Michael Moore, On

I wonder how I could have ever claimed to be a fan of this guy. I liked “Roger and Me,” even if I recognized the absence of a single cogent alternative in his trashing of capitalism, and I thought TV Nation was geniunely funny. When he wrote in “Stupid White Men” that we should “lighten up” Kim Jong-Il by sending him a copy of “Dude, Where’s My Car,” I could only shake my head at such callousness toward the suffering of others, far beyond the reach of his clever lens.

Today, Mike has gone so far off the deep end of America-hate (and he took the ex-funny Al Franken with him) that congenital mendacity is no obstacle when he needs to satiate that other unconquerable compulsion of his. I’m not feeding Mr. Moore by seeing his film, but the brilliant Christopher Hitchens beams his MRI through its rotten, lie-ridden body for all the world to see.

Oh, and this champion of free speech has hired a team of attack lawyers to threaten anyone who criticizes his film.