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"I think I'm gonna have to go supersize!"

So this guy, right, he decides to do an experiment wherein he will eat three full meals at McDonald's seven days a week for a month. He has to try everything on the menu at least once, if asked to Super Size he must do so, and if they don't sell it at McDonald's, he can't eat it. So he gains a lot of weight, his cholesterol and body fat skyrocket, his girlfriend starts complaining that He's Not the Man He Used to Be, and his doctors beg him to stop before he seriously hurts himself.

No-brainer, right? I mean, this is a guy who eats at McDonald's three times a day for a week. Most reasonable people would be surprised if he didn't become afflicted with most of the above; Big Macs aren't known for their body-sustaining nutritious content and reasonable amounts of cholesterol. So yes, the premise of the enormously popular festival hit Super Size Me is pretty much a crock, an ostentatious gimmick that sounds far more outrageous than it actually is.

And yet the movie, purporting to be an exploration of America's obesity epidemic by way of McDonald's-bashing, works despite itself, both as sensationalist, occasionally nauseating entertainment, and as an emphatic condemnation of the golden arches. It works because Morgan Spurlock, the filmmaker, star and guinea pig, is such an engaging personality, and because his mellow, good-natured style is such a pleasant surprise. Others have said that the movie is nothing more than an opportunity for Spurlock to mug at the camera for 90 minutes and essentially beg for a career, but that's a puzzling contention: to me, his intentions, at least, seemed unimpeachable.

The manifestly intelligent Spurlock goes about his 30-day quest with an endearing sense of humor and an almost moving determination. It is obvious that he finds all of this every bit as amusing as we do -- watch the wry smile that spreads over his face the first time a Mickey-D's employee asks him to Super Size. This, of course, is only a few minutes before he winds up vomiting out his car window.

This sort of personal approach to a hot-button issue is genius, when you think about it, and something Michael Moore should consider if he ever decides to stop presenting himself as the spokesman for liberal America. After all, what is it that makes Morgan Spurlock qualified to pontificate on obesity and nutrition? Nothing, of course, and yet his little experiment makes him unexpectedly credible, going not just to fast food joints but also into grade schools to examine the (admittedly nasty-looking) lunches that the kids are served. The film ends with the image of a gravestone for McDonald's, and the guy seems nothing if not entitled to call for the corporation's death.

Part of the reason I hold Spurlock in such high esteem is that while his central hook is undeniably a plea for attention, he refrains from such antics in other crucial aspects of the film. Specifically, the topicality of his subject matter created ample opportunity for him to try to fashion himself another Michael Moore by angrily confronting people and doing his best to make them uncomfortable. Instead, Spurlock has conversations, asking his questions respectfully and sometimes downright gently. Not the best attitude for a documentarian, you might say, and yet Spurlock gets an impressive amount of juicy material, including some awkward testimony from a grocer lobbyist, who at one point admits that the people he is representing are "part of the problem" (though he is quick to assert that they're part of the solution, too).

If nothing else, Super Size Me is guaranteed to make you think twice about taking a stroll to your local burger joint. And that, in itself, is something.