HaskellGirl
04-09-2004, 05:41 PM
Entertainment News
'Frontline' weighing in on America's war with fat
04/08/04
Mark Dawidziak
Plain Dealer Television Critic
"Frontline" correspondent Steve Talbot went to his doctor, knowing that he could afford to drop a few pounds. He wasn't ready for the sobering news that would weigh heavily on him after hopping off the scales.
At 5-foot-11 and 210 pounds, Talbot was told he was not only overweight, he was only a few pounds away from obesity. At age 55, he was putting himself at risk for heart disease, a stroke, diabetes, high cholesterol, osteoarthritis and certain kinds of cancer.
All right, he must lose weight. But how? When Talbot looked at the dizzying number of diet plans being touted, he was left dazed and confused.
And he has poured this bewilderment into "Diet Wars," a "Frontline" report that will air at 9 tonight on WEAO Channel 49 and 10 tonight on WVIZ Channel 25. It's a personal odyssey for Talbot, of course, but it ultimately reflects the weight and diet problems facing millions of Americans.
The PBS documentary opens with Talbot attending a Weight Watchers meeting that features Sarah Ferguson, the slimmed-down Duchess of York. What he discovered on the way to this meeting was that an American looking for a weight-loss program faces no shortage of options.
But what puts the fat in the fire for Talbot is that the basic principles behind many of these diets are contradictory. Should he go with the low-fat Pritikin or the no-carbs Pritikin? Should he adopt the Ornish, Weight Watchers or South Beach plan? Should he listen to Fergie or Dr. Phil?
Talbot is left with what he calls a "culinary conundrum . . . What am I supposed to eat?"
Talbot is not alone. "I had heard the statistic that two-thirds of Americans are overweight," he says. "I just never realized I was one of them."
There's more at stake here than just eating steak. What Talbot discovers is a $40 billion diet business fueled by the nation's obsession with losing weight. Although a low-fat revolution rolled through the culture in the 1990s, America got fatter than ever. By 2001, one out of three Americans was considered obese.
"I don't know what happened," Talbot says. "Growing up in the 1950s, no one seemed to care that much about weight. In real life, as much as in the world of 'Leave It to Beaver,' no one seemed to worry about eating too much.'
As he tells us this, we see a "Leave It to Beaver" clip with Beaver talking to his best friend, Gilbert. It has a wonderful resonance because, as a child actor in the 1950s and early '60s, Talbot played Gilbert to Jerry Mathers' Beaver.
As adults, Talbot has been told he is overweight and Mathers has developed diabetes.
"That got my attention, and it should scare America, too," Talbot says. "Because if Beaver and Gilbert are at risk, the prognosis looks far, far worse for today's kids, who watch hours of TV a day."
There's TV and video games and computers and a culture that relentlessly markets fattening fast food to them.
Making matters worse is the increasingly nasty nature of the diet wars. Promoters of weight-loss programs aren't content with pushing their plans; they must attack the others competing for acceptance and, yes, dollars.
"The diet wars had become so contentious," Talbot says, "that, in 2001, the USDA put all the diet gurus in one room to thrash out an agreement about what we should be eating. Agriculture Secretary Dan Glickman tried in vain to keep the peace."
There is no mocking quality to Talbot's investigation. He's making an earnest effort to explore carbs and fats and protein and caloric intake. He's carefully weighing the pros and cons of each diet plan.
Told that 85 percent to 90 percent of people on weight-loss plans regain the pounds, Talbot wonders if all diets "are really just gimmicks" that "work at first by limiting variety."
That will be hard to swallow for many Americans, but Talbot concludes that the only plan that makes sense is what his wife had been telling him for years: eat less, eat more sensibly and start exercising.
That doesn't fly in the diet wars, though, because, as Talbot has discovered, "nobody ever got rich marketing self-control."
If you're having trouble digesting that, then chew on this: "Diet Wars" warns that obesity, "unchecked by diet fads and food pyramids," soon could pass smoking as the leading cause of preventable death. It will be not just the public health issue of our generation, it will be the epidemic that overwhelms the health-care system.
