f you didn't know where the new film "Celsius 41.11" was coming from you certainly get the picture when the filmmakers cut from an image juxtaposing Michael Moore with Hitler straight to an image of John Kerry and John Edwards. If the juxtaposition weren't so shameless, if the political climate were not so scurrilous, if the country were not actively at war and men, women and children were not dying in that war, this composite triumvirate of Moore-Hitler-Kerry might be easy to laugh off. As it is, it's a depressing indicator of our political discourse and what passes as nonfiction film these days.

Directed by Kevin Knoblock, who has mainly knocked around cable television, and written and produced by Lionel Chetwynd and Ted Steinberg, "Celsius 41.11" was made, according to a press release issued by Citizens United, the group that produced the film, "to refute the propaganda in Michael Moore's `Fahrenheit 9/11.' " On a basic level, this new feature is simply another addition to the mini-industry of detractors that has sprung up around Mr. Moore and taken on a more feverish pitch since his most recent screen success. This curious mini-industry includes the book "Michael Moore Is a Big Fat Stupid White Man," written by the Moore detractors David T. Hardy and Jason Clarke, who both appear in yet another anti-Moore film, "Fahrenhype 9/11."

Unlike "Fahrenhype 9/11," which makes a dedicated effort to disprove some of the major claims in http://movies2.nytimes.com/gst/movies/movie.html?v_id=305974&inline=nyt_ttl - "Fahrenheit 9/11" (the Bush family's alleged ties to Saudi Arabia's ruling elites, for instance), the filmmakers behind "Celsius 41.11" spend surprisingly little time actually going after Mr. Moore. What Mr. Knoblock, Mr. Chetwynd and Mr. Steinberg want to do with their movie is make you afraid — very, very afraid. And so, in between talking heads expounding on American policy and international politics and extolling the vision and virtues of President Bush (commentators include the Weekly Standard executive editor Fred Barnes, the American Enterprise Institute scholar Michael A. Ledeen and, rather less to the film's credit, the critic Michael Medved), the film presents a vision of the world verging on the apocalyptic.

Less savvy propagandists than Mr. Moore, the "Celsius 41.11" filmmakers apply their thesis with a trowel. The film opens with the image of the second World Trade Center tower being hit by a plane, and returns to the attack, with the towers in flames and then tumbling, again and again. The filmmakers make their political line of reasoning clear when they soon follow this Sept. 11 imagery with snippets of antiwar demonstrations. One nitwit protester defends dictatorship (she is for it if it means health care for everyone), a slice of loony nonsense that is followed by images of dead children. As with most of the news material folded into "Celsius 41.11," it is impossible to know who these children are or who killed them. Other images, including that of a woman in a burka being executed, remain similarly unidentified.

This sort of sloppy cut-and-paste strategy is not exclusive to "Celsius 41.11." Mr. Moore's arguments in "Fahrenheit 9/11," for one, would be more persuasive if he were more exacting and forthcoming about the found material he uses. But Mr. Moore's presumed faults as a filmmaker and as an openly left muckraker have no bearing on "Celsius 41.11" or its worth as a film.

A didactic screed that has all the verve of a PowerPoint presentation and all the subtlety of a Homeland Security red alert, "Celsius 41.11" is finally interesting only because it represents another unconvincing effort on the part of conservatives to mount a viable critique of Mr. Moore. It also suggests that the right's gifts for spinning ideology into compelling narrative, so evident during the Reagan administration, have gone missing.

"Celsius 41.11" also proves that watching is not necessarily enough when it comes to nonfiction film, a rule that is true for every film of every political stripe, even to those without an ostensible agenda. The truth of that dictum is most egregiously evident in "Celsius 41.11" with Mansoor Ijaz, one of its most alarmist talking heads, who is initially introduced simply as a "terrorism expert."

During the film's scant one hour and 12 minutes, Mr. Ijaz's opinions were strong enough to provoke my curiosity. This is, after all, a terrorism expert who freely delivers blunt opinions like the Arab world "only understands strength" and expounds on the "absolute nonsense" of the Clinton administration.

So who is Mr. Ijaz? Well, among other things, he is a nuclear physicist and chairman of Crescent Investment Management. In a 1997 interview with Mr. Ijaz published in The Washington Post, Crescent was described as having a $2.7 billion investment portfolio, much of it on behalf of Middle East governments. Mr. Ijaz said that he was particularly interested in new oil field development. Sudan, with moderate reserves estimated at 3.5 billion barrels, is expected to become a petroleum exporter soon, and Mr. Ijaz said he hoped to manage some of Khartoum's foreign investment of oil profits.

The "Celsius 41.11" filmmakers do not reveal the degree to which Mr. Ijaz is invested in the Middle East or just how intimately familiar he was with the nonsense of the Clinton White House. In a 1997 article in The New York Times about the recently ended campaign-finance hearings (led by another of the film's talking heads, a thoughtful Fred Thompson), Jill Abramson wrote, "Sometimes a donor gets, in return for his efforts, a slap in the face. Mansoor Ijaz, a New York businessman, raised more than $500,000 for the Democratic cause and met with senior officials in the White House, the State Department and Congress to push for normalizing ties with Sudan, where Mr. Ijaz has business interests. Last week, the State Department announced stiffer sanctions against Sudan for sponsoring international terrorism."

The filmmakers state that the title "Celsius 41.11" represents "the temperature at which the brain begins to die." It's unclear if they intend for the title to represent what happens when you watch Mr. Moore's film or their own, or whether it's simply some sort of elegant and pointed self-diagnosis.