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Michael Moore, �Dude, Where�s My Country?�

Started June 26 � Finished June 29, 2004; 249 pages. Posted 13 July 2004

I will try to avoid the obvious statement about how far behind I am with these entries. But I read this just after seeing Fahrenheit 9/11. Hopefully, it still has some relevance.

I got to see the movie the night before it opened, for free, at a special screening meant for employees and their friends of Camera Cinemas, San Jose�s version of an Art House theater. We arrived early in trendy, upscale Los Gatos waiting to be let in, and I looked around at the crowd.

Dozens of people milled about, all in black zipper hoodies with patches sewn on them. The entire group looked enough to keep a single Salvation Army store in business for a year, even if they had no other customers. They had their slacker sneer down pat, and people gathered in small clusters of their friends. It was a Mecca for the disenfranchised alternative intellectual.

I wondered how many of these people were actually registered to vote.

When the movie started, the laughs were in the right place. But there wasn�t any sense of outrage, no shock, no gasps of disbelief. I didn�t know if this was due to the jaded attitude of the crowd, or the fact that many of us had already heard all this before.

I certainly had. Out of all the �revelations� only one part had any new information for me. During that part, I was outraged, incensed even. But I already knew I didn�t like Bush. I certainly knew I wasn�t going to vote for him. The entire crowd watching the movie was the choir, and we watched as Michael preached on, exactly like all the pundits had predicted: �Oh,� they said, �The only people who will go see this are the people who didn�t like Bush in the first place. This isn�t going to change anything.�

I wondered if they were right.

I want to jump ahead a little here, as I was at a party last week where the film was brought up in the midst of a drunk circle. The once ex and now unexxed Girlfriend and I were sticking to our philosophical guns, which essentially meant that you should be wary of anybody who claims to have the truth. One guy with an armful of Misfits tattoos took offense that we could be anything but 100 percent behind Michael Moore and his film.

We were explaining how Moore is a pseudo-journalist, presenting everything as pure fact, but obviously using selective editing to further his point. Tattooed Boy, filled with too much free Heineken, ignored the point we were making to deal his trump card. He announced that he was a �social anarchist� and to prove it, he lifted up his shirt to show an enormous tattoo on his stomach of an upside-down American flag that had anarchy symbols instead of stars.

I wanted to ask how he could be a socialist, a system has governmental controls, and an anarchist at the same time. I wanted to ask if the tattoo was a rite of initiation, like learning a secret handshake with the Freemasons, or getting the TR tattoo if you want to join the punk house in Suburbia. Most of all, I wanted to ask how much his tattoo had cost.

I didn�t get to ask any of these things, however, as I was interrupted by one of those people who want to shake your hand and talk about nothing. It didn�t matter anyway, the pundits were making their point.

But let me flashback. I didn�t know I was going to get to see the free showing, and I had already made plans to see the film with my mom on opening day. We weren�t trying to be the first ones in line, but this seemed like the first chance in a long time where I had a day off where I didn�t have two million other things to do. So we bought our tickets at the South-side mega-plex conglomerate theater giant.

Circumstances beyond our control made us miss a matinee, which was our intention; Instead, we went to the 7:30 showing. We bought our tickets first and then ate at a greasy hellhole on the other side of the road. We got back with just about five minutes to spare.

I rarely go to blockbusters, and thus, I was surprised to find this theater had a room that was so big. Most of the screens are small little boxes, but this place was immense. And while I�m not positive our theater was sold out, it was very close to it. I scanned the room, looking for more members of the choir that perhaps couldn�t join us at our invitation art house midnight showing.

I saw some of these people, of course, but I also saw families, couples, the elderly and the young, and they didn�t all look like they subscribed to Mother Jones and put wheat germ on their ice cream. Then the house lights dimmed.

I had already seen the movie, and I soon found it much more fascinating to watch the crowd in the dark, like a punk rock male version of Amelie.

I scanned around and saw people holding their hands in front of their mouths, holding back gasps. Others let tears flow freely. You could hear the murmurs of disbelief, shock and horror.

I�ve been to plenty of films where people applaud at the end. This always struck me as a bit odd, but in a nice way. It�s a weird dichotomy, as it�s unlikely any person who had anything to do with the movie would be present at your theater, but I like the idea of people expressing their appreciation, even if nobody is present to see it.

But when Fahrenheit 9/11 rolled the credits, these normal people in their fashionable clothes and sensible cars roared and shouted like they were at a sporting event. It was truly astounding.

The asshole, bastard, smartass, cynical little puke side of me wants to say that the majority of these schmucks will forget everything they saw by the time the next calamity happens, which will surely occur before the election. But after seeing what I did, I can�t be sure. It wouldn�t surprise me if some mother flashed her upside-down flag tattoo at me the next time the movie is brought up in polite conversation at work.

And I�m not sure that�s a bad thing.

Anyhoo, as for the book, it�s essentially a written version of the film, except with more of Moore. I actually think that works against what he�s trying to accomplish. He�s not funny enough to do comedy, and he�s not scholastic enough to do analysis. Instead, we have a cult of celebrity, and I�m not convinced he�s the one for the job.

But, for the first time in a long time, I�m glad that he�s here.


Rating: Worth used.

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