being thrown off its farm, the ancient father lamenting the leveled spark plug plant he used to work in, and several examples of people making loose attempts to organize against the injustice.
One is led to feel bad for the victims and to be angry at the system that’s victimizing them, but that anger is never channeled toward an achievable target. Trying to put the concept of “capitalism” on trial is like trying to indict Santa Claus; he has an effect on the real world, but no known address. Capitalism is everywhere and nowhere, and therefore unavailable for comment.
In the end, Moore is reduced to wrapping “crime scene” tape around the AIG building, a stunt that accomplishes exactly nothing, not even a sense of admiration or solidarity from the audience. It simply serves to underscore the hopelessness of the situation Moore has outlined for us. If a lame stunt is the best Moore, with a good-sized budget and his fame working for him, can come up with, what are the rest of us going to do? “Mike Robertson