FUCK

Directed by Steve Anderson

As thousands of troops face mortal danger in Iraq, debate on the prevalent usage of “fuck” in American society seems like a discussion for another day. So if the smog lifts sometime soon, Steve Anderson’s like-named documentary will be there waiting. Reveling in vulgarity with charming, child-like glee, Fuck is a libertarian’s wet dream. But unlike the endless rounds of tiring obscenities that defined the vaguely discernible narrative in The Aristocrats, Anderson uses a familiar storytelling structure, mixing interviews with archival footage and trendy graphics to create a coherent essay. The man obviously cares deeply about his curse words. 

In a set-up suggesting the raunchiest VH1 special you’ll never get to see, a slew of familiar faces spill their love for the strongest four-letter word in popular memory: Everybody from Kevin Smith to Ice-T weigh in, sporting the same goofy grins they surely cultivated in grade school. Anderson gradually tones down the playful linguistic anarchy and gives voice to a familiar dispute, pitting your friendly neighborhood moralists (Michael Medved and Alan Keyes lead the herd) against passionate advocates of the contested word’s ongoing lifespan (Sam Donaldson and the late Hunter S. Thompson are its elder advocates). 

Fortunately, there are no pure contrarians—even Janeane Garofalo withstands the temptation to launch into a typical activist diatribe. Of course, Fuck does get political, but it relies primarily on title cards and news footage to do so. Things really pick up with discussion of the dreaded FCC, the cursing’s arch-nemesis. There are moments when the conversation grows too broad and unwieldy, dragging in non-fuck-related issues like the on-air exposure of Janet Jackson’s breast, but Anderson brings the message home, equating sexuality with the core cussword (“I made a living off it,” says porn star Ron Jeremy). 

There are plenty of familiar scenarios that the documentary treats as fertile ground for satire, particularly Dick Cheney’s infamous “Go fuck yourself” advice to Patrick J. Leahy in the Senate chamber— and a pedestrian’s similar remark during the vice president’s visit to New Orleans. Cheney never apologized for the insult, which unintentionally makes him an adherent to the movie’s cause.

Nothing about Fuck is particularly groundbreaking, but think of it as the history lesson most educators lack the cojones to propose; Anderson tracks the word from its ancient origins through its vital usage in the 20th century, as it was revitalized among raunchy troops, championed at Woodstock, deconstructed by Lenny Bruce and placed on a pedestal in the comic routines of George Carlin. These days, the word is still largely considered inappropriate, but the movie’s existence shows how tolerance increases with time (Drew Carey suggests a follow-up called Cunt). Everything is tied together with Bill Plympton’s lively animation, which literalizes the idea that arguing over a single non-partisan word is a cartoon distraction. When you get down to it, there’s more escapism in Fuck than Borat.