Reasons Good Night, and Good Luck Is Better Than All Other Biopics in Recent Memory
Clooney, 2005
[Good Night, and Good Luck is a Cloonz-directed film that depicts Edward R. Murrow's determination to do his part as a TV journalist in the early 1950s to expose McCarthyism as a bad bad thing. It also throws several jabs in the direction of TV/radio entertainment as a whole, accusing it of pandering too much to the thrillseekers and escapists and not enlightening the masses as it could. Even though the masses wouldn't watch it if it weren't pandering to them. So, you know, not gonna happen. I digress, here we go.]
Reasons Good Night, and Good Luck is better than all other biopics in recent memory:
1. Edward Murrow’s Southern/troubled/blind/impoverished/abused childhood was not depicted.
2. The film does not require Murrow to overcome his guilt at being an innocent cause of his brother’s death. Did he even have a brother? Irrelevant!
3. In fact, we know nothing at all about his childhood. He could have been born in Oz to two grizzly bears and forced to do the laