Good Night, and Good Luck.

Good Night, and Good Luck. (George Clooney, 2005) There had been talk about an "Edward R. Murrow" movie for a very long time, and there'd been quite a few actors who fancied the role—Roy Scheider and Daniel J. Travanti being two that I know of—but nothing had ever been done beyond the script stage. That was the issue; where would you start? The man who had been such a cornerstone of journalism through its transitions from print to radio to television, and had a personal hand in how those mediums affected the form and presentation, had a multi-storied career. Like Lincoln, where would you start and where would you end? What was the section that you would concentrate on that would make the boldest, most informative statement about the man, his principles, and how he fought for them? His work as a radio broadcaster in London during World War II? His ballsy documentaries running in primetime on CBS during the 1950's? But, the seminal moment—his greatest moment and the one that started the end of his career—was when he took on Joe McCarthy.

Clooney (who also co-wrote with producing partner Grant Heslov) begins his film with another "Murrow Moment"—October 25, 1958, to be exact—when he took his broadcast journalist cronies in the RTNDA* to task for letting their values slip in a speech where he was to be given an "honorarium" three months after his last documentary for CBS News. Murrow started the speech with what would amount to him as a prep-joke: "This just might do nobody any good."

It didn't, other than to pass Murrow into Legend. It was seen by his former boss at CBS, William Paley (played by Frank Langella in the film) as a final stab in the back, after years of back-and-forth about the value of Murrow's "brand" of news at CBS. But, Murrow was never afraid to speak truth to power. He was never afraid to put out both sides of an issue. He was never afraid to share bad news. He might have hoped that his reputation would save him, and in a less corrupt industry that might have been true, but Murrow was too well-read, even if it was just the hand-writing on the wall.

At the time of the McCarthy broadcast, the prevailing attitude at CBS is fear, with a healthy dose of paranoia, as described by the film: reporters Joe Wershba (Robert Downey Jr.) and Shirley Lubowitz (Patricia Clarkson) are constantly looking over their shoulders—they haven't told anybody at CBS they're married as its against company policy; anchor Don Hollenbeck (Ray Wise) is facing crises both personal and professional—he's just been divorced and he's being smeared in the press as a "pinko"—not quite a "red", but just "red" enough; CBS News director Sig Mikelson (Jeff Daniels) is concerned about a piece Murrow (David Strathairn) and his producer Fred Friendly (Clooney) are doing about a U.S. Air Force officer recently discharged from the military for suspected members of the Communist Party in his family—at the officer's hearing, the charges were sealed, a clear violation of legal and constitutional rights. If the story is pursued, there is concern of a backlash from Senator Joe McCarthy, conducting a red witch-hunt, that could hurt CBS, and Alcoa, their sponsor with government contracts, might get hurt even more. And William Paley has to negotiate broadcast licenses with the government; controversy and criticism won't help at all.

Murrow's instinct is to follow the story, and one of his team recuses himself because his wife had been to Communist meetings before they'd even met, It only solidifies Murrow's commitment: "We're going to go with this story because the terror is right here in this room." When the Air Force story is aired, the officer is re-instated, but Wershba is button-holed in the halls of Congress and told by a source that his boss, Murrow, was once on the Communist payroll. Murrow and Friendly run another piece, hitting closer to home, over a McCarthy hearing of a Pentagon code room employee where the evidence is questionable at best. Murrow offers air-time to respond to the questions raised and McCarthy uses it to attack Murrow. Murrow offers a reply the next week, focusing on McCarthy's rebuttal, his tactics, and lack of clarification or defense of his actions, using McCarthy's own words against him, the result of which is a Senate investigation of the Senator himself. Although it all has the tacit approval of Paley, the result is that Murrow and Friendly's positions at CBS are undermined.

Clooney, in directing, makes a couple of critical choices: he shoots in black-and-white, so there is no disruption between the archive footage and the drama going on; he shoots in documentary style to lend the conversations a fast pace and a seeming verisimilitude; and he uses the real footage of McCarthy, so as not to betray any prejudices through casting or directing choices. McCarthy is shown, warts and all, with his failings intact to be judged. He also punctuates the film, approximately every 23 minutes with a jazz song (performed by Diane Reeves) to serve as a "greek chorus." The songs—ironically or suggestively titled—are "TV is the Thing This Year," "You're Driving Me Crazy," "I've Got My Eyes On You," "One for my Baby," "How High the Moon," and (most pithily) "Who's Minding the Store?"

The casting—apart from McCarthy, of course—couldn't be better: Downey, Daniels, Donovan, Clarkson, Langella...and Clooney...give particularly attention and devotion to the words in a screenplay where the words matter. And, in the plum role of Murrow, Strathairn gives a performance that, while not imitating the man, evokes him, the gravitas, and the emotional reserve where someone reacts with thought before feelings—because feelings can be seen on "I Love Lucy." More than anything, he evokes the image of Murrow as we want to remember him—the television knight with a typewriter, not a sword, and a shield of cigarette smoke, that makes him vulnerable, but no less chivalric or prepared to engage because of it.

 "It is my desire if not my duty to try to talk to you journeymen with some candor about what is happening in radio and television, and if what I say is responsible, I alone am responsible for the saying of it. Our history will be what we make of it. And if there are any historians about fifty or a hundred year from now, and there should be preserved the kinescopes of one week of all three networks, they will there find, recorded in black and white and in color, evidence of decadence, escapism, and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live. We are currently wealthy, fat, comfortable, and complacent. We have a built in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information; our mass media reflect this. But unless we get up off our fat surpluses, and recognize that television, in the main, is being used to distract, delude, amuse, and insulate us, then television and those who finance it, those who look at it, and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture, too late."

