Michael Moore, the provocateur of political documentaries, is known for his grand entrances and even grander pronouncements. At the New York Film Festival premiere of Where to Invade Next, he lived up to this reputation, holding court in his signature “Everyday Midwesterner” attire. His anecdote about a symbolic empty theater seat in his European van, meant to represent the “real” audience, drew applause from the New York elite, a reaction the reviewer found somewhat perplexing, hinting at a potentially misguided liberal echo chamber. This lengthy introduction, as it turned out, was a fitting prelude to the film itself: a sprawling, uneven, and ultimately simplistic take on America’s problems as seen through a European lens in Where to Invade Next.
The premise of Where to Invade Next is initially intriguing, laced with a self-aware irony. Moore posits that after decades of costly and unsuccessful military interventions – Korea, Vietnam, and the endless cycle of Iraq and Afghanistan are listed – the U.S. government has decided on a novel strategy. In a scene of mock-seriousness, Moore claims he was summoned to the Pentagon and tasked by the Joint Chiefs of Staff to lead future “invasions,” not with soldiers, but with a camera and a disarming, albeit persistent, interviewing style. This satirical setup, promising a departure from military aggression towards idea-based “invasions,” is quickly undermined by the film’s execution. The opening sequence, juxtaposing Moore’s voiceover proclaiming “No more invasions, no more using drones as wedding crashers” with black-and-white footage of explosions, feels jarring and sets a tone of unsubtle irony that permeates the entire documentary Where to Invade Next. A subsequent montage of disturbing images – a child frisked by the TSA, police brutality, the Eric Garner chokehold, foreclosures on soldiers’ homes, and Ferguson protests – further suggests a serious examination of American societal ills, but this promise remains largely unfulfilled.
Instead of delving into the complexities of these issues, Where to Invade Next takes a sharp turn into caricature. Moore adopts the persona of a bumbling “ugly American” and jets off to Italy, a country where, in his simplistic view, “everyone looks like they just had sex.” This sets the stage for a series of segments that prioritize superficial charm over substantive analysis. His investigation into Italy’s generous vacation policies leads him to luxury factories like Lardini and Ducati, where he interviews owners, employees, and a carefree, childless couple. The connection between Italian work-life balance and the serious issues raised in the film’s opening – police brutality and systemic racism – is tenuous at best, nonexistent at worst. The film’s transitions are abrupt and arbitrary, mirroring the sensation of channel-surfing rather than cohesive documentary filmmaking. In a moment of forced humor, Moore “invades” the Ducati factory by planting an American flag, a gesture intended as a symbolic theft of good ideas, but which comes across as tone-deaf and simplistic, especially given the historical context of factory closures in places like Flint, Michigan, Moore’s hometown.
The segment on Italy epitomizes the film’s broader flaws. Where to Invade Next presents a rose-tinted view of European societies, selectively highlighting positive aspects while conveniently ignoring complexities and contradictions. Italy’s significant unemployment, political turmoil, historical fascism, and pervasive corruption are completely absent from Moore’s idyllic portrayal. He offers a folksy, almost apologetic voiceover, admitting that “Italy has its problems, like all countries. But I’m here to pick the flowers, not the weeds.” This approach, while presented as lighthearted, ultimately undermines any serious attempt at cross-cultural comparison or social commentary in Where to Invade Next.
Like comedians Jon Stewart and Bill Maher, Moore often uses humor to deflect criticism and make his message more palatable. However, much of the humor in Where to Invade Next falls flat, relying on dated jokes that feel recycled from early 2000s email chains. A particularly cringeworthy example is Moore’s interaction with the president of the University of Slovenia, where he makes a Bush-era joke about the missing letter “w” in the Slovenian alphabet. Beyond the weak humor, the film often veers into ethically questionable territory in its attempts at satire. During the segment on Norway’s humane prison system, Moore juxtaposes a welcoming karaoke video featuring the warden and guards singing “We Are the World” with a grim montage of extreme police brutality in the U.S., inflicted disproportionately on Black prisoners. This juxtaposition, intended as darkly comedic, ultimately dehumanizes the victims of police violence, turning their suffering into a punchline in Where to Invade Next.
Similarly problematic is the segment on German education. Moore falsely claims that German students are taught about the Holocaust every day, then links this to a suggestion that the U.S. needs to atone for its historical sins, illustrated with images of lynching victims. While the idea of historical reckoning is valid, the misrepresentation of the German education system and the graphic imagery of lynching feel exploitative and ethically dubious. Even when Moore touches upon genuinely important and reasonable ideas, such as learning from other countries’ approaches to social issues, his methods – misrepresentation, sloppy ethics, and a superficial understanding of complex issues – ultimately weaken his message in Where to Invade Next.
Is Where to Invade Next a disservice to the liberal ideals it purports to champion? Regrettably, the answer is yes. Throughout his European tour – encompassing France for school lunches and sex education, Finland for education policy, Portugal for drug decriminalization, Iceland for gender equality, and Tunisia for reproductive rights – Moore consistently sacrifices accuracy and depth for comedic effect and simplistic comparisons. He misrepresents facts, glosses over crucial context, and often fails to properly identify locations and individuals. Even a seemingly minor detail, such as misrepresenting the timeline of gay marriage legalization in the U.S., reveals a pattern of carelessness with factual accuracy in Where to Invade Next.
The film concludes with Moore standing near the remnants of the Berlin Wall, pondering its fall and drawing a facile connection to the possibility of adopting European social policies in America. He ends with a saccharine, almost Dorothy-esque moment, referencing The Wizard of Oz as Judy Garland clicks her heels, wishing to return to Kansas. This ending perfectly encapsulates the film’s fundamental flaw: it offers an uplifting message of hope without any practical roadmap or genuine engagement with the complexities of the issues it raises. Where to Invade Next, despite its satirical premise and good intentions, ultimately feels like a superficial and ultimately unhelpful contribution to the conversation about America’s place in the world and its internal challenges. A check from Bill Gates might be a more effective solution than this cinematic travelogue.
