THE GREAT GADFLY:

Fatman Forever

Tonight, while waiting on the bus on the way home from the movies (relax, I'll tellya what I saw - that's what I'm getting to, okay?), a taxi pulled up to pick up an Eddie Bauer-styley white twentysomething couple. As they got in, the male of the duo started barking to the Middle Eastern cabbie about the decal in the window. "Why is the American flag upside down? Why is the American flag upside down? It's upside down!"

Granted, if you're stuck in the life of an ethnic archetype looked down upon with more hostility than ever these days, it might help to look into proper flag display etiquette. But considering the movie I had just seen and its dissection of the media-driven culture of fear in America (and I'm guessing you've figured out what I watched by now), I was siding with the cabbie.

My mind turned to the book I've just started reading, Dave Eggers' You Shall Know Our Velocity, and how the main character details his neurotic habit of noticing passersby committing irksome social faux pas, and how he then engages in imaginary mental debates on their behavior. For me tonight, it would have gone something like this:

- You should really quit barking at that cab driver, sir.

- But he is displaying his American flag symbol upside down, and he could be a terrorist.

- Yes, but he may not know any better.

- Yes, but I'm entrusting this man to my and my girlfriend's safety. I have a right to know why he made the choice he did, and if there's a message behind it. I'm going to give this man my money, you see. I don't want to line the wallet of a terrorist.

- What if he didn't place the sticker in the cab to begin with? What if he was assigned that cab and he didn't even notice the decal, tired as he was today from - who knows - raising a family, working a second job, fending off people thinking he's a terrorist left and right?

- I still have a right to know.

- Yes, you do. But the manner in which you ask the man your question might be addressed with a substantially different level of respect and common decency. You don't need to bark.

- I do need to bark. I'm scared.

- We're all scared. I'm scared. I bet the cab driver is scared. I bet he's scared of you.

- So what should I do, then?

- You should say something to the extent of, "excuse me, buddy - I couldn't help but notice the flag decal on your cab is upside down. Did you do that?" And then, listen to what the man says.

- Oh. Well. Huh. We'll see.

- Yes, well...I guess we will.

Of course, none of that happened. That was just what would have happened if it were a passage from the new Eggers book, which, predictably, hooked me from the first page and has me in its thrall like a pleasure too strong to be snickered off as "guilty".

Oh, but anyway. The movie.

I saw Michael Moore's Bowling for Columbine this afternoon.

See it. See it within the next 24 hours. It's important that you do. It's not just a good piece of entertainment, it's an important piece of commentary on the here and now of this country. It's oxygen on film, and you need to take a deep breath before you choke. Something like that, anyway.

I said it when I finished reading "Stupid White Men" and I can't help but say it again tonight: Michael Moore is the closest thing the real world has to a superhero. Ironically, this superhero is a fast-food addicted fattie with poor grooming habits and a penchant for baseball caps and dirty jeans. But, hey - we take what we can get. We could do much, much worse.

Watching his film today reminded me of what it means to be an American and to love living in this country. I'd like to say that Moore's outlook redefines patriotism, but you know what? No. Moore's filmmaking and his incredible talent for communication reclaims patriotism from those who have already redefined it to fit their own interests at the expense of the rest of us. Michael Moore is a man who gets dismissed as a pink-o leftie, while teasing the brother of Terry Nichols for being a "tofu farmer". This is a guy who made a movie about guns, yet has held two memberships with the NRA in his life. The premise of this movie doesn't force us into a box or lead us into a single file line to do as we're told like nice little liberals. It takes two hours to simply throw its hands up in the air and sigh, "how the hell did our country get to be such a mess?"

Have you ever laughed and cried simultaneously while watching a movie? I did today. It was an odd feeling. Comforting and disturbing and tragic and snarky and empowering and helpless, all in one big megaslice of visual overstimulation crammed into my eye sockets like so much necessary castor oil. Like I said, go see it. You need to. You really do.

