Over a modest plate of vegan pasta, a surgeon friend from Michigan mentioned how fat is thwarting American medicine. Obesity is not only lengthening surgeries (there's more to saw through), it's also forcing hospitals to purchase larger gurneys, beds and toilets, as well as demanding new winch technology, to aid in conveying the obese onto new king-size operating tables. The winches are vital, as too many nurses and orderlies have suffered back injuries and sprains in attempting to physically shift, prop up or trundle the diabetic behemoths in their care.

"We've developed our own measurement," she said. "It's called a Michigan Unit." A Michigan Unit is 200 pounds. As Michigan is one of the fattest states in America, it's unsurprising that many of my friend's patients are more than one Michigan Unit.

In short, America is fat and getting fatter. And although there are many factors at play in this phenomenon (sedentary occupations, lack of exercise, etc.), it is really what America consumes that has made it into the land of muu-muus and sweat suits that can accommodate entire sack-race teams. The United States is a fast-food nation.

Director Morgan Spurlock wondered what would happen if he confined himself for a month to a strict diet of fast food. An otherwise sane man, Spurlock decided to focus solely on the cuisine slopped out at the local McDonald's. Before embarking on his experiment, he visited three different doctors who ran a battery of tests to discover that Spurlock was in peak health: great blood pressure, perfect cholesterol levels and proper weight/height ratio. Each of the doctors assured him that he would no doubt find some weight gain and a spike in his cholesterol as he continued through his month-long binge. But no one, not even his vegan girlfriend, was prepared for the resulting body modifications Spurlock underwent that were as dramatic as sporting labrets.

Within a week, Spurlock had gained 10 pounds, and was already experiencing the various maladies that keep Bristol-Meyers factories humming: nausea, heartburn, indigestion and sleeplessness. The next week brought more weight, along with chest pains and fatigue. By now his doctors, who had happily signed off on his mad test, were panicking. One of them ordered him to stop before he caused irreparable damage to his heart and liver. But Spurlock had a point to make, and it's one that his country (and this one) needs to heed.

This grueling month of McDonald's dining is the bedrock for Super Size Me, a Black Like Me–style exposé on becoming fat and unhealthy in the land of plenty. The state of Spurlock's body becomes the state of the union, as the director travels the breadth of the country to discover just how insidious fast food is.

Public schools are now enthralled to fast food chains, which have replaced the classic school cafeteria. In one chilling side note (that also emphasizes how low American education standards are), elementary students can't identify pictures of George Washington, but know immediately who Ronald McDonald is.

Punctuating Spurlock's film are paintings by the anti-corporate food artist Ron English (there's a good film on English by director Pedro Carvajal to seek out). Spurlock gave English an interesting assignment. "Why," Spurlock wondered," do you never see Ronald McDonald eating his own food?" English conjured up some acerbic portraits of the Pounder pusher, making Ronald into some twisted lovechild between the Pillsbury Doughboy and John Wayne Gacy.

Spurlock's self-experiment is far from scientific. Anyone who radically alters their diet will experience immediate physical changes. But Spurlock's film is a needful demand for a radical change toward something healthier than the deep-fat-fried offal that America battens upon.