If I ever get around to compiling the 2000 Billy Awards, look for the above quote to receive "Worst Tagline". Belonging to the IMAX release Michael Jordan to the Max, it's fascinating copy all the same, at once the physical truth and false advertising, the latter in terms of both execution and the film's home video destiny. Do take my criticisms below with a grain of salt: I don't know a basketball from a cantaloupe, and I've never subscribed to the theory that Jordan is so iconic that he transcends sports, race, gender, even team devotion. His cushioned shoes, maybe.

Michael Jordan to the Max is one of the odder pieces of propaganda out there. Bloated with commercial affectations, it doesn't actually have anything to sell. Its only aim seems to be to keep Jordan in the public consciousness now that he's hung up his jersey--the Simple Minds song "Don't You (Forget About Me)" would've made an appropriate theme. It's too soon to fret that we won't remember Jordan's myriad accomplishments: kids half my twenty-six years talk about Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, fer cryin' out loud. Now, this criticism apparently contradicts the praise I've bestowed on many a documentary, including Terry Zwigoff's Crumb, whose subject is still very much alive and celebrated, but the fact of the matter is, Michael Jordan to the Max doesn't belong, by any stretch of the imagination, under "documentary"'s dictionary definition.

Laurence Fishburne's narration has been written at the checklist level of grade-schooler speeches. Jordan's career is recapped episodically, with each revelation underscored by another piece of inspirational pop (such as the Gatorade jingle "Be Like Mike"), and though not all of his missteps, such as his now infamous stints in minor league baseball, are left out, they are given a moral-of-the-story gloss that's often more butter-slippery than Bill Murray's popcorn (shown here in amusing close-up). Earth-shattering incidents receive cursory mention: the shocking murder of Jordan's father at the height of his son's game, for instance, is barely probed, and the weepy sentiment that sequence deserves gets diverted to Jordan's swan song with the Bulls.

Michael Jordan to the Max distances audiences from its subject, a fault compounded by the diminished screen size of any consumer video display. When shooting in IMAX, cinematographers tend to avoid close-ups--faces especially can be overwhelming at six stories tall. As such, the format is ideal for virtual trips through the Grand Canyon and little else; His Airness looks so far away, so intangible when watching this film at home, that, combined with the reverent approach, Jordan becomes downright mythological.

There is but once glimpse of human behaviour in Michael Jordan to the Max's 46 minutes, when Jordan curtly refuses to sign an outthrust basketball. As much as directors James D. Stern and Don Kempf are loath to admit it, this national hero sits on the same throne as the rest of us occasionally do: the toilet. He breathes, he eats, he sleeps, and he has a notorious gambling habit. In sum, my philosophy has always been that Superman only got interesting after kryptonite was introduced into his life; this movie screams out for a Lex Luthor of its own.

The 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen image on Fox's DVD release of Michael Jordan to the Max is stunning, aesthetic drawbacks pertaining to IMAX aside, while the 5.1 Dolby Digital audio does a great job of approximating the megawatt listening experience of an IMAX auditorium. There are more nuanced soundmixes out there, but few that pack this much wallop--even the menus are immersive and pose a danger to speakers, particularly the subwoofer, at high volumes. On a superficial level, this is one for the showroom.

Bountiful bonus material compensates for Michael Jordan to the Max's clipped running time. There is a 21-minute making-of featurette that delves into photographic processes that's ultimately more involving than the main event, a separate 2-minute exploration of the film's opening "bullet time" shot, educational commentary from Stern, Kempf, and Kempf's co-producer brother Steve, numerous MJttM trailers, biographies for Jordan himself (complete with stats) and the crew, and three reprinted positive reviews courtesy of The Washington Post, The Chicago Tribune, and The Chicago Sun-Times (not Ebert's). Oh, and the disc comes in an attractive red keepcase.-Bill Chambers