Big Mac Counterattack: Super Size Me and the case against fast food

The United States is about to undergo a paradigm shift in the way it eats, and the success of Morgan Spurlock's super-entertaining, super-disgusting documentary Super Size Me will have something to do with it. With any luck, Spurlock's odyssey will do for patrons of McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, etc., what scientists did for the sociopathic Alex (Malcolm McDowell) in A Clockwork Orange (1971) when they pried his eyes wide open, administered a drug to induce nausea, and forced him to ogle hours and hours of violence. It will put you off your fast food—or, at least, slow you down. Just the thought of a Quarter Pounder With Cheese and a large fries makes me gag these days. And not too long ago, I was addicted to the stuff.

Yes, I'm one of those annoying reformed junkies—but hear me out. While you probably think of movie critics as lean, suave, and athletic bon vivants, I was anything but. After late screenings in Times Square, I was hitting the McDonald's outlets pretty hard. There I'd be, at 11 p.m., chowing down under the harsh fluorescents with all the other pale and blobby souls, feeling more and more disgusted with myself after every bite. On those nights, I learned the true meaning of "reflux." And from a comfortable 160 pounds (I'm 5-feet-9), I shot up to a shamefaced (and triple-chinned) 220. I don't blame McDonald's—I blame my indulgent self. But as all my hungry fat cells yodeled, "Feed me! Feed me!" those fast-food outlets beckoned. What they offered was the most efficient delivery system for fat, salt, sugar, and carbs known to man. And I deserved a break today.

For Super Size Me, Spurlock came up with a magnificent stunt—but one that seemed to leap from the collective unconscious of our fast-food nation. He would spend a month eating nothing but McDonald's food, three meals a day, and if they asked if he wanted it supersized, he'd say, "Yes, I would!" But only if they asked. In the movie's first gross-out set piece, Spurlock goes to the drive-through window, orders a Double Quarter Pounder With Cheese meal, supersizes it, and settles in for an orgy.

This is the American dream, isn't it? To sit in your oversized car (where you don't have to make eye contact with anyone) and eat an oversized meal of crap. Sure, there are nutrients in there somewhere, but not in proportion to calories, sugar, and sodium. And after you've inhaled that stuff (it goes down fast—there's nothing really to masticate), it makes you feel bad. Spurlock mentions McBloat and McGas, among other symptoms. A few minutes later, he pukes out the window, with the cameraman helpfully leaning over to show the vomit on the pavement.

Spurlock consumed way too many calories—5,000 a day—even for his fit, 6-foot-2-inch frame. But no one, least of all the doctors who agreed to monitor him, expected the scale of what happened next: a gain of 25 pounds and a cholesterol leap of 65 points. His liver filled up with fat. He was depressed, exhausted, and, according to his vegan-chef girlfriend, semi-impotent. On camera, his doctors regard him the way they would a man on the verge of a massive coronary. They tell him to get to a hospital at the first sign of chest pains—and it's handy because, as Spurlock shows us, there are hospitals that have a McDonald's right in them.

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