For those too lazy to read Fast Food Nation (that includes
me), check out Morgan Spurlock’s startling documentary
“Supersize Me,” now playing everywhere except,
most likely, the very places where it should be a law
to see it. Following up on the recent case of two obese
girls who filed lawsuits against McDonald’s for
their worsening condition, only to have the charges
dropped for not “proving the cause of the injuries,”
Spurlock makes himself the guinea pig of a stomach-churning
yet foolproof experiment.
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He eats no less than three McDonald’s meals a
day for an entire month, never exercising (except to
get his food), never rejecting a Supersize offer, and
limiting his diet exclusively to what’s on the
McDonald’s menu.
We’re talking strawberry sundaes, McYogurts with
even more calories than those sundaes, and fish fillets
that, as a friend of Spurlock comments, “have
probably been sitting out all day.” We’re
talking half-pound portions of fries and ketchup that
contains both corn syrup and high-fructose corn syrup.
We’re talking about a diet that, in less than
twenty days time, leads not only to the expected weight
and cholesterol increase, but also, in this case, to
depression, outbreaks of twitching, and liver erosion.
Not that Spurlock’s original hypothesis is all
that engrossing: “McDonald’s is bad for
you.” But, given the opening report on the growing
obesity problem in America—it has almost replaced
cigarettes as the leading preventable cause of death—“Supersize
Me” should be viewed by everyone who still has
even an occasional craving for fast food.
It might benefit a lot of New Yorkers if some of the
footage—particularly the horrifying gastric bypass
scene—was projected over those high-tech McDonald’s
ads on Times Square. But that’s a very tall order.
Even if most of Spurlock’s arguments aren’t
groundbreaking, watching him undergo this self-inflicted
torture is jaw-droppingly effective. At a pre-experiment
check-up, Spurlock’s health is deemed above average
by three different doctors and a nutritionist.
That’s probably why he can’t keep down
his first Supersize Quarter-Pounder (the camera dutifully
pans in on a pool of his vomit). But by the end of a
week, his weight has gone up considerably, his triglycerides
a mind-boggling amount. Furthermore, his dependency
on fast food and the emptiness he feels when deprived
of it is analogous with that of heroin addicts. By the
end of two weeks, the doctors, the nutritionist and
Spurlock’s girlfriend are all begging him to stop.
So are we.
Wedged in between the various stages of Spurlock’s
experiment are eye-opening potshots at Sodexho, the
company that sends pre-packaged Grade D meals to just
about every public school, Direct Media Advertising,
who spend millions per year on promoting junk food intake,
and the Grocery Manufacturers of America, whose spokesperson
mistakenly (and fittingly) calls his organization “part
of the problem.” There’s also a very touching
interview with the nephew of Bert Baskin, founder of
Baskin Robbins, who laments at having had so much ice
cream at his disposal as a child.
“Supersize Me” only falters when it becomes
all too clear that Spurlock has been studying up excessively
on that similarly overzealous documentarian, Michael
Moore. For instance, couldn’t Spurlock have omitted
the clip of the plucky high school girl who, after only
ordering fries and milk for lunch, boasts that she’s
getting her calcium and her “vegetable”?
And so what if some people don’t know the entire
Pledge of Allegiance but can recite the whole McDonald’s
jingle? There’s already a director who spoofs
the cheerful ignorance of American subcultures and who
does so gently: his name is Christopher Guest. There’s
no need for an actual documentarian to take a superior
stance, and scenes like this display a mean streak that
Spurlock shares a bit too eagerly with Moore.
Another glaring case of overkill is the inclusion of
not one, not two, but four reports on Spurlock’s
waning sexual prowess as a result of the experiment,
one of which is rather explicit.
Still, “Supersize Me” is a commendable
debut, often hilarious, often alarming, and always passionate
to deservedly skewer its main targets, much like Moore’s
films. Perhaps the two filmmakers could learn from each
other. Spurlock could make his next documentary as focused
and groundbreaking as Moore’s “Roger and
Me,” and Moore could pick up some helpful dieting
tips.
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