Fahrenheit 9/11 :
The Temperature at which Storytelling Boils

By Jeff Goldsmith

With the release of Fahrenheit 9/11 last weekend, Michael Moore began a national dialogue that re-awakened America's most primal pastime with a fervor -- public political debate. Not a debate of candidates, but of issues and political agendas, both on paper and in action. Moore presents what can only be defined as a transparent conspiracy (much like those that his film documents) in which his lack of love for the policies and practices of the George W. Bush White House is unhidden. Thus, as many of his detractors have stated, his film can be viewed as a form of political propaganda. Since Moore has publicly stated that the objective of his film is to propel Bush out of the White House this November, calling Fahrenheit propaganda doesn't really insult it. As a writer -- remember, Moore won a WGA award for Best Original Screenplay with Bowling for Columbine -- Moore's career and reputation are based on his expertise in presenting a very specific, subjective point of view. That's exactly what his audience is paying for.

Every writer has to assess who his or her audience is, and what that audience's expectations are. Moore is world-renowned for catering to an audience that seeks an alternative examination of popularly held political beliefs. His audience knows that when they watch one of his films they will be subjected to his hilariously immature point of view, intermixed with real social and political issues, which posit the Everyman against a larger, colder, more powerful institution. This is how we came to meet Moore in Roger & Me , when he attacked General Motors for abandoning his hometown of Flint, Michigan. Such underdog tales subscribe to the very tenet of most classical mythologies as suggested by Joseph Campbell; his landmark book, The Hero of a Thousand Faces , lauds everyman and underdog tales throughout written and verbal history as the very backbone of popular storytelling. For many years, Moore has conducted ambush-style interviews, showing up with a camera crew at his target's home or work place. He became the man with the camera they wanted to avoid, thus an instant underdog. In Fahrenheit 9/11 , he shoved much of this aside, except for a segment near the end when he harasses congressmen by asking if they'll sign their kids up for army duty in Iraq. It's comedy at the expense of the congressmen (some of whom do have relatives in the military), coming at a point in the film where humor is welcomed.

Moore's work has always intercut serious social commentary with comedy. Take, for example, his two-season TV show The Awful Truth , where Crackers the Corporate Crime-Fighting Chicken (a silly man in a big chicken suit, ported over from Moore's first show, TV Nation ) took on the Ohio EPA. At the same time, we met Chris Donahue, a 34-year-old in need of a life-saving pancreas transplant that Humana, his healthcare provider, had denied him. After failed attempts to meet with a Humana VP, Moore staged a mock funeral for Donahue outside Humana's headquarters, passing out invitations to Humana workers inviting them to Donahue's funeral. His off-color ruse worked to save Donahue's life when Humana reversed their decision.

It's also important to remember this little independent film (yes, a six-million-dollar budget still constitutes an indie) also succeeds as a piece of classic counter-programming: Moore presents something completely different from what American audiences are regularly exposed to. Beyond election coverage, TV's most popular political forays usually involve political pundits (who have never held office) and high-profile politicians who have stepped in as our avatars for public debate as they perform heated political passion plays in 10-minute increments. While we constantly hear right-wing pundits complain about the liberal press, the press itself has actually become more corporate and conservative in the past 10 years; 60 Minutes and PBS's Frontline remain the last bastions of objective, politically based TV journalism in a world where serious political programming has been diminishing. This trend reflects major outlets' preference not to rock the boat by deviating from popular political viewpoints, since it could isolate pockets of their audience, affect ratings, and hurt much-needed advertising revenues. So, in a world where the ever-popular Fox News can pride itself on presenting its very own and distinctly subjective viewpoint, why are Moore's views (broadcast to a paying audience) so lambasted? Moore did what any successful writer or filmmaker could ever hope to do: he identified an unfulfilled niche within his chosen genre (political documentary) and filled it with his own unique viewpoint -- a great lesson for all writers.

Moore's classic narrative thrust of an Everyman vs. a cold corporate or political nemesis has always been part of his blueprint, but so has the inherent debate regarding the uncaring domination of the haves over the have-nots. It is here -- when he delves into the deeper mores of today's economic Darwinism in a very personalized and subjective visit to his hometown of Flint -- that Moore's skill as a writer really shines. Adhering to the old adage of "write what you know," Moore has repeatedly returned to his hometown throughout most of his films and TV work to put things into perspective for himself. There isn't the time to properly debate herein the validity or falsehood of every one of Moore's political hand grenades lobbed at the White House. In fact, the folks who focus on the "he said, she said," nature of this film miss its very soul, which lives and breathes via Moore's visit home and the footage from the Iraqi frontlines. These two segments, unless they're somehow later proven to be grandiose falsified events, serve as the true foundation upon which the film stands, rather than the more politically motivated Bush attacks or Bin Laden conspiracies as many have suggested. The Flint and Iraq segments are foundations because they illuminate the real-world consequences of the political activities to which Moore is opposed. The writer-director also smartly removes himself from much of the film, especially these segments, letting his characters and footage tell their own story. It's the screenplay equivalent of setup and payoff, where the first half of the film sets up the problems of the institution Moore is rallying against, and the second half shows the ill after-effects caused by the fulfillment of that institution's political actions.

