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I'm not the CEO of GM, but nonetheless, Michael Moore wanted to see me. I met Moore early Wednesday evening--a couple of hours before the Portland première of his new documentary, The Big One--during a makeshift press conference at the Utopia coffee shop on Southeast Belmont Street. Moore met with reporters from The Alliance, The Rocket and local 'zine Cooking Rock. Judging from the curious glances he threw my way, I think I caught his attention by challenging his idea of building a Nike factory in his hometown of Flint, Mich. A few minutes later, before a limo whisked him over to the Bagdad Theater, Moore pulled me aside and said he wanted to hang out with me one on one. I was flattered, to say the least, by Moore's attentions. Better yet, my date was downright impressed. Little did I know that my attempt to "hang out" with Michael would end up much like Michael's attempts to hang out with Roger Smith, the subject of Moore's 1989 film Roger & Me. The première--sponsored by Portland Jobs With Justice, The Western States Center and KBOO--began with a raucous stand-up routine by Moore, who told the adoring crowd that the brewpub/theater was the perfect place to watch his movie. "This is great," he beamed, "showing the movie to 600 drunk people. My movies go down better with beer." The movie, in fact, went down marvelously. The crowd--which included a strong showing from local activists--cheered and giggled and hissed and nodded in damn-straight agreement as Moore's 90-minute close up of "economic terrorism" chronicled his agit-prop book tour through downsized America. Like a combo of Groucho and Karl, Moore's catchy Marxism left a trail of corporate lobbies in disarray as befuddled flacks tried to counter his downsizing awards, his scalpel-sharp wit and, most of all, his incriminating camera. To the delight of the Bagdad's sold-out crowd, Moore's lens ended up focusing on Portland--or, more precisely, on Phil Knight. The Nike CEO met with Moore in 1996 ("Nike Nation," WW, Oct. 30, 1996), and he winds up in Moore's film ineptly trying to defend Nike against charges of overseas exploitation with curious responses about Mao's Cultural Revolution and Indonesian landlords. When the lights came up, it was time for act two. Moore fielded a lengthy Q&A, which zoomed in on Nike. The audience wanted to know if Moore had met with any of the 250 Nike employees who were laid off less than a week earlier (he hadn't). They also wanted to know if Moore thought Knight was good or evil. ("He has a blind spot.") When Moore asked if there were any Nike employees present, a former Nike employee bravely stood up and identified herself, then told Moore that his New Balance shoes could have been manufactured in the very same factories Nike uses. Moore didn't bite back, instead pausing for a genuine moment of reflection. After signing autographs, Moore sneaked off backstage with Gus Van Sant, who had come to see the show. I lingered, notebook in hand, ready for that "one on one." Moore's handler from Miramax, Roger Paulson, noticed me and said he'd go tell Moore I was waiting. I was still waiting 15 minutes later, when Paulson's assistant noticed me hovering in the empty (and dark) theater. "I think he's with Gus," I was told. Moore emerged moments later, sleepy or drunk, heading out with Van Sant. "Hey, Michael," I said. "Got a few minutes?" (I wanted to ask him if he had any ideas for a new Nike slogan.) He didn't seem to remember me. "Hey, great movie," I said. Van Sant scowled. I handed Moore my card as his New Balance shoes squashed toward the exit. "Call me," I said. |
