Dog Eat Dog Books

Downsize This! Random Threats from an Unarmed American
Copyright 1996 Chicago Tribune
Reviewed by Stephan Franklin September 29, 1996
"Hey, you got any of these?" asks a big, goofy-looking, long-haired guy wearing a Detroit Tigers cap who smilingly sidles up to me on the bus.

"Nope," I reply, scanning his batch of corporate crook trading cards.

"Nice collection," I mumble, nodding at his most-prized cards.

"How about Roger Smith? Remember him and General Motors?" I slyly ask.
He leans back, cracks a broad smile and we spend the rest of the bus ride topping each other's stories about how miserable life became in Flint, Mich., after GM began to shut down it's car plants there a decade ago.

Frankly speaking, the conversation never took place.

But like any other red-blooded, delusional American, I am sure it would if I ever meet Michael Moore, producer of the hit satire-documentary "Roger & Me," about the hard times GM workers in Moore's hometown faced in the 1980's and his efforts to discuss them with Smith.

His new book, Downsize This! much resembles his past efforts: conspiratorial, wisecracking satire that sometimes seems absurd, sometimes quite adolescent, and almost always is driven by the conviction that at this very moment Mr. and Mrs. Sixpack are recipients of a bona fide raw deal.

Moore came from a family of autoworkers in Flint, worked one day at a car plant there, and went on at age 22 to found the Flint Voice, a struggling alternative newspaper that made the city's grim days somewhat brighter.

When he decided to make "Roger & Me," which became the highest-grossing documentary ever, he was receiving $98 a week in state benefits. Indeed, Moore makes the point again and again that he is a very average guy, who has done marvelously, stupendously well, and who enjoys poking fun at people whom he might never have met.

That is probably one reason why he decided to hug all of the nation's governors, but not all at once, of course. "Congress was returning power to the states, so I personally wanted to touch that power like no man had ever touched it before," he writes.

One way to view his book is as a series of sketches, monologues or plots for a television show, such as his former production "TV Nation." His corporate crooks trading cards is one such skit. So too, is his list of "big welfare mamas," which in this case is a list of "freeloading corporations" dependent on "federal handouts."

His proposal that voters skip candidates at the polling place and vote directly for the lobbyists who back the politicians is a novel idea worth at least a nano-second of consideration on a Sunday TV talk show.
He also provides lists of what he thinks the average citizen should do, including joining his militia, called Mike's Militia. It's goal, he says, will be to eliminate other militias. But it also will boycott companies that downsize for profit: "No justice, no jingle-jangle at the cash register," he declares.


Downsize This! Random Threats from an Unarmed American	Copyright 1996 Chicago Tribune
Reviewed by Stephan Franklin	September 29, 1996
"Hey, you got any of these?" asks a big, goofy-looking, long-haired guy wearing a Detroit Tigers cap who smilingly sidles up to me on the bus. "Nope," I reply, scanning his batch of corporate crook trading cards. "Nice collection," I mumble, nodding at his most-prized cards. "How about Roger Smith? Remember him and General Motors?" I slyly ask. He leans back, cracks a broad smile and we spend the rest of the bus ride topping each other's stories about how miserable life became in Flint, Mich., after GM began to shut down it's car plants there a decade ago. Frankly speaking, the conversation never took place. But like any other red-blooded, delusional American, I am sure it would if I ever meet Michael Moore, producer of the hit satire-documentary "Roger & Me," about the hard times GM workers in Moore's hometown faced in the 1980's and his efforts to discuss them with Smith. His new book, Downsize This! much resembles his past efforts: conspiratorial, wisecracking satire that sometimes seems absurd, sometimes quite adolescent, and almost always is driven by the conviction that at this very moment Mr. and Mrs. Sixpack are recipients of a bona fide raw deal. Moore came from a family of autoworkers in Flint, worked one day at a car plant there, and went on at age 22 to found the Flint Voice, a struggling alternative newspaper that made the city's grim days somewhat brighter. When he decided to make "Roger & Me," which became the highest-grossing documentary ever, he was receiving $98 a week in state benefits. Indeed, Moore makes the point again and again that he is a very average guy, who has done marvelously, stupendously well, and who enjoys poking fun at people whom he might never have met. That is probably one reason why he decided to hug all of the nation's governors, but not all at once, of course. "Congress was returning power to the states, so I personally wanted to touch that power like no man had ever touched it before," he writes. One way to view his book is as a series of sketches, monologues or plots for a television show, such as his former production "TV Nation." His corporate crooks trading cards is one such skit. So too, is his list of "big welfare mamas," which in this case is a list of "freeloading corporations" dependent on "federal handouts." His proposal that voters skip candidates at the polling place and vote directly for the lobbyists who back the politicians is a novel idea worth at least a nano-second of consideration on a Sunday TV talk show. He also provides lists of what he thinks the average citizen should do, including joining his militia, called Mike's Militia. It's goal, he says, will be to eliminate other militias. But it also will boycott companies that downsize for profit: "No justice, no jingle-jangle at the cash register," he declares.