Unless you've been in a coma or blissfully gabbing about a desert island for the past four years, Fahrenheit 9/11 is going to offer few revelations or surprises. Having said that, it's still a extremely powerful film. At this point, no one really needs Michael Moore to tell them that George W. Bush is a total buffoon; but it's one thing to read about it in his book Dude, Where's My Country (which this film is pretty much an adaptation of) and another to actually see it onscreen: the footage assorted here is alternately obvious, ironic, sad, and chilling. Moore is most effective in the film's second half when he delves into the war in Iraq; he uses the ridiculousness of this war (and, more importantly, its tragic, personal consequences) as his strongest argument against Bush. Moore's glib-verging-on-condescending humor hasn't entirely dissipated, but a more somber tone dominates, and it's effective. The best thing I can say about what is essentially a piece of high-gloss propaganda is that, like Bowling For Columbine, I can't stop thinking about it hours after I've seen it.

Since everybody and their mother is going to be talking about this film, that's all I'm saying about it for now.