Thinking about the whole Michael Moore-as-superhero comparison on the way home from his film tonight, I started thinking about the modest crop of superhero TV shows that have cropped up in the past year or so. Two in particular - "Smallville" and "Birds of Prey".

For the uninitiated, "Smallville" is basically an ostensibly hyper-real re-telling of the salad days of Superman, before he donned the cape and tights. It's kinda "X-Files 90210", only without so many rich kids (though we do get a filthy rich teenaged Lex Luthor) and without Scully (though we do get an amazing lookalike in Annette O'Toole as Clark Kent's adoptive mama). Meanwhile, "Birds of Prey", jeez, it's just a mess - Batman and Catwoman had a daughter and the daughter is a crimefighter and Batgirl got shot by the Joker and is a wheelchair-bound computer diva and then there's a blonde chick who reads minds and she's based on the comic book character Black Canary but in fucked-up comix-to-TV adaptation logic, I don't think we're supposed to be aware of that, and I could hardly get through the first episode without wondering who greenlit the show and where I could get the drugs they were on at the time, cuz maybe I could get wacky on that junk and write a television pilot about an alcoholic Plastic Man struggling to raise a child as a single parent, and maybe get a decent screenwriting deal out of the whole crack fantasy.

But anyway, I'm straying WAY off my intended point, which I shall be so kind as to share now:

These shows, in my opinion anyway, don't let superheroes be superheroes anymore, and I fear that this might be a sign of the times.

This is what I remember of superheroes on TV: Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman, in her fashion tights, fighting for our rights. The Incredible Hulk, who, no matter what Bill Bixby was wearing before someone went and ticked him off, always wound up in a pair of tattered purple trousers by the time he'd transmogrified into Lou Ferrigno. They were fantastic, flamboyant, unmistakable flights of fantasy and we saw them and wanted to BE them, spandex and all - just ask any 80s hair band member. When we heard "KNEEL BEFORE ZOD", we freakin' knelt, because he was the one in the sparkly black tunic and S&M boots and we weren't. Planet Houston indeed.

But, you see, now we're living in the days of George W. Bush, the skeleton in America's closet that we have to live with as the most powerful man in our country. We have to live through each of his malapropist rants knowing that this is the best we have right now, and if he wants a war, then, well, it's just one of life's little fuck-ups that hopefully we can all survive.

And so we don't ask a lot from our superheroes anymore. We settle for Superman fighting the baddies in a Banana Republic sweater, and we deal with the daughter of Batman looking at best like something from the latest Pink video (though Pink could probably kick all the Birds of Prey chicks' nubile booties without even chipping one of her glossy black fingernails...but that's another rant altogether).

If our portrayal of Superhero Americana is any reflection of our opinion of real life American leaders and their power, the presentation is that of modesty and not asking too much, because "over the top" is something we can't really ask for today. We're helpless. Even our fantasy knights in shining armor are keeping it on the down-low. Nobody wants to appear too uppity, too capable, too showy.

And so we have a fat, greasy man in a baseball cap leaping tall buildings in a single bound. But he's really leaping. And he's really making singular bounds. Color my analogy tied in knots. Sigh.

I feel a little safer as a resident of Bush America knowing that this film is in theaters, and that I'm seeing commercials for it with annoying regularity on TV. I feel a little safer after walking out of that film with the throng of people who filled the theater this afternoon, knowing that people are actually going to see this film - though I was concerned that I didn't see a single African American face in the crowd. This film has a lot to say about race in America, and even though it rips into the cocoon of white priviledge, it's not enough for only white folks to absorb what Moore is saying.

Maybe my analogy wasn't so knotted after all, now that I think about it - maybe Moore's flashy superhero costume exists in the form of his films, in the form of his amazing blend of wit, compassion, anger and clarity of voice, in the form of his passion. I dunno. I'll leave a donut and a bottle of beer on the doorstep if it means the Pets-Or-Meat-Plane will make an extra round over my home tonight, and be happy to leave the analysis at that.

Someone "gets" what's happening right now, and has the resources to communicate it to America. That's all that matters. Thank goodness.