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![]() The fault, dear Murrow David Straitharn inhabits a journalism legend in George Clooney's "Good Night..."
"Good Night, and Good Luck." is a perfect, small thumbprint, a modest
venture that adroitly captures a flickering moment of courage by a
clutch of broadcast journalists against the backdrop of the most
fearsome abuses of 1950s governmental power, notably incorporating
extensive archival footage of Wisconsin Senator Joseph "I have here in
my hand a list of 205 people" McCarthy.
Director and co-writer, co-star, co-producer George Clooney grew up
the son of a television broadcaster whose hero was Edward R. Murrow, the
CBS broadcaster who gained gravitas from his 1940s radio broadcasts from
the London Blitz and took on the powerful in his 1950s series, "See It
Now." Clooney and co-writer Grant Heslov worked as much as possible
from the historical record, multiplying sourcing content so that their
black-and-white venture could not be called "revisionist." Bleating
bullies who work from contempt, lies and heedless fabrication, fifty
years on, remain a dime a dozen, such as the bullying entertainer Anne
Coulter, a stalwart defender of McCarthy, his tactics and many other
things authoritarian (along with advocating the murder of journalists).
This sleek, accomplished slice of reconstructed history, focusing on the
preparation for a handful of television shows, is canny about
co-workers' facades in the office, but also about what journalists and
artists ought to do.
David Straitharn is a marvelous actor, and his rich habitation of
Murrow through professional gestures alone--almost none of the film's
figures have even a flicker of a personal life indicated--is one of the
year's most richly imagined. (One of the others is Philip Seymour
Hoffman's Capote, in another journalism-oriented tragedy also opening
this week.) Talking to Straitharn recently, I noted some journalists
wanted the "politics" of "Good Night..." to be explicit, rather than
a story being told. "Somebody's already said it's `a liberal feel-good
movie.' But what's amazing is that Edward R. Murrow wrote two-fifths of
this film!" Straitharn says, laughing. As an example of when an artist
shouldn't have to explain, he jokes, "I just painted a painting about
`Guernica.'" The 56-year-old actor believes Clooney's intent was
primarily to capture a historical instant that fascinated him.
"Good Night..." is framed by a speech Murrow gave in 1958 to the
Radio and Television Director's Association. "What he was saying, it's
uncanny. `We cannot defend freedom abroad by denying it at home'; `We
will not walk in fear of one another'; `It will be a dark day in
American broadcasting when those who have the most money dictate the
discussion in the marketplace of ideas.' All of these things he was
[predicting] have sort of come to pass," Straitharn says.
There's one scowling close-up of McCarthy's aide, Roy Cohn, scowling
that freezes the blood. And any of the shots of McCarthy, wheezing,
wheedling are fearsome as well, but McCarthy has his defenders today.
"Yeah," Straitharn says, looking sad, "'He was a great American and
Edward R. Murrow was a traitor.'"
Straitharn's performance is not an impersonation. He's captured the
cadences, the righteousness without being theatrical or stentorian. It
wasn't bullying, it was, "I've seen something, but within boundaries, I
am offended, sir." "It's right for you to bring that up," he tells
me, "because that was the most important thing to effect, that
underneath this very professional objective and clear, corroborated
presentation of what was happening was what I think, and this is just
musing, started in London and after he went to Birkenau [concentration
camp]. When he came back to the States after the war, there was a sea
change in his soul. That drove him through the fifties and into the
McCarthy thing. You see all these pictures of him before, beautifully
styled and dressed, out there smiling in society. And then the pictures
of him when he came back... he was often called `The Prince of Doom'
around CBS studios, or `The Man Who Wears the Crown of Thorns.' It was
just that this guy was... angsted-out!"
There are a number of shots, at the end of scenes, where the camera
is low on Straitharn, a traditional "hero" perspective--we are small
and look up at the gods--but once the television camera is off, there's
a beat that's held consistently. I wonder how two actors, a director
who's an actor directing an actor, talks about what goes on in that
silent moment. He doesn't seem fearful but he doesn't seem stoic. It's
not a "Woe-is-me, oh I fucked this up," there's something in between.
"That's funny. I know what you mean," Straitharn says. "George
would leave the camera going. A lot. At the end of a lot of the scenes
knowing that he could find something. He probably learned that not only
from watching his own stuff over the years and other directors who he's
respected and admired. But I think he knows that actors don't stop if
allowed. `Cut!' is `cut' sometimes but the scene is never over in this
film." "Good Night, and Good Luck." opens Friday.
Also by Ray Pride Tip of the Week
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Sympathy for the possessed
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