And then there's gruff but lovable old Michael Moore, who is
as maddening as he is hilarious in his films (Roger and Me), TV shows
(The Awful Truth) and writings (Stupid White Men). Moore is like
a progressive bull in a china shop, a provocateur crashing into ideas and special-interest
groups as he slaps together his own version of liberalism. As frumpy in his
thinking as he is in his attire -- perennially untucked shirts, creatively sculpted
facial hair and what-day-is-it baseball cap -- Moore gets by with an undeniable
wit and a flair for comedy and self-promotion that has some rightfully calling
him the left's Rush Limbaugh.
Ouch.
All of which he proves, once again, with the rollercoaster
ride that is his latest film, Bowling for Columbine -- an odyssey of
ideas that explore America's love/hate relationship with guns. Inspired by the
tragic Columbine shootings of 1999, Bowling for Columbine shows Moore
at his best and worst. His works are like promising rough drafts -- does anybody
actually edit this guy? -- and this film is no different. And while even supportive
lefties must cringe at some of his pretzel logic, they must admit the man raises
great points and knows how to get a laugh. As a comedy, Bowling for Columbine
is unsurpassed this year. As a serious work of intellectual thought, well ...
.
Through a series of vignettes, asides, interviews and outright
grandstanding, Moore as abstract artist paints an America that has been forced
by myriad factors into an obsession with guns. Himself a card-carrying member
of the National Rifle Association, Moore spreads out countless examples of how
we have decided (almost through no fault of our own?) that, as the Beatles sing
at one point, happiness is a warm gun.
We're frazzled into a constant state of fear by the media.
We're ordered to defend our Second Amendment right to bear arms by right-wing
politicians. We're economically disenfranchised by the government and corporate
America. We're pressured to succeed in the light of abject failure by our suburban-sprawl
school systems. Personal responsibility -- that most foreign phrase among liberals
in general and Moore in particular -- doesn't even take a back seat on the bus;
it never gets on the bus.
No, he leaves that up to folks like poor Charlton Heston, the
Hollywood legend and NRA president whom Moore sandbags and sucker-punches in
a final-act interview that is just as ugly a car wreck to watch as any scene
from another previous target, the TV show Cops.
Moore is at his best when he uncovers the silliness and paradoxes
in our society, as he does in an opening sequence where he goes into a bank
to open up an account solely to get a free gun. (The bank, one official boasts,
has 500 guns -- mostly rifles -- stored in its vault.) "Do you think it's a
little dangerous to hand out guns in a bank?" he asks in his voice-over narration.
That's funny, funny stuff. But what's the point?
The movie reaches a surprising peak in an interview with "shock
rocker" (a media-created label if there ever was) Marilyn Manson, a favorite
punching bag of conservatives who believe listening to music makes killers out
of kids. Half in costume for an upcoming show, Manson calmly explains how the
media and corporations' conspiracy of fear (as an author on the subject later
confirms) makes frightened consumers of us all. When Moore asks him what he'd
say to the students of Columbine, Manson quickly replies, "I wouldn't say a
single word to them; I would listen to what they had to say, because that is
what no one has done."
But the film is also filled with needless though informative
tangents. Ultimately, though there appears to be no clear point, Moore decides
to do his confrontational thing by setting up (with amazing ease) the aforementioned
interview with Heston. After a challenging question to Heston that obviously
flusters a man who has subsequently confirmed he has Alzheimer's disease, Moore
demands an apology for his appearance at rallies in cities just after gun-related
tragedies had struck -- including Columbine. Sensing he's caught more in an
argument than an interview, Heston politely ends the interview and shuffles
away.
There stands Moore, calling out to Heston, brandishing a poster
of a dead first-grade girl. Finally, he lays the photo against the house, and
walks off.
If he's made some point, it, like so many others, is a little
lost on me. Which is what leaves Bowling for Columbine something just
short of a wasted opportunity.
