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Clooney’s
Good Night… Is Great, But Will It Sell Cigarettes? Edward R. Murrow was not a one-man crusade against Senator Joe McCarthy’s anti-Communist bullying. George Clooney’s Good Night, and Good Luck devotes a good amount of screen time to the small but loyal team that worked behind the scenes of Murrow’s famous broadcasts, not the least of whom was producer Fred Friendly, played by Clooney himself. This is the former ER darling’s second film in the director’s chair, following the entertaining Chuck Barris biography Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. Here, Clooney keeps things simple, going for more economic storytelling but weightier subject matter. David Strathairn is quite effective as Murrow—chain-smoking, intelligent, Shakespeare-quoting, banging away on a manual typewriter late at night, thumbing his nose at so-called “objective journalism.” Still, despite his well-intentioned editorializing, Murrow gives equal time to Senator McCarthy, playing himself via vault footage. Strathairn has been doing good work for years, but this is his long-overdue Oscar bid, made even more impressive by the fact that a good bit of his reacting is to stock footage of Liberace. Good Night, and Good Luck begins in 1958 with Murrow being honored by his peers and giving his famous speech warning that television is nothing more than a box full of wires and lights if the powers that be choose not to enlighten or provoke viewers. Murrow was indeed a man of great foresight and would no doubt be disappointed by the current crop of “newsmen” dominating the cesspool we now refer to as “infotainment.” The movie flashes back to 1953 when Murrow’s See It Now program investigates a rather suspicious case of an Air Force officer being drummed out of the service simply because of a few family members’ alleged Red leanings. Murrow and his investigators interview the man, but the persecutors refuse to comment or reveal the contents of the mysterious “sealed envelope,” and two Air Force colonels subtly threaten Friendly. Nevertheless, the show airs to little or no outrage. But when Murrow goes after McCarthy—in a show consisting mainly of clips of the senator himself—the sponsors get more than a little nervous. Frank Langella strikes the right chord as CBS boss William Paley, a man willing to stick by Murrow despite the inevitable backlash. Robert Downey, Jr. and Patricia Clarkson are secretly married network employees—at first an unwelcome subplot, but really a sly allusion to the contrived sitcom plots that would come to dominate the boob tube after Murrow hung up his mike. Jeff Daniels again demonstrates his adaptability to any era. As a fellow broadcaster and unabashed Murrow admirer, Ray Wise embodies fear and tragedy. The screenplay by Clooney and Grant Heslov provides little back-story, but the natural chemistry between Friendly and Murrow is so convincingly portrayed we do not require any. Robert Elswit’s black and white photography is marvelous, while the musical score consists of some well-placed jazz numbers performed by singer Dianne Reeves and a small combo. Clooney also works in some fascinating old television clips, notably a commercial for Kent cigarettes and a self-congratulatory promo spot for Alcoa, Murrow’s See It Now sponsor. Clooney is perhaps the best archivist working in cinema today, having previously unearthed the most infamous Newlywed Game clip of all time in his Chuck Barris film. But I fear that even if the film gets the recognition it genuinely deserves at awards time, Good Night, and Good Luck will have a difficult time reaching a large audience. The last time someone tried to make a film about the darker side of the 1950s, it tanked—that was Robert Redford’s Oscar-nominated Quiz Show. Cinephiles raised on “event” movies may suspect that Good Night could just as easily gone straight to HBO, where a number of excellent films with limited commercial prospects have thrived. There is certainly little action on the screen in any conventional sense, but the idea of a group of journalists sticking it to the fat cats is at least certain to guarantee the picture its rightful spot on many critics’ 10-best lists. This film is foremost a tribute to those men and women who stood up to government bullies and sought the truth no matter what the consequences. In the age of the Patriot Act, the movie could easily function as a wake up call. If Good Night, and Good Luck manages to light a fire under at least one lazy journalist’s patoot, the filmmakers’ efforts will have more than paid off. Bottom Line: See it now. |
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PRIME:
Bridget Loves Bernie It’s Not A 37-year-old woman, freshly divorced, falls for a 23-year-old man. Her shrink approves, until she learns the awful truth that the young man is her own son. Farce? Yes. Is it enough to sustain a whole movie? Probably not, but that’s not what director Ben Younger does with Prime. What starts out as a premise that might sustain one sitcom episode proves to be only a jumping-off point for a more serious romantic story. Prime may have been written with its three major actors in mind. I don’t think that the premise would have stood up with lesser performers than Meryl Streep, Uma Thurman, and Bryan Greenberg. Streep, as psychotherapist Lisa, has multiple Oscars in her pouch. Thurman, as the love struck Rafi, has accumulated some formidable comic and dramatic chops. Greenberg, as lover David, comes off as a normal, likable guy, heavy on decency and light on irony. Director Younger also wrote the screenplay for his film, giving him complete power over when to stop working the joke. His timing is good. We see some choice scenes of Lisa, squirming delicately at Rafi’s joyous, lustful recaps of sack time with her baby. There’s also a bit of the door-slamming, duck-and-cover high jinks usually associated with British and French sex farces. One scene in particular stands out, with Streep, in session, conveying oceans of angst with simple, uncontrollable eye fluttering. Thurman and Greenberg also show a charming aptitude for physical and verbal comedy. Soon, however, the secret is out, and things start running along a more realistic track. Now, instead of a smirking, double-entendre sex comedy, we engage with the two real roadblocks to the relationship: the age thing and the faith thing. David is Jewish, Rafi is not. Interestingly, that question is not simply tossed aside as unimportant. Lisa is forced to confront her own convictions about “marrying one’s own kind.” David seems to think it’s no big deal, until he begins recalling his Old World grandmother’s reaction (shown in flashbacks) to his having had a black girlfriend, and his other challenges to family tradition. Nothing earthshaking here, but at least the subject of religious and cultural clash is treated as complicated, even messy. Just like in the real real world. The age question is approached from the biological clock angle. Rafi has no children by her former husband. She knows that motherhood must be undertaken soon. David, encouraged by Rafi, has begun to consider making a living as an artist. At 23, David’s life is all options. At 37, Rafi’s options are fewer and more urgent. I’ll stop here, lest I spoil things, but I can tell you this. I saw Prime in a nearly full theater. The audience was mostly women, including my companion. As the credits rolled, we could overhear the audience’s interpretations of the final scene. They varied, almost to a person. My friend and I came to near-opposite conclusions ourselves. See what you think. Bottom line: Silly premise, skillfully transcended. |
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