"This weapon of television could be useful," once said the real Edward R. Murrow, broadcast journalist for CBS during the McCarthy era. "Stonewall Jackson, who knew something about the use of weapons, is reported to have said, 'When war comes, you must draw the sword and throw away the scabbard.' The trouble with television is that it is rusting in the scabbard during a battle for survival."
In Good Night, and Good Luck, George Clooney's dramatization of Murrow's crusade against Senator Joseph McCarthy and the exploitation of fear during the Red Scare, such a sword is daringly drawn, along with a fair amount of political blood. Elegantly shot under the confines of a black and white palette and anchored by a pure-to-the-bone performance from David Straitharn, Clooney's directorial debut rings true as both a capsule of time as well as ethics, chronicling the infancy of broadcast media and its potential for fomenting change.
Good Night, and Good Luck's primary asset is its strong sense of orbital structure. Taking place almost entirely within a darkened television studio, the hustle and bustle of the production crew recalls the single mindedness of a cellular being. Assistants scuttle around, soundmen swing booms, and techies play hot potato with split reels, all for a precious 30-minute spot of airtime. For all their preparation, however, being ready for the show and actually shooting it are entirely different creatures. When the cameras start to roll, all the hard work is placed in the capable hands of one man, Edward Murrow, who seems born to wring every last drop of eloquence from the nightly report.
Not only does Murrow serve as the core of a network solar system, he also becomes a channel for the fears and concerns of his team members, who are, in fact, reasonable, everyday citizens. As Murrow tests the waters with increasingly pointed jabs at McCarthy, he is giving a voice to his politically conscious friends and coworkers, who, like the audience, sit silently, hanging on every one of Murrow's courageous words. It is fitting that the screening room is consistently filled with cigarette smoke, since a fire is being kindled somewhere off screen, perhaps within the minds of these simple men who are inclined to question the state of justice in their time, yet doubt their capability to do so. Murrow's solemn television personality, dripping with combustible conviction, offers just the spark that they and other dissenters across the country need to light the way.
Not enough can be said about Straitharn's disciplined portrayal of Murrow. Playing the reporter as both a soft-spoken intellectual and an outspoken political investigator, Straitharn single-handedly constructs the dramatic tide of the film with equal part gravitas and gravity. Half contemplative and half executive, Straitharn's Murrow is at least all muckraker?and a consistent smoker. When he sits quietly, deeply inhaling to help contemplate his nightly piece, the audience knows what marvelously brave journalism awaits them. When the countdown to live broadcasting begins, Murrow lets the smoke trickle through his nostrils, and he's a bull at the gates.
Clooney makes expert use of the actual archival footage of McCarthy during his investigatory hearings and a televised rebuttal to one of Murrow's shows. With a headlong dive into an almost documentary style, it's certainly possible to feel a bit left out by the film's lack of historical context. Yet it's a price to pay for a gloriously contained story, one that holds the purity of its personalities above political implications. Indeed, perhaps the greatest indictment of McCarthy here is not witnessing his hysterical tirades, but hearing him cling to false modesty. Repeatedly during his rebuttal, McCarthy insists that he and Murrow, as individuals and media caricatures, are of no real consequence within the broader scheme of the struggles they represent. Good Night, and Good Luck and Murrow himself reply that indeed, strong personalities are the keystones of a healthy and constructive media, and that those that dare rush the shores of scrutiny are those that, when the sound bottoms out and the cameras pan, hold our breath and our hearts.