Information Over Opinion (for a change)
One of the defining characteristics of the current era of film is the prominence and popularity of documentaries. Never before has so much attention been paid to non-fiction filmmaking. If I wanted to be cliched about the subject, I’d call it the golden age of documentaries, but I like to think I’m better than that. For the first time ever, documentaries are putting up box office numbers comparable to theatrical releases, and as a result, more and more are being made in the hopes of sparking (and subsequently cashing in on) the next trendy social cause. This can often turn a documentary – which is essentially supposed to be a feature-length piece of investigative journalism or academic study – into a soapbox where anyone can preach their case to the like-minded choir they will probably root out of the millions of moviegoers who will happen to stumble across their alleged work of truth.
The dramatic spike in documentary popularity can be traced back to the rise of Michael Moore. Unfortunately, so to can this idea that a documentary is less about delivering the facts and more about promoting a viewpoint, less about showing the big picture and more about repeating some narrow talking points. Moore also popularized the disturbing trend of making himself the main character of his documentaries, disturbing not only because we have to stare at his ugly mug for at least 90 minutes, but also because of the narcissism and self-aggrandizing it promotes. Moore often relied on his presence in own his films to advance his least objective messages in a way that screams: “Look at me. I’m here. I said it, so it must be right.” It violates one of the most basic laws of filmmaking: show, don’t tell. Why can’t we hear it from someone else? Why can’t we see it for ourselves on the screen? More often than not it’s because it’s nothing more than personal opinion masquerading as fact, a cardinal sin in the documentary world.
To be fair, Moore is an excellent storyteller. His movies make for excellent infotainment, as did Morgan Spurlock’s Super Size Me. Spurlock decided to use himself as the guinea pig in his fast-food science experiment, and while it was quite entertaining watching him become chubby and surly (with the occasional puke thrown in for good measure) as he ran through the McDonald’s menu again and again during his one-month crash diet, the information and interviews he provided never really dug very deep into its intended subject: the corporatization and mass-production of food. Super Size Me left people thinking that as long as they stayed away from fast food like McD’s and stuck to their local supermarket, everything was peachy.
Enter Food, Inc., a documentary heavily influenced by the books Fast Food Nation and The Omnivore’s Dilemma. The authors of those books – Eric Schlosser and Michael Pollan, respectively – are prominently featured throughout the film, as are many different people involved in all areas of food production and consumption, but one person you never see on camera is the director, Robert Kenner. Kenner’s decision to exclude himself from the film’s message is very important, because Food, Inc. is a very important documentary, and it could not afford to have anything steal the spotlight from the sometimes-shocking but always-relevant information it presents.
The first thing Food, Inc. does is shatter the idea that you’re safe if you stick to the supermarket. It picks apart every product, every aisle, deconstructing the illusion presented in the product packaging and labelling: images of farmers and barns and words like “natural” and “homestyle.” This acts as kind of foreshadowing for the depth and scope of the rest of the film; when it comes to food, Food, Inc. shows no fear and leaves no stone unturned.
A lot of Food, Inc. is jarring, if not shocking, and some of it is quite disturbing, but all of it is informative. You hear from factory farmers, from food scientists, from alternative and organic food producers, from poor families struggling to eat right when eating wrong is so much cheaper, from the mother who lost a son to e-coli he contracted from eating contaminated hamburger meat and the legislators who try in vain to make sure that doesn’t happen again. In fact, the only people you don’t hear from are the ones who run the multinational food corporations (and Monsanto, but at this point I’m convinced they like looking evil), and the only reason you don’t hear from them is because they all decline to be interviewed. The film digs and digs and digs in an effort to “lift the veil” (their words, not mine) on what it is we’re all eating.
And that’s what I found more disturbing than anything else: the secrecy. The corporations mentioned in Food, Inc. operate almost entirely behind closed doors, flexing their massive legal teams at citizens and government every time there is the slightest challenge to the way they conduct their business. I can’t say I’m shocked by that, since it’s the way every corporation behaves, but this is food we’re talking about here. This is the stuff we’re putting in our mouths and sending through our bodies. It’s our fuel. We need it to live, and to find out that we’re not even allowed to know what it looks like until it’s wrapped in plastic and sitting on a supermarket shelf is indeed very disturbing.
What’s even more disturbing is the fact that we accept this as normal without asking any questions. Obesity is a serious problem in North America, as are greenhouse gas emissions and the abuse of non-unionized, undocumented labourers, to name a few things. And modern food production is a large part of these problems, but since ConAgra and Smithfield produce absurdly cheap products, we look the other way. Or, we do ask a few questions, and then we get sued. This is Food, Inc.
I’m intentionally steering clear of specifics, in part because I think people should see Food, Inc. and take it all in at once, and in part because there’s so much covered in the 94 minutes that I couldn’t begin to try and do it justice here. It almost felt like there was too much information being thrown around, but I much prefer that to the alternative of no information and all filler that you see on, say, every 24-hour cable news channel.
As a film, Food, Inc. isn’t great. Kenner attempts to break the information up into bite-sized segments with clever titles, but that tactic ends up disrupting the flow of the movie too much, disconnecting each piece of the puzzle from the whole and actually making the film harder to follow. Subsequently, whenever he attempts to bring back people from previous segments they tend to feel out-of-place. Also, there are a couple of moments when Kenner opts to err on the sentimental side a little too much for my tastes, most notably when dealing with the mother of the dead son. I understand the point he’s trying to make, but I’ve always felt that the sentimental angle can cheapen the most solid arguments, and Food, Inc. makes plenty of very solid arguments.
But Food, Inc. is still an amazing documentary, and I know I said this earlier, but it is also an important documentary. Everyone in North America should see Food, Inc.. It doesn’t preach. It doesn’t tell you to vote Democrat or go vegan (in fact, it rips on corn and seasonal fruits and vegetables a fair deal). It doesn’t tell you how to live or what to think, it just shows you the facts that could be found, and lets you hear different perspectives you might not be exposed to otherwise straight from the people who live them. If you don’t believe me, watch the way Food, Inc. covers the organic farm movement. Again, I won’t give anything away, but you’ll see what I’m trying to say here. Food, Inc. isn’t a soapbox documentary, it’s what a documentary should be: Food, Inc. is great journalism.
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