I can hear some of you saying to yourselves, “Wait, Fahrenheit 9/11? ... how is that Spiritual Cinema?”

Well, neither, in my opinion, was The Passion of the Christ, but both films have become cultural phenomena that must be addressed. There is another aspect of Fahrenheit 9/11 that I will discuss at the end of this alert that is, I believe, directly applicable to Spiritual Cinema; moreover, like The Passion, 9/11 has an audience appeal that took the old-paradigm film business by surprise—and by storm:

Prior to 9/11’s opening, the overall box office record for a documentary for an entire run was Michael Moore’s previous film Bowling for Columbine, which grossed a total of $21 million even after winning an Academy Award.

9/11 grossed almost $22 million in its first weekend and is the also the first documentary to ever be the top-grossing film on a single weekend.

First things first:

If you are an advocate of the Iraq War and a strong supporter of President Bush, I would suggest that you might not even think of buying a ticket to 9/11—you’ll probably walk out of the film part way through it, mumbling to yourself (as Bill O’Reilly did).

If you are a moderate (are there any of that species left in this country?), with no strong leanings either way, you might find the film to be a real eye-opener.

If you are a strong opponent of the Iraq War and strongly disapprove of President Bush, you’ll probably enjoy the film immensely and walk out thinking of how you can somehow get Moore declared a national treasure.

Under any circumstances, Moore is an extremely gifted filmmaker and 9/11 is no exception. His narrative and editing talent and his sense of humor always make his films unique and 9/11 is no exception. What is so different here is the sheer, unadulterated populist anger and passion with which Moore tells his story, and that is the real “news” in the success of 9/11.

In his growth as a filmmaker, Moore has single-handedly created a new form of documentary—that of the unapologetically nonobjective advocate. Previous generations of documentarians retained at least a veneer of detached observation and also led, in many cases, to a similar response from audiences. Remember the groans in your high school classes when a teacher announced that you would be watching a “documentary” together? That whole genre of film was enveloped by an aura of intellectual nonparticipation that Moore’s films have now shattered asunder.

Roger and Me took on Roger Smith, the former head of General Motors, and Columbine took on Charlton Heston, the IRA, and gun manufacturers, but neither of those films were infused with the pure passionate advocacy of 9/11. Here, Moore’s “take no prisoners” approach to President Bush and the Iraq War results in the single most scathing indictment of an individual and his policies that I personally have ever witnessed—and it is that aspect of the film that makes it so dear to those who agree with it, so repellent to those who disagree with it, and so groundbreaking in the evolution of documentary filmmaking.

In the spirit of transparency, I must admit here that I am no fan of either President Bush or our invasion of Iraq, so I fit in the category of filmgoer who qualifies as “the choir” to whom Moore was “preaching.” Even so, I must admit that I occasionally felt that Moore’s anger and zeal pushed him beyond the edges of wise and good judgment into some scenes that were so bizarrely “mean” (such as a weird “Bonanza” sendoff) that they dissipated some of the overall impact of the film.

Overall, however, the film is a penetrating and scathing look at the Iraq War, the Bush Presidency, and the President’s relationship with the Saudis and big oil. It is also a very personal portrait of the effects of losing a son or daughter in the war and its “R” rating is almost completely attached to some extremely gruesome and sobering footage of the actual human carnage of war that none of the news stations (except perhaps outlets such as Al-Jazeera) ever show. During the Vietnam War, the ABC television network was a national laughing stock for its abysmal ratings so a joke developed that the surest way to end the war was to put it on ABC and have it be canceled in thirteen weeks. It is hard for me to believe that support for the war in Iraq would continue in any way if these kinds of unsanitized images were shown in American homes. Moore indeed makes the point in the film that even photographs of coffins coming home from Iraq have been prohibited by the current administration.

As for its connection to Spiritual Cinema, I feel that 9/11 has indeed tapped into a major aspect of our genre; that is, our need to feel deeply. In so doing, we break the cycle of a society being so anesthetized that we have lost our ability to directly connect with our deepest emotions; moreover, part of the whole focus of Spiritual Cinema is to return to shamanic storytelling—without major stars or effects. Whatever one might think of his advocacy, Moore is a brilliant storyteller who, with 9/11, has tapped into a deep emotion in an audience sector that is thirsty for its feelings to be expressed.