'Frontline' weighing in on America's war with fat
04/08/04
Mark Dawidziak
Plain Dealer Television Critic
"Frontline" correspondent Steve Talbot went to his doctor, knowing that he could afford to drop a few pounds. He wasn't ready for the sobering news that would weigh heavily on him after hopping off the scales.
At 5-foot-11 and 210 pounds, Talbot was told he was not only overweight, he was only a few pounds away from obesity. At age 55, he was putting himself at risk for heart disease, a stroke, diabetes, high cholesterol, osteoarthritis and certain kinds of cancer.
All right, he must lose weight. But how? When Talbot looked at the dizzying number of diet plans being touted, he was left dazed and confused.
And he has poured this bewilderment into "Diet Wars," a "Frontline" report that will air at 9 tonight on WEAO Channel 49 and 10 tonight on WVIZ Channel 25. It's a personal odyssey for Talbot, of course, but it ultimately reflects the weight and diet problems facing millions of Americans.
The PBS documentary opens with Talbot attending a Weight Watchers meeting that features Sarah Ferguson, the slimmed-down Duchess of York. What he discovered on the way to this meeting was that an American looking for a weight-loss program faces no shortage of options.
But what puts the fat in the fire for Talbot is that the basic principles behind many of these diets are contradictory. Should he go with the low-fat Pritikin or the no-carbs Pritikin? Should he adopt the Ornish, Weight Watchers or South Beach plan? Should he listen to Fergie or Dr. Phil?
Talbot is left with what he calls a "culinary conundrum . . . What am I supposed to eat?"
Talbot is not alone. "I had heard the statistic that two-thirds of Americans are overweight," he says. "I just never realized I was one of them."
There's more at stake here than just eating steak. What Talbot discovers is a $40 billion diet business fueled by the nation's obsession with losing weight. Although a low-fat revolution rolled through the culture in the 1990s, America got fatter than ever. By 2001, one out of three Americans was considered obese.
"I don't know what happened," Talbot says. "Growing up in the 1950s, no one seemed to care that much about weight. In real life, as much as in the world of 'Leave It to Beaver,' no one seemed to worry about eating too much.'
As he tells us this, we see a "Leave It to Beaver" clip with Beaver talking to his best friend, Gilbert. It has a wonderful resonance because, as a child actor in the 1950s and early '60s, Talbot played Gilbert to Jerry Mathers' Beaver.
As adults, Talbot has been told he is overweight and Mathers has developed diabetes.
"That got my attention, and it should scare America, too," Talbot says. "Because if Beaver and Gilbert are at risk, the prognosis looks far, far worse for today's kids, who watch hours of TV a day."
There's TV and video games and computers and a culture that relentlessly markets fattening fast food to them.
Making matters worse is the increasingly nasty nature of the diet wars. Promoters of weight-loss programs aren't content with pushing their plans; they must attack the others competing for acceptance and, yes, dollars.
"The diet wars had become so contentious," Talbot says, "that, in 2001, the USDA put all the diet gurus in one room to thrash out an agreement about what we should be eating. Agriculture Secretary Dan Glickman tried in vain to keep the peace."
There is no mocking quality to Talbot's investigation. He's making an earnest effort to explore carbs and fats and protein and caloric intake. He's carefully weighing the pros and cons of each diet plan.
Told that 85 percent to 90 percent of people on weight-loss plans regain the pounds, Talbot wonders if all diets "are really just gimmicks" that "work at first by limiting variety."
That will be hard to swallow for many Americans, but Talbot concludes that the only plan that makes sense is what his wife had been telling him for years: eat less, eat more sensibly and start exercising.
That doesn't fly in the diet wars, though, because, as Talbot has discovered, "nobody ever got rich marketing self-control."
If you're having trouble digesting that, then chew on this: "Diet Wars" warns that obesity, "unchecked by diet fads and food pyramids," soon could pass smoking as the leading cause of preventable death. It will be not just the public health issue of our generation, it will be the epidemic that overwhelms the health-care system.