Documentary Style Enhances Good Night and Good Luck

After attending the screening with me for George Clooney's new film Good Night and Good Luck, my mother-in-law asked "do you consider that a documentary?"

At first I was taken aback. Although the film is about the conflict between real life historical figures, journalist extraordinaire Edward R. Murrow, and Senator Joseph McCarthy, clearly these roles are played by actors and a dramatic script was written, so no, it is not a documentary. And yet her question brought to light some interesting qualities of Clooney's film.

Most obviously, Clooney, who directed and co-wrote the film, has chosen to tell this film in a style which mimics the direct cinema techniques many documentaries utilized in the late 1950s and 1960s. The camera is often hand-held, following the action, quickly panning this way and that, shot in black and white, and appearing to capture reality as it happens. So blurry is the line between fiction and nonfiction, in fact, that Sen. McCarthy is actually played by himself, via digitally restored clips of him.

Beyond this, it also has a dramatic structure that is similar to a documentary's. Tacked on love stories and contrivances about the key men's personal lives are not a part of this Hollywood film, thankfully. (Although there is a totally superfluous romantic subplot involving reporter Joe Wershba, played by Robert Downey, Jr.) We don't get our drama from deep character development. Our empathy builds, but in a more organic, less obvious way, by paying attention to the actual, real drama of the situation and by believing in the impeccable performances Clooney captured here.

The film begins with Murrow (David Strathairn) reflecting on broadcast journalism in a 1958 ceremony honoring his achievements. This part is beautifully shot, with a subtle sound design that feels nostalgic and joyful. But we are quickly transported back in time to the height of the Red Scare in America, circa 1953. Sen. McCarthy is holding hearings in the Senate, blindly charging people with "un-American" activities and Communist affiliations.

We see Murrow and his colleagues, producer Fred Friendly (Clooney), Sig Mickelson (Jeff Daniels), and others at work in a smoke-filled newsroom, with a live jazz band led by Diane Reeves softly playing in the background. All reminds us of the Golden Age of live television, but the nostalgia disappears as the pace is picked up and the characters express anxiety over what is going on.

Those of us who have strong feelings about McCarthyism and civil liberties issues start out already empathizing with Murrow, fully aware of his significance in the history of media, as well as in the history of this country. Adopting this direct cinema approach makes the film colder, more removed from the characters' inner conflicts.

Everything about its construction adds to this - the cinematography, the quiet jazz score, the excellent restrained performances, and the actual script itself. The self-conscious camera angles and frames, the cool black and white palette, the quick pace give us a sense of reality unfolding before us, with all the true drama and conflict of that time period.

In the end, Murrow asks his colleagues to look at the possibilities the medium of television offers and to put aside its commercial value in favor of the public interest. Or, he asks "is (television) merely wires and lights in a box." It seems his worst fear may have come true.