We scurried through the pouring rain to Loews on 2nd avenue, and walked into the theater as the trailers were starting. The two empty seats we had reserved online were waiting for us in the front, front, front row. Sitting there would have required watching the film from an inconceivable angle, so we opted to sit on the stairs in the aisle. Thankfully, we evaded the usher.
The film began and I watched congressman after congressman, congresswoman after congresswoman, object to the authorizing of the electoral vote, but none of them able to receive the necessary signature of a single senator, and I thought to myself,
I don't remember that. And then I watched Bush's inaugural motorcade being pelted with eggs as it accelerated past wave after wave of protesters, and I thought to my self,
I don't remember that. And when the screen went black and I heard the sounds of the airplanes crashing into the twin towers -- a crushing sound, like the sky itself falling to earth, and I remembered that. I had been there, but I had forgotten.
For me, the film for the most part a reminder. This is what Bush did his first eight months in office. This is what Iraq looked like before we invaded. These are the people who are fighting and dying. This is where they live. These are their parents. And here are the people they're fighting. This is what death looks like.
Michael Moore is not a documentarian, but he is a very passionate and caring man. Maybe not a nice man. Maybe he's a jerk. But he cares deeply and emotionally about what's happening in this country, and this world. And if his film has a failing, it's that he directs with his heart and not his mind. This does create technical errors. Issues aren't addressed. Nuance is all but abandoned. But he supplies us with what we really need, which is emotion.
When we left the theater, the crowd for the next showing was already waiting behind the velvet rope -- hundreds of people, lining all the way down the hall. I hope they line up like that all across the country.