* The Radio-Television News Directors Association, although now it's The Radio-Television-Digital-News Association—RTDNA—and every year the give out the Edward R. Murrow Awards

Manchester By the Sea

Good Grief!
or
Tough Love, Massachusetts-Style

I giggled in the lobby of the theater after seeing Manchester by the Sea. A matronly patron groused "Well, THAT was the 'feel-good movie of the year!'" And the voice in my head said "It wasn't SUPPOSED to be, you ass!" Then, I laughed. I could have been doing dialog from the movie.

First off, I loved it, it's definitely a highlight of what has been a dispiriting and disappointing year of movies. Part of the reason is that Manchester by the Sea is determined to not do things the usual "movie" (Hollywood) way. For all the touting of "grit" and "realism" in films, there's always a disconnect. People do not talk like writers talk. If anything, the interpretation by the actors "saves" dialog that is too pointed or too "on the nose" to be really reflective of reality. Movie-goers like to have things spelled out—you show them what's going and reinforce it by telling them what they're seeing. That is the typical movie-making way. You fill the audience in, so no one gets left behind, even if you have to beat somebody over the head with a tacked-on "looped" line.

Manchester by the Sea doesn't do that. At times, it comes frustratingly close to going in that direction and then simply...doesn't do it, not meeting expectations or going the easy way. I like that. I felt like the movie was treating me as an adult and that's a rare sensation in movie-going these days. 

But, then my definition of an adult—as opposed to a child—is someone who knows grief.

Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck, absolutely brilliant, but not showy, which will frustrate some) is a live-in handyman for four properties in a suburb of Boston. His life is "getting by". He gets called to solve problems for the tenants in as efficient a way as possible in order to get the job done. He shovels snow on walk-ways before people can fall and break a hip, he'll do plumbing, electrical—all non-union, all skirting code—janitorial. He gets it done. He's responsible. But, he has a low tolerance for bullshit, as he demonstrates with a tenant, who clearly has issues with thinking of things beyond her orbit. Chandler disrespects her and the super gets wind of it and tells him to apologize. This Chandler won't do, reminding the super very matter-of-factly that he's got a very good deal with him as an employee, but no, he's not going to apologize. The super caves "Alright, I'll talk to her!" Lee goes back to work.

But, a phone call throws him off his duties. He gets a call to go back to his home-town, Manchester—his brother's in the hospital. He goes and quickly, but by the time he gets there, his brother Joe (Kyle Chandler) is already dead of heart failure. He talks to the nurse, he talks to the doctor, he talks to family friend, George (C. J. Wilson), who was there when Joe was stricken. Joe had a bad heart, everybody knew it and it just gave out. The doctor expresses his concerns and Lee just brushes it off with a harsh "Fuck this...."

Cut to eight years earlier. A simple cut. No warning, no fade. A single cut to the day Joe is told he has congestive heart failure and has maybe five to ten years to live. "It's a bad disease," says his doctor. "Is there a good disease?" asks Joe. "Poison ivy," she offers. "Athlete's foot," Lee adds. That's the breaking point for Joe's wife (Gretchen Mol), who is trying to deal and she walks out of the room. 

Back to the present, and Lee is escorted to the morgue to see his brother's body. He lingers, unable to speak, leans over his brother's body and kisses him on the cheek. He leaves.

Joe's son, Patrick (Lucas Hedges) is in hockey practice and is having a bad day, when Lee shows up to tell him. Despite facing disciplinary actions for his attitude on the ice, he is allowed to go home with his uncle. "So that's the Lee Chandler," says one of his classmates. "You know, that story is total bullshit..." says another.

Back home at Joe's house, Lee is trying to make arrangements, find a funeral home, and deal with the logistics of his brother's service and burial...and trying to keep an eye on Patrick. Patrick is a diffident teen, and Lee is having a difficult time trying to be a supportive uncle and being there for him like Joe would have. He's unsure and agrees to have Patrick's friends from school come over to help him deal, even...somewhat reluctantly letting Patrick's girlfriend Sylvia stay the night.

But, the two males have a difficult relationship, especially given the difficult times. It's when he drags Patrick along for a meeting with Joe's lawyer that Lee gets his biggest shock: Joe has arranged for Lee to be Patrick's guardian in the event of his death. This floors Lee—financially, Joe has everything set up for Lee to take over (Patrick gets everything and Joe has set up a stipend for Lee to handle things until Patrick turns 21), but it means that Lee will have to uproot what there is of his life and move back to Manchester—which he does not want, nor does he want the responsibility of being Patrick's guardian, all for reasons of his own. Lee has a past there, and his ex-wife (Michelle Williams, who has few scenes but don't be surprised if she wins the Oscar for them) lives there and...well, he just does not want to move back.

This sets up a conflict between uncle and nephew that becomes contentious. Both of them have trouble communicating, anyway—Lee has few words, if any, and Patrick can't help but retort to anything other than derision and sarcasm. Patrick is without a parent, and is old enough that he wants to have a say in his own life, and Lee would just as soon give that to him, but he is legally and responsibly bound to take care of his nephew, who he loves...but....

I hate to cop out at this point, but to say any more will spoil some big reveals that Lonergan inserts at opportune times to show the reasons Lee does what he does, and why. Affleck plays his scenes with an internal intensity that may be off-putting for most audiences, but he's a man in pain and deeply grieving and infects his entire being right down to his soul. He's a man who doesn't trust himself, and doesn't trust the responsibility of taking care of his nephew. He's responsible and it scares him to death.

"Feel-good movie of the year?" Not in the least. But, I deeply loved Manchester by the Sea, which, like Lonergan's You Can Count on Me, feels less like a movie than life, which is messy and you have to pick your way through it, with no easy answers. It's not for everybody. But it certainly is for me.