Gone To Murrow

Sometimes, it's the little touched that distinguish a good film from an ordinary one. If Good Night, and Good Luck were filmed in the sixties, I suspect it would follow a more traditional narrative, trying to detail what Edward R. Murrow did to bring down Joseph McCarthy. George Clooney directs and stars in this film that details this period in Murrow's life, which happened not so long ago.

Perhaps Hollywood, more than anyplace else, understood the significance of what McCarthy was doing. He wanted to root out communists. People were made to sign loyalty forms. People were told to accuse others of being disloyal, including accusing one's parents. Elia Kazan, who directed On the Waterfront, and ushered in a new kind of acting, with the budding arrival of Marlon Brando, was one of those finger-pointers, and many in Hollywood never forgave him for that. It's hard to believe that this event only happened some fifty years ago.

We can point to the innocent mindset of those living in the fifties, a world that hadn't embraced civil rights, that treated foreigners like second class citizens, that spread fear through propaganda on communism. We imagine such a thing can not happen today. This film is perhaps a commentary on life today. With the war on terrorism, those of Middle Eastern descent are being harassed, often without evidence. This gets little notice since the number of people who look "like terrorists" are a small percentage of society, where McCarthy saw anyone and everyone as being capable of falling towards communist influence.

It was Murrow, with his clout as a reporter from World War 2, who brought "This Is London" radio broadcasts back to Americans, and became a beacon of journalistic integrity in the early years of television, that would use McCarthy's own words, and his own eloquent use of the language, to bring "the junior senator from Wisconsin" down. Although it could seem like a complete gimmick, using real footage of McCarthy to present McCarthy seems to flow naturally throughout the film, even though it creates a distancing effect.

Upon viewing it, McCarthy doesn't really come across as terribly deranged. It sounds as if Murrow's commentary, and the American trust in what Murrow had to say, and even the thought of ratting out your parents, were enough to wake Americans up to a greater evil than communism, namely, a government that distrusts its citizens.

Clooney had several issues to tackle. What was Murrow really like? Perhaps the closest person to Murrow's stature would be someone like Walter Cronkite. Yet, there's a sense of being grandfatherly that makes Cronkite endearing. Clooney tends to opt for Murrow as iconic, reserved, and thoughtful. He is, effectively, who appears to be. A figure meant for television. There is no Murrow letting down his guard, nor losing control, nor reflecting on the person he is.

Instead, Clooney opts to catch him at his quiet moments. The seconds before the telecast. The incessant smoking that looks so utterly cool. The use of black and white creates a look that is crisper than reality, a kind of Life magazine view, with things in sharp Amsel Adamsian contrast. Strathairn becomes Murrow, and only his slight reactions with his eyebrows suggest what is really going on.

There's one scene that highlights this. Murrow is reduced to doing fluff journalism. He is interviewing Liberace, and talking about marriage, and finding the right person. Given our knowledge of Liberace's sexual orientation, we see the interview in two ways. First, that Liberace evades even the mention of finding the right woman, but wants the right person, and compares it to a female celebrity looking for the right man. Second, Murrow doing his job of being entertaining, yet suffering inside, for a show that has no meaning for him. And it is completely understated. A slight reaction of the face, not even disdain, but not exactly enjoyment. It is to sense his professionalism in doing a job that is to evolve to entertainment over journalism.

There's very little music in Good Night, and Good Luck except for several jazz pieces that are sung, which you eventually realize is part of the CBS telecasts. And the film shares this kind of improvisational feel. It is the quiet moments, sitting around a table, with smoke around that you sense about the film. The silence creating tension.

In the end, you don't learn much about investigative journalism. You don't see how the witchhunts affect anyone outside of CBS, except in footage. The CBS environment is a microcosm, isolated, and yet part of the world. You get impressions, and feelings, and the sense of the fifties, not its details, its facts. Despite the lack of much music, this film feels like listening to music. In the end, it's not exactly the story that matters, but the sense of an era.