By Geoff Olson

What is Michael Moore fueled by?

Herbal supplements? Power bars? Hungry Man dinners and dollar pizzas? On a sunny October day, thousands of fans have formed a book-signing conga line, snaking through the downtown Vancouver Chapters bookstore. The rumpled author and filmmaker has energy to spare, signing all the fans' books, and exchanging words with nearly all of them.

It's a bravura performance, but it's part of the shtick. According to his website, Moore visited 39 cities in 23 days throughout October to promote his new book, Dude, Where’s My Country, with 5-10,000 people per night filling basketball arenas and county fairgrounds across the country. 10,000 showed up for his signing in Portland, he tells the Vancouver crowd, and 5,000 in Baltimore. (In fact, those at the Chapters' book-signing outnumbered the antiwar demonstrators in the streets outside five to one.)

On www.michaelmoore.com, the author notes the book's solid performance. "It took one year for Stupid White Men to sell a million copies in the United States. It took Dude, Where’s My Country just three weeks."

"That should give you some indication of the level of concern/frustration/anger in the country right now over what the Bush administration is up to," he writes.

"Not a night went by where I didn't have parents or siblings of soldiers in Iraq coming up to me, many of them in tears, pleading with me to "do something" to help bring their loved ones home from this war without end." Moore calls such moments heart-wrenching, adding that he never knew quite what to say, other than to promise them Bush would be out by the next election. "But that's a year away. How many more of our children will be sent to their deaths for another no-bid multi-billion dollar Halliburton contract in the next 12 months?"

Moore has captured the imaginations and wallets of millions of North American readers, and the bestseller status of his previous book, Stupid White Men, was only a trailer for the enormous success of his Oscar-winning documentary, Bowling for Columbine.

It was the 1989 film Roger and Me that kickstarted Moore's career. Viewers outnumber readers, after all, and the image trumped the word decades ago. Anyone hoping to convey any kind of message has to accept that we now live on the others side of McLuhan's looking glass. According to statistics, the average American reads one book a year (and that's including Harlequin romances and auto manuals). Like it or not, the one-eyed Glowing God in the living room remains the primary arbiter of thinkable thoughts in the US.

With this in mind, Moore has thrown his support to Bush in 30 Seconds, a "political advertising contest sponsored by www.moveon.org voter fund." Moore is one of the "celebrity judges including comic Janeane Garofalo, musicians Moby and Michael Stipe, filmmaker Gus Van Zant, actor Jack Black, and political strategist James Carville. According to www.bushin30seconds.com, "you don't have to be formally trained in the art of filmmaking, just ready, willing and able to create an ad that tells the truth about George Bush." But you do have to be a "US citizen or a resident alien." (Too bad. There were undoubtedly some talented young multimedia artists among the thousands attending the booksigning in Vancouver.)

The Move On campaign is undoubtedly a worthy project, but the funders and founders may have a problem when they try to get airtime for the chosen clips, if the experience of the Vancouver-based media group Adbusters is anything to go by. Adbusters experienced problems with its Autosaurus campaign and other clever anti-consumption ads, when big broadcasters simply refused to air the material, justifying their freedom to reject "special interest" ads. (Of course, now that special interests are defined as the working poor, students, the elderly, the sick and pretty much anyone without a platinum card, that makes for a big demographic that can be denied representation in the media.)

Hopefully, the Move On campaign won't be kneecapped by such a response. Moore's audiovisual efforts aren't likely to hit any such wall. His next film, scheduled for release in late summer 2004, is likely to have even greater impact than Bowling for Columbine. Farenheit 911 will examine, among other things, the links between the bin Laden dynasty and the Bush family. If this sort of can-of-worms approach doesn't produce problems for the Bush re-election, nothing will.

Moore isn't quite ready to fall in with the "Anyone but Bush," camp, however. "Removal is not enough to turn our country around," he states on his website. "We have to stay on these Democrats to do their jobs. We know from experience how spineless they can be. Our job is to keep pushing them to be more progressive in their actions and positions. And we need to continue to build independent, third party movements on the local level which will, in part, let them know that they do not automatically have us in their hip pocket."

Up close, Moore's rumpled man-of-the-people routine appears unaffected. After three hours, he's still going at it, signing books and kibitzing with his fans. But then, Moore has always liked Canada and Canadians. He has reason to be fond of us, besides his oft-stated praise for a social system that respects community and the collective. The Nova Scotia production company Salter Street Films, working with Moore's Dog Eat Dog Films, financed Bowling for Columbine, and his television series for Bravo, The Awful Truth. (All the more reason, perhaps, to allow Canadian submissions to the Bush in 30 Seconds campaign!)

At the signing, a sober-looking security figure tells me to "take my hands out of my pockets," as I approach Moore, a chilling reminder that celebrity, especially of the political variety, can attract all sorts of unknown quantities. Hands out, it's my turn for an audience with the pope of populism.

I hand my copy of Dude, Where’s My Country to Moore, open to the frontispiece. He signs it with a flourish of his magic marker, while I tell him of the right-wing tangent Canada has gone off on. "I know, I know," he says ruefully, his smile momentarily evaporating. I pass a folder on to him, containing articles from independent Canadian media. "I don't know if you can do anything with this," I tell him, "but I thought you should probably know what's going on up here in detail." Moore thanks me, and promises to read the material on his plane flight to Seattle.

Thirty nine cities in 23 days. What is Michael Moore fueled by? Perhaps it's the belief that democracy is more than just a word, and that power can still reside with the people - if they are informed and involved. Some of us are beginning to think those are quaint or quixotic notions, but they remain what they've always been - revolutionary.

Geoff Olson is a Vancouver writer and political cartoonist. He can be reached at: gefo@telus.net






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