Capitalism: A Sob Story

You might be wondering.

How the hell did I wind up seeing Michael Moore's "Capitalism: A Love Story?" Come on, Len, you? Really?

I might say that I saw the movie in a grand attempt to provide you with the most complete unbiased blog coverage possible. I also might try to tell you that my desire to watch Michael Moore spin another yarn was akin to a deep-seeded need for self-mutilation. Like walking right up to a bee hive and hoping not to get stung.

In reality, you can blame this all on the Dodgers. I needed a diversion before the start of what became a horrific NLCS Game 3, so I thought this film could be it. Nothing eases tension more than a whole lot of anger.

In retrospect, Michael Moore is now nothing but a cookie cutter documentarian. His movies are as predictable as a Three Stooges short. Hit Curly in the head with a lead pipe. Hit a moviegoer in the head with a lead pipe. It's all the same thing. The plotline never varies. Conservatives are all things evil. Liberals are all things wonderful. There is nothing in between when you enter one of Michael Moore's egofests. And, for that very reason, "Capitalism: A Love Story" never disappoints. You get exactly what you pay for.

I love a good documentary and the best take years to research and complete. If you notice, Moore spits them one every other year. They come out of him faster than bad Chinese food. Does that mean that Fat Boy can research faster than most people? Of course not. In this latest movie, he cites some events that happened as late as last May. You don't need a lot of production time when you're making most of the shit up.

The many Michael Moore falsehoods and fact twists found in his movies are well documented on the internet. He conveniently leaves out information that would challenge his argument. He very neatly edits his interviews to the point that the person appears to be saying something that they never possibly would have stated. It makes no difference to Michael Moore, because it's about him and his opinions. Reality, be damned. It's not just his body frame that's bloated.

The ugly slob pretty much plays to type in "Capitalism: A Love Story." Anything about free enterprise in this country has to be bad because Michael thinks it is. At one point, he compares what he does in this film to why Jesus Christ overturned the merchant tables in the temple. For the life of me, I could never equate Michael Moore with the Messiah. And, I would defy anybody to find two slats of wood strong enough to hold him up on Good Friday.

Moore focuses his cameras on a lot of people who are getting their foreclosures served by the local sheriff. I noticed that most of these folks were as fat as he is and I wondered if there was some deep seeded symmetry at work. I also thought about the fact that Michael, with his huge bank account that came as a direct by-product of a capitalistic society, was at most of these foreclosures and never once offered to write some tubby farmer a bailout check. But, of course, that kind of action doesn't lend well to the yellow tabloid journalism Michael revels in. It's not about solutions. It's all about creating even more problems. Because, as long as our country is screwed up, Michael has an audience. Because if the country was as idyllic as Moore wants it to be, his business model collapses completely.

As my dad loved to say, Moore is the type of guy who has all the answers to none of the questions. At the end of the film, he demonstrates another cheap grandstand move that is designed to make us laugh and nothing else. He shows up at each of the major bank headquarters on Wall Street and demands they give back the money of the American people. Essentially, our misery provides nothing more than a closing gag for two hours of disjointed non-truths.

The shithead wraps up his film by announcing that he's ashamed of living in America, but stresses that he is not leaving. Why should he? His audience is here. It's not like he could go to a foreign country and challenge the local government. In most, he would probably be using the butt end of a rifle as a nightguard. But, here in Dumbbell Land and especially in such meccas as Los Angeles and New York, people are eager to embrace his nonsense as verbatim, simply because it's chic to do so. He cites Franklin Roosevelt's proposed addendum to the Bill of Rights and wonders why America can't do the same. Offer health care to all. Offer a job to all. Offer everything to everybody. How the heck do you do that without taxing the world? For that question, Michael has no answers.

And, for this iteration of his desire that capitalism disappear in this country, Michael took $8.50 from me. It could have been more if I hadn't gone to the specially priced matinee. But, nevertheless, he made money off me. Capitalism at its best. And I doubt that he took it and gave it to the homeless guy in the alley outside the theater.

Dinner last night: Roast beef sandwich.