A review by Jeffrey Overstreet
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Directed by George Clooney.
Written by Mr. Clooney and Grant Heslov.
Director of photography, Robert Elswit.
Edited by Stephen Mirrione.
Production designer, Jim Bissell.
Produced by Mr. Heslov.
Released by Warner Independent Pictures.
90 minutes. Rated PG.
STARRING: David Strathairn (Edward R. Murrow), George Clooney (Fred Friendly), Patricia Clarkson (Shirley Wershba), Robert Downey Jr. (Joe Wershba), Frank Langella (William Paley), Grant Heslov (Don Hewitt), Ray Wise (Don Hollenbeck) and Dianne Reeves (Jazz Singer).
In Good Night, and Good Luck, George Clooney dispels of any doubts viewers might have about his abilities as a director. He is a capable, even artful, director. His impressive debut, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, was no fluke.
Good Night is a slickly produced, tightly wound, precisely focused thriller set in a newsroom, where the cameras follow journalists around intently… just as they have done in TV’s E.R. since the show first started with Clooney in the lead. It’s a gripping 90 minutes that almost resembles a horror movie. As the newsmen plot their next movies in exposing corruption, you’re drawn to the edge of your seat, expecting a corporate or government boogeyman to jump out from a shadowy corner and tears somebody’s throat out.
As the U.S. government tries to prevent them from reporting the truth, and as CBS tries to keep its corporate investors, these journalists sweat it out with such feverish commitment that they almost fog up the lens of the camera. It’s the most exciting film about whistle-blowing and truth-telling since Michael Mann’s The Insider, the most passionate diatribe about truth on television since Robert Redford’s Quiz Show, and one of the few beautifully accomplished black and white American films of the last decade.
As we look over the shoulders of famous figures in the CBS newsroom circa 1953, we see the legendary news anchor Edward R. Murrow, played with riveting precision by the under-used but extraordinary David Strathairn. Strathairn’s slow-burn intensity commands our attention whenever he’s onscreen. By “slow-burn intensity,” I mean that it looks like he has just swallowed several of those smoldering cigarettes he endlessly smokes, and is now trying to digest them. As he delivers his devastating news reports, he fixes a penetrating stare as if trying to paralyze his audience with his eyes. His body is tense, ready to dodge should someone in the audience finds a way to fire back at him through the camera.
We watch as Murrow goes through weeks of relentless pressure, trying to inform the American public about the abuses of power set in motion by Senator Joe McCarthy in his ruthless, punishing search for Russian spies and communists during the height of the Cold War. Murrow must succeed without calling down the wrath of CBS corporate, without losing his show and its place of privilege, without ruining the lives of those who risk their careers to support him. He must constantly be tightening the screws, taking inventory, and checking his battleship to ensure that there are no weak points vulnerable to counterattack. He mustn’t broadcast any unchecked facts. He mustn’t lie or editorialize inappropriately. In short, he must serve up the truth, and let the truth do its work.
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Truth is very popular. We like it. And when we’re lied to, we get angry. If lies come from people in authority, well, it’s time to expose those lies and perhaps even take action to replace that authority. I could list some of the obvious examples from literature or history, but why bother when today’s newspaper is packed with current examples?
Just as every generation witnesses societal betrayal, so every generation has its journalists and artists, from the prophets of scripture to Oliver Stone to Morgan Spurlock (Super Size Me), who serve as champions of the truth. These artists craft works that reflect alarming realities to awaken and mobilize those being fooled and harmed. What these truth-tellers do is important, even essential, not only because it rescues us from blindness and spurs us to action, but it also memorializes those sins and their consequences to teach lessons for future generations.
And while we’re agreeing that truth is a good thing, let’s agree on something else: hate is a bad thing. Hate can be cultivated by many things – prejudice, fear, weakness, self-loathing, pride. But it often emerges, like the Hulk from David Banner or Mr. Hyde from Doctor Jekyll, in reaction to a perceived offense. Hate is an emotion that infects us, inflates our pride, blinds us to our own flaws, and distorts our perception more powerfully than alcohol. It causes us to confuse the perceived sin and the perceived sinner, so that instead of trying to correct the wrong, we try to destroy the wrongdoer. Hate is an evil wherever you find it. It makes bad things worse. Agreed? A “pro-lifer” who lets his respect for the unborn morph into hatred of abortionists becomes a monster. His hate leads to crimes that contradict his own conviction about the sanctity of life.
