when i was in sixth grade, animal farm was a required book. i loved it, i actually stole a copy of it from my school, so i could read it whenever i wanted. it was a gorgeous book, and i knew it meant something important, even if it made me sad. i think they tried to tell us what it was really about, but i'm sure it didn't sink in. i didn't realize how real it was, or how closely it mirrored real events. i savoured the book, for the words, for the ideas, for the sadness it gave me, without really understanding it, when i was 12.
when i was 17, i picked up the book again. having learned more about history, and being less self-absorbed than myself as a pre-teen, it affected me much more than it had before. it was real, in a way it hadn't been before; it still made me sad, but it was a sharp pain, knowing that it was a real story, compared to the ache of before. it was horrible, enlightening, but horrible. i loved it and i hated it all at once.
i guess i'm telling you this story because this is the way i feel about farenheit 9/11. in the back of my mind, i had suspicions about what was going on, and ideas about evil empires and stuff.. and cover ups, and debauchery. but seeing the movie was like reading animal farm for the second time. everything was clear, and pointed out to me. it was like all the fog surrounding the ideas i had - the fog that was there because in the back of my mind, i could just pretend to have imagined it all - all that was lifted. i almost couldn't finish the movie, it made me sick.