Taped Crusaders
Clooney triumphs with stylish Murrow tribute, 'Good Night, And Good Luck'

Three cheers for George Clooney, who's got the chutzpah to invest his considerable Hollywood clout in making a movie like Good Night, And Good Luck. Clooney's tribute to legendary broadcaster Edward R. Murrow dares to remind us of those heady bygone days long ago in a galaxy far away when newspeople of conscience used the media to stand up to repressive political agendas. It's also a sophisticated piece of filmmaking—fast-pased, wickedly entertaining, bristling with energy, and entirely focused on its cogent point about moral courage as a weapon against fear.

The son of a veteran television news anchorman, Clooney knows about TV, news, and politics in the early 1950s. Directing from a script co-written with producer Grant Heslov, Clooney also takes the pivotal role of CBS executive Fred Friendly, Murrow's longtime producer. Not only did Clooney have the sense to hire fine veteran character actor David Strathairn to play Murrow, in the starring role of his career, he also had the taste to shoot the movie in black-and-white. A brilliant choice, since most of us remember the '50s in black-and-white, anyway.

Rather than attempt a standard Hollywood biopic about Murrow's life and career, Clooney sticks to a decisive moment in Murrow's public life when he risked everything for his principles: his televised showdown with Senator Joseph McCarthy in 1954. Most of the reporters who work with Murrow and Friendly at CBS treat the ravings of McCarthy and his House Un-American Activities Commission's anti-Communist hearings as a kind of sick joke—until everyone at the network is asked to sign a loyalty oath.

At this time, Murrow hosts two prime-time shows, the fluffy "Person To Person," in which he interviews celebrities like Liberace, and the serious weekly news program "See It Now." Gleaning newspapers for material, his team finds an obscure story about an Air Force pilot discharged as a "security risk" on the basis of no hard evidence whatsoever, only hearsay and innuendo. Murrow puts the story on the air, and while he only advocates "openness," "debate," and due process, as opposed to the prevailing climate of secrecy and fear, he's accused of "taking sides."

Soon enough, military brass are leaning on producer Friendly, McCarthy is investigating Murrow, and CBS president William Paley (a deliciously austere Frank Langella) contemplates the ruin of his empire. In March, 1954, Murrow and Friendly devote an episode of "See It Now" to McCarthy's fear-mongering tactics, using the senator's own words and images from the televised HUAC hearings, alongside Murrow's commentary—a broadcast taped for posterity that would become a landmark in concientious journalism. (In the film, moments before Murrow goes live on the air, Paley calls to offer him tickets to the Knicks game. "I'm a little busy bringing down the network tonight, Bill," Murrow drawls back.)

This replication of Murrow's fabled broadcast will give you chills, not only in the timeliness of Murrow's words ("We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home"), but in Strathairn's magnetic performance. He embodies Murrow's wry gravitas on the air, while recreating Murrow's distinctive, measured speech pattern to perfection. Clooney and company let McCartthy play himself in the film, in footage from the HUAC hearings as well as in his taped rebuttal (aired two weeks after Murrow's broadcast) in which, unable to deny or defend his own tactics, he spews vitriol against Murrow and his "pack of jackals," accusing the newsman of membership in "a terrorist organization"—the I.W.W.

But conscience has its price. Thanks largely to Murrow, McCarthy himself becomes the subject of a Senate investigation. But the consequences of principle are dire for CBS newsman Don Hollenbeck (Ray Wise) when a right-wing newspaper columnist targets him with relentless accusations after his endorsement of Murrow.

Clooney tells his powerful story with wit, economy, and pizazz. The reporters' bantering camaraderie moves things along, in the studio, or at the neighborhood saloon, where they wait like Broadway producers for the early reviews of Murrow's broadcast. (Robert Downey Jr. and Patricia Clarkson are entertaining as team reporters attempting to keep their marriage secret.) Clooney captures the frenzy of live broadcasting, and the cool '50s look of curling cigarette smoke, shiny chrome ashtrays, and scotch on the rocks. He also knows when to shut up, conveying a moment of tragedy in the stricken faces of the team and a haunting rendition of "How High The Moon" by a jazz vocalist (Dianne Reeves) in a nearby recording studio who serves as Greek chorus.

And, Clooney brings the whole package in at a fleet 90 minutes. This breakneck pace causes some omissions (the senators objecting to McCarthy's tactics at the HUAC hearings are never identified). Otherwise, this lean, witty, incisive film is a triumph.

GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK With David Strathairn, George Clooney, Patricia Clarkson, and Robert Downey Jr. Written by George Clooney and Grant Heslov. Directed by George Clooney. A Warner Independent release. Rated PG. 90 minutes. (****)
Review published in Good Times, Oct. 20, 2005