion
that anyone who voted for Dubya is responsible for this woman’s tears, and
anyone who votes against him will (somehow) help salve her pain. The viewer may
recall an earlier shot, when the camera zoomed in close the better to catch the
tears of a 9/11 victim’s wife, and may well wonder who’s more obscene: those
who caused these people’s suffering or Moore, who’s exploiting them for his
own purposes.
What
are those purposes? This is where it gets interesting, because Fahrenheit
9/11 actually has little to do with politics and everything to do with that
Great Unspoken, class in America. Moore is best understood via his first film,
the 1989 Roger and Me, which is mostly concerned with our hero – a
nobody from Flint, Michigan – trying to get a meeting with Roger Smith, CEO of
General Motors. That’s what Moore still is, an outsider trying to break into
the inner circle that rules America, exemplified of course by the Bushes
(“Some call you the elite,” beams George W. at a fund-raising dinner for the
great and good; “I call you my base!”). What’s often sordid is the
way he likes to climb on the shoulders of ‘the people’ in order to do so.
Again
and again in Fahrenheit, we turn to populism – in the comforting
recourse to pop-culture (including a funny Bonanza spoof), in repeated
lines like “If it came out…” or “If the public knew…”, above all in
the focus on poor (and often black) people at the bottom rung of the System; we
end on a quote from Orwell, to the effect that the real function of War is keep
the social order intact. Bush-bashing thus becomes a blow for the poor and
oppressed, just like the film’s cries of outrage that war in Iraq and
Afghanistan is “good for business” – as if European powers hadn’t used
their colonies as cash-cows for most of the past two centuries. The film is
fighting its own little class war, based on the uncomfortable truism that those
opposed to making money are usually the ones who haven’t got any.
There
are good and bad things in Fahrenheit 9/11. Its biggest achievement,
apart from the stunning array of film clips – obviously an Oscar opens many
doors, access-wise – is its glimpse into a world of power and influence,
family connections and mutual back-scratching; its most telling detail is
perhaps the way Bush likes to pause before giving a speech to whisper a quick
thanks in the ear of the person introducing him, a private word - 'We won't
forget you' - before facing
the plebs. Its biggest flaws are Moore’s methods: sarcasm in place of
argument, loaded cross-cutting between things that aren’t necessarily
connected, naked appeals to emotion, a risible montage of children flying kites
and having fun in Baghdad before the war (“a nation that had never killed a
single American citizen”).
Maybe
it’s because Bush and his gang have been so flagrantly dishonest – it’s
hard to find a thinking person who admires this Administration, even those who
claim to share its values – but the man who emerges most strongly from Fahrenheit
9/11 isn’t the incumbent but Michael Moore himself, sniping from the
sidelines, consumed with bitterness at the rich and powerful. You won’t find
words like “Israel” or “neo-conservative” in this film, but you will
find endless details of millionaire Saudis, and shady oil-and-gas deals bringing
bagfuls of cash. “Yes, it helps to be the President’s son,” he says of the
time when Bush Jr was in business and Bush Sr in the White House, and it’s
hard not to hear a twinge of envy.
The
director Kevin Smith (of Jersey Girl) recently said his comedy comes from
“growing up fat”, and you wonder if Moore has similar demons to exorcise,
growing up in a poor, depressed place like Flint, Michigan. It seems clear
he’s personally fearless yet also thrives on provoking abuse, placing himself
in the line of fire. He was at it again last week at the Republican National
Convention, smiling wryly for the cameras as the crowd jeered and John McCain
called him “disingenuous” - no doubt thinking ‘I’ll get you for
this’, planning his next obscure act of revenge. Maybe he should go into
politics.