Be Vew-w-w-w-y Quiet
Let's start at the end. Micheal Moore, despite glad-handing every breathing producer in Hollywood and tens of thousands of dollars on ads in Variety at expensively catered, private meet-and-greats all over L.A. garnered exactly zero Oscar nominations for Fahrenheit 911. Was it the new duds, fresh hairstyle and oh-so-Charlie Sheen eyeglasses that put off the gliterattzi? Partially. We'll get back to Michael's Hollywood Makeover in a minute, but first an analogy.
Shooting at and hitting a life-sized silhouette target of a man 100 feet down a shooting gallery is a piece of Betty Crocker Double-Fudge cake compared to stalking and bagging a skittering, jumpy squirrel off a limb in an oak tree outdoors. Orders of magnitude more difficult. For years, since the 40s perhaps, the media have been shooting at that silhouette of a target audience. Got so that they could hit it in the dark, eyes closed with their feet up on the gun rail. Sure, they had to adjust the sites now and then, the target drifted a bit, but it was still pretty much the same stationary paper hanging in a windless room. By 2004 all that had changed. The audience had moved out of range.
The harder they pursued the prey, crashing clumsily through the woods in heavy boots, the more feverishly the audience scattered into the underbrush. No matter how alluring the bait set out to draw the prey all into the clearing, the hunted merely sniffed then bolted. Obviously the hunted picked up on their scent. So they have to get smarter. They have to walk on tip-toe, buy better camouflage, and wash their hands more thoroughly before setting out their lures. The first thing is to wash their hands of the most obvious odors: Michael Moore.
And before his Hollywood makeover, didn't Michael Moore strongly resemble Elmer Fudd?