As for Moore's other interesting storytelling devices, his opening montage featuring his "actors" (the White House senior cabinet members) donning their make-up and preparing to be a part of Moore's play, is both amusing and captivating. Sure, it's an easy punch; such footage has been good for a laugh for a few decades now, because it's so rare for the general public to see behind the curtain of how a major television interview takes place. It also breaks the fourth wall for the audience, as these "characters" are presented in a much simpler, human (albeit unflattering) fashion, rather than their usual authoritative stance. As the laughs subside and the screen fades to black, the tone of the film literally takes a dark plunge as we hear the sounds of 9/11 over a black screen. That's the power of this opening sequence -- Moore knows that drawing on the audience's memories is stronger than barraging us with the horrible images we've already seen so many times. (It also takes into account one of the most important conceits of the literary and filmic horror genres: there's nothing more frightening than what can be found deep within your audience's imagination.) Similarly, Moore constructs an elaborate montage of his own film's monster, piece by piece, with the hope that the audience will fit these pieces together and arrive at the same conclusion as Moore: that George W. Bush is a bad president, and the public shouldn't be fooled again by him in the upcoming election. It's a wildfire of a thesis, and many of Moore's detractors feign innocence and scoff at him for making such a politicized, agenda-heavy film. But, just like Fahrenheit 's view of its antagonists, Moore's conspiracies are utterly transparent, and he does very little to hide them.

Moore uses the classical documentary approach of letting his subjects hang their own nooses, based entirely on their words or actions. While some have argued (correctly) that Moore occasionally cuts off his subjects for manipulative purposes, the fact remains that he's not putting any words into their mouths. As a writer, his film (like all his work) occasionally suffers from a cinematic form of ADD, which at times actually hurts Moore's agenda when he shifts gears into a new argument right at the point his previous argument was moving ahead at full steam. In screenplay terms, while the film's theme remains intact, its specific plotting of these conspiracies and events read more as separate chapters than a fluid throughline of a story. The writing shifts so broadly that walking away with one unifying argument (beyond Moore's view that Bush is a bad president) is difficult to do. Structured as it is, the audience gets a feel for Moore's laundry list of complaints but still bears the weight of arriving at their own conclusions regarding the conspiracies. That in itself is a brilliant move, as is counterprogramming to the political pundit culture that incessantly spoon-feeds views to its audience; but it's also why the film works better as a social commentary documentary than as an outright conspiracy film.

Even as the film changes gears, it continues to shine, because Moore has chosen to thematically revisit what has always succeeded in his work. The concept of average people making irrational decisions when living in fear was thematically ported over from Moore's Academy Award-winning documentary, Bowling for Columbine . Here, it's best expressed not only by Moore's insistence that we were misled to war, but also by reminding us of George Orwell's quote regarding the success of a totalitarian state that is perpetually at war --even if the general populous can no longer remember who or even why they're fighting. Some detractors have criticized the film by citing that nothing truly new was presented. They're completely correct, and that's what's so interesting about the film. Many of these events have already been reported, like the Bin Laden family fleeing the U.S. and the various connections between the Bushes and the Carlyle Group or Halliburton. Yet, as a writer, Moore was able to finally properly collate and present these events together under one roof to support his thesis regarding President Bush's poor job performance.

While it's clear that Moore loves America, he also isn't scared to delve into some of the more shameful acts our troops have perpetrated: teasing hooded POWs, using rock songs to pump up young soldiers during tank battles (a tradition popularized in most Vietnam films), videotaped jokes mused upon dead Iraqis. The film has an even keel for both showing the personal sacrifices that our GIs are making while at the same time documenting some of their corrupt military behavior, which greatly lessens their very cause.

Like all great artists, writers, and documentarians, Moore understands that asking of the question can many times be more powerful than providing the answer. Fahrenheit 's questions manage to equally polarize Moore's base and his detractors, forcing both groups to work, think, talk, and conduct research into the very pursuit of arriving at their own subjective truths. While the film's goal may be to win some folks over to Moore's side, this film isn't as infectious as its detractors insist. If you disliked Michael Moore before seeing this film, chances are you'll probably still dislike him afterward, but you'll have managed to expand your political scope by finally exposing yourself to Moore's complaints. If you loved Moore, you won't be let down by his latest work. In both cases, Moore challenges his audience to take politics into their own hands this November by delivering one of the most inflammatory, rabble-rousing political bombs ever tossed at a sitting president.

As I left the theater here in Los Angeles, I heard folks around me discussing how it's too bad that their votes don't count in California, since the state traditionally votes for Democratic presidential candidates. Then someone chimed in about how everyone's votes do count, that people need to remember California's newly seated governor was brought in under highly politicized pretenses initiated by the "other side." And thus the conversation continued as we exited the theater and was presumably played out in variations around the nation.

The dream of any talented writer is to have his or her work discussed, debated, researched, and argued about -- and on all these counts Michael Moore has triumphed. Moore brilliantly began a national conversation last weekend, and it'll be interesting to see how it finishes up this November.