Unhappy meal.

There is a point when you want to reach through the screen and demand that Morgan Spurlock, star/director of Super Size Me, stop shoveling the McSlop into his face. His goal is to eat at McDonald's for every single meal for a month. OK, maybe slop is unkind. There are very few people who can't be tempted by a bushel of flies and a bucket of chocolate shake. However, as Spurlock gains weight, becomes short-tempered, and begins to lumber his way through life in an elephantine way during his month of living dangerously, you start to worry that he has shortened his life. Then, if you've eaten a fair share of Big Mac value meals yourself, you worry how you've cheapened your own mortality for the unwholesome combo of two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese; pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.

Screw the diet books, fat-burning pills, and ab-reducing gadgetry. If you want to really lose weight and become healthy, spend time watching Super Size Me.

Spurlock, who makes commercials and music videos, has created a documentary that is as brutal as any reality show you could watch, but with the kind of progressive thinking that makes it worthwhile. He's not as didactic as Michael Moore. However, in his own less spastic way, he's an equally compelling, engaging, and humorous storyteller. Yet, Super Size Me is less stridently journalistic, weaving a first-person narrative with reporting and interviews. It is instead in the vein of, say, a P.O.V. feature on the nutritionally suspect, ad-crazy, toy-shilling, child-capturing, parental-guilt-trap-fostering fast food industry.

The premise of Spurlock's documentary is simple: He will eat everything on the menu at least once. (Check out the filet of fish scene in a hotel!) He will, whenever asked to do so by the counter help, super size his meal. His average daily caloric intake hovers around 5,000. And he goes through this while living with a vegan chef.

Prior to plunging into his new diet, Spurlock meets with three doctors, a nutritionist, and an exercise trainer. He's the model of healthy living: body mass index, triglycerides, liver function--all good.

By day twenty-one of sucking down some of the most fat- and sugar-laden foods on the planet, Spurlock is experiencing severe chest pains, is far less energetic, and showing signs of depression. His general practitioner is so alarmed that he begs Spurlock to quit. He chews ahead. In the end, the once-poster boy of health is now twenty-five pounds heavier, and his liver has taken a hammering.

What makes the movie so agreeable is that Spurlock is not afraid to poke fun at himself. Some of the more interesting interactions take place between him and his increasingly worried girlfriend. Also, Spurlock moves the camera from himself and does some investigating into foul school lunch programs, the end of physical education, and the long-term effects of fast food. He quizzes consumers on their own knowledge of the food, and he even gets a group of people in front of the White House to easily recite a jingle from a long-dead Big Mac ad though they are unable to deliver the Pledge of Allegiance.

By the final scenes, I was spent. But (and this is more of a soft tap than a slap) I was not persuaded to believe that we're powerless. Yep, McDonald's, Burger King, and others spend billions on ads convincing us of their family friendly atmosphere. But you mean to tell me that mom and dad can't say no? Mine did. Even amid a bombardment of health-related messaging, Americans can't see that the special sauce may not be so good or so special?

Still, the surprise shouldn't be that Spurlock's health deteriorated so much so fast, but that we don't recognize this same level of decline in ourselves.

Fred McKissack Jr. is the former Culture Editor of The Progressive. He lives in Madison, Wisconsin.