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Michael Moore has competition in the race to see who can get under the establishment's skin the deepest. Today's wider release of Morgan Spurlock's documentary Super Size Me is the latest film disputing the conventional wisdom that controversy doesn't sell movie tickets.
Think of films that have irritated special interest groups in recent years: The Last Temptation of Christ, Priest and Dogma riled Christians; Showgirls, Henry and June and Kids, with their NC-17 rating, convinced some cultural watchdogs that the world was going to hell in a popcorn bucket.
Now remember how poorly each of those hackle-raisers did at U.S. box offices.
Those flop performances severely contradicted the notion that there's no such thing as bad publicity. The outrage those movies caused in some corners even before their releases poisoned the public's intentions to see them. It can be argued that some of the movies were so dull or poorly made that they didn't deserve audiences (although Showgirls is so howlingly bad that it's fun).
The message seemed clear: Moviegoers generally wouldn't go out of their way to face protesters outside theaters or protestable material inside.
In 2004, things are different. Perhaps a presidential election in wartime has whetted our appetite for contentious material. Whatever the reason, moviegoers are seeking out films that somebody is warning them to avoid, films dealing with issues that historically have split opinions down the middle or into splinters.
Religion, politics, nutrition and environmentalism sound like topics for Sunday morning television, not megaplexes. Moviegoers are proving that assumption wrong.
This year's rush to prejudged movies began with The Passion of the Christ, the gospel according to Mel Gibson that was either anti-Semitic, a bloody abomination or a masterpiece, depending on whose choir you listened to.
In the weeks before The Passion's release, some folks predicted violence between Christians and Jews over taking responsibility for crucifying Jesus. Damnation was predicted by picketers in a few places, but enough moviegoers maneuvered past them to buy more than $370-million in tickets (and still counting).
Super Size Me is the most broadly personal work for Americans, taking our fast-food culture to task. Spurlock uses a terrific hook - subjecting himself to a month of McDonald's gluttony with minimal exercise - to explore society's reliance on processed food and reluctance to exercise.
Spurlock's film isn't making a fortune at the box office. Few documentaries do. But it cracked the top 10 in ticket sales two weeks ago in limited release, and fewer documentaries do that, especially during the summer movie season. It's getting enough attention that McDonald's recently eliminated its super-size options for fries and soft drinks as a pre-emptive strike against the film's credibility.
McDonald's representatives in the United States are downplaying the film, hoping it fades from public consciousness, like most documentaries. One clue that it isn't fading can be found in last week's announcement that McDonald's is running three commercials in Australian theaters showing Super Size Me to directly refute Spurlock's contentions.
That's how they handle things Down Under. In the United States, McDonald's prefers to twist arms discreetly. Consider MTV withdrawing ads for Super Size Me from its programming. The rock 'n' roll spirit MTV was built upon suits Spurlock's rebellion against corporate greed. But the money McDonald's spends on MTV advertising means more. (In particular, there's a commercial showing young people partying all night, then eating McDonald's breakfasts for a "bedtime snack." That's a responsible suggestion, isn't it?)
The Day After Tomorrow is the least reliable polemic, a science fiction adventure in which a new Ice Age occurs faster than my refrigerator makes ice cubes. It's preposterous, yet advocates on both sides of the global warming issue have used the opportunity to present their conclusions.
Like Spurlock's binge, the catastrophe is so far-fetched that opponents believe they can brush off any truths inspiring the hooks. It's silly that anyone would use such an obvious fantasy as The Day After Tomorrow as a political platform anyway. Any controversy blew over after $160-million in ticket sales.
Moore's politically charged Fahrenheit 9/11 opens nationwide June 25. Even louder protests can be expected after weeks of presumption that either a) The movie is a pack of lies assembled for an unflattering portrait of President Bush or b) It's all true.
Toss in Moore's complaints about censorship after Disney exercised its right not to distribute a movie it paid to produce and we have a two-fold controversy. Moviegoers who never cared how films are distributed were suddenly following each negotiation step as Fahrenheit 9/11 struck deals with Lions Gate Films and IFC Films.
Moore is borrowing from Gibson's strategy with advance group ticket sales through a toll-free telephone number and his Web site (www.michaelmoore.com) He also squeezed out more publicity by appealing the film's R rating by the Motion Picture Association of America, noting that viewers under 17 who may be called to duty in Iraq in a few years deserve to know what's going on there, at least from his partisan position.
By election time in November, Fahrenheit 9/11 may be the highest-grossing documentary of all time, supplanting Moore's Oscar-winning Bowling for Columbine for that distinction. If so, the directions filmmakers may follow are boundless.
No longer skittish about how topics will play in Middle America, filmmakers may be more willing to address divisive issues such as race, sexuality and human rights. It's our responsibility as moviegoers to sort through the rhetoric, seek out supplemental evidence and reach our own conclusions about whether controversies are mountains or molehills. Each ticket we purchase to movies that stretch our comfort zone is a step closer to truth.
- Steve Persall can be reached at 727 893-8365 or persall@sptimes.com