* * *
What does this have to do with Good Night, and Good Luck? The problem is this: Many who love truth become susceptible to hate when they uncover lies. They then rail against the liar with exaggerated and unfocused rage. And the glorify the truthful too much, turning complicated and flawed human beings into superhuman saints, thus inflating themselves by association. They attack the guilty in ways that make them similarly guilty.
When I saw a special public screening of Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 in Seattle before it opened, the house was packed with people eager to see what lies Moore would expose with his probing camera. But this was a troubling, even frightening crowd. It was obvious that it didn’t really matter what Moore proved about the Bush administration; the fact that he was anti-Bush immediately endeared him to the crowd to the extent that they bonded not only out of frustration and righteous anger, but also out of hate. Yes, even before the screen lit up, I overheard ranting against the President and his “cronies.” These passionate devotees of “justice,” “freedom,” “truth,” and “America” filled their talk about our President with obscenity and all manner of brutality. When the film began, everything Moore said was cheered (so loudly, that we often couldn’t hear what he said). When Condoleeza Rice’s face appeared onscreen, there were choruses of boos and some even chanted blatant racist epithets. It was a horrifying display of how easily anger – righteous anger, justified anger – morphs into hate, something that is just as corrupt or even more so than the actions being criticized.
I wonder… did any of those people feel at all ashamed when many of Moore’s claims were later debunked, and we learned that his own information had been manipulated and exaggerated? Did anyone care about Moore’s lies? Probably not. Because hate had taken over. It wasn’t really dishonesty they were upset about. They had let anger override their sense of justice, and all they cared about now was seeing their enemy ridiculed in an orgy of slander. The animal within them had scented blood, and the beastliness had taken over.
Good Night, and Good Luck could have been a powerful movie about how Murrow, like many journalists before him, bravely stood up and exposed many of McCarthy’s inappropriate tactics. McCarthy, driven by hatred of Communism, soon let his hatred extend to Communists until he was committing gross injustice. There should be movies about his misdeeds.
But the story should not be told in ways that cover up the complexity of the situation. Those who fought for the truth should not be represented in airbrushed portrayals. And if the artist wants this to represent current realities, he must also admit how complicated those realities can be.
Clooney’s movie, which he wrote with his fellow actor and producer Grant Heslov, stirred me up. It inspired me. It sent me out flushed with passion about truth-telling and the importance of protecting the rights to free speech and investigative journalism.
Relatively uneducated about the specifics of this chapter of American history, I started reading reviews of the film that, like good journalism, compared Clooney’s claims to the facts. These were reviews by liberal critics who would have jumped at the opportunity to praise a movie decrying conservative politics. And I learned that Clooney, in his zeal to portray the politicians as liars and Murrow as a saint, misrepresented what really happened in several cases. You can read about it too, in The Washington Post and Slate, for starters.
It’s a shame. Strathairn does Oscar-worthy work as the skipper of this efficient ship. As first mate Fred Friendly, Clooney offers strong support. Frank Langella gives one of his finest performances as William Paley as the boss man on the shore. As the trusty crew Robert Downey, Jr., the radiant Patricia Clarkson, Ray Wise, and several others deliver admirable, restrained supporting turns. Diane Reeves gives the whole affair touches of true class with soulful jazz singing… a device that might have been inspired by Altman’s Short Cuts. Clooney weaves in true-to-life footage from the era too, letting McCarthy play McCarthy, as if to say, “See? I’m not making this up.”
But the problem is, in some places, he is making it up.
And this tarnishes his integrity. His passion is admirable. And he’s right, in principle. But if you’re going to put liars in your sights, you’d better not lie yourself, or else you lose the moral high ground, and anyone who targets you is justified in pulling the trigger. It wouldn’t be fair to say Clooney’s been as manipulative and unfair as Michael Moore, but he has gone too far. Thus, Good Night, and Good Luck is worthwhile viewing for its technical artistry, but as a representation of history, it will sink for the way that the acid of hate has eaten holes in its hull.
Expect crowds currently disillusioned with the government to cheer it as if it’s gospel truth.