Well, I finally got around to seeing the much-ballyhooed Fahrenheit 9/11. Frankly, I wasn't too keen on going, but Jonno wanted to see it, and I'd taken the day off (having planned to go on vacation with my family, but backing out at the 11th hour), so we went.
That was a waste of $7.50.
I don't know why my expectations were so high. (Maybe it had something to do with that Palme d'Or.) I should have known that the film would be painfully, unapologetically biased. I should have known it would be far more suggestive than scathing. I should have known that, like Mr. Moore's wardrobe, it would be a bit too big and very, very sloppy. But hey, I was craving popcorn--clearly, I wasn't in my right mind.
Some two hours later, I left the theatre neither enlightened nor enraged. The bit with the mother who lost her son did little for me--I mean, of course she's going to change her tune after her son dies. Who wouldn't? Why aren't parents like her picketing the White House before their children are killed?
The footage of fired-up combat soldiers was nothing shocking, either. I may not have served in the military, but I have worked as an expediter in a French Quarter kitchen on a Saturday night. Trust me, there's very little difference.
Nor was I shocked and appalled that military recruiters target the young and poor. Obviously, it's not the Harvard-bound kids that are gonna drop everything and shave their heads for Uncle Sam just so they can spend four years earning about half of what they'll need to attend a decent university.
Bottom line: with the exception of Moore's tantalizing but ultimately vague assertions about Bush's ties to foreign oil and his skillful re-creation of September 11, 2001 (poignantly evoking the sense of horror that most of us have long forgotten), Fahrenheit 9/11 was about as surprising as a Bob Hope/Bing Crosby musical. Set up, set up, punchline. Set up, set up, punch line. Preaching to the choir, indeed.
After I got home, I wondered if I might be getting too old and complacent to get angry about anything, but then Elizabeth sent me a link to this article about homos and fascism, and Sturtle got his groove back.
Mr. Hari claims that there's a link between fascism and homosexuality. Most of his argument centers around Ernst Rohm, who, as we all know, was a devoted cocksucker and, for a while, Hitler's #1 ass-kisser. Hari cites a few other examples--one from England, one from Holland, one from France. Then, he wraps up his argument with a startling conclusion: that fascism is bad and ought to be avoided.
There are a few problems here.
1. Hari is laboring under the assumption that gay rights activists should automatically align themselves with civil rights activists, when there is significant disagreement about whether gay rights and civil rights are, in fact, the same thing.
2. Hari completely ignores the fact that all of his examples are European, failing to wonder why fascist movements in other parts of the world haven't included homos, too.
3. Hari brings up, then swiftly drops the question of lesbians and fascism--much in the same way that religious conservatives assert that AIDS is god's way of punishing homosexuals while conveniently overlooking the fact that lesbians have one of the lowest infection rates of any definable population.
4. Hari's favorite cited source is the largely irrelevant Bruce LaBruce--who, along with Greg Araki, is one of the few filmmakers whose work could be considered sloppier than Michael Moore's.
I'm not saying that gays are immune to fascism. Since the heyday of Al Parker, gay men have been fascinated with the "clone" look. And whether it features twinks or bears or Falcon exclusives, gay porn is all about fascism of the body. And of course white gay men can be racist (I see it all the time). But come on--if you're going to make an argument that fascism represents a serious threat to the glbt rights movement, you're going to have to do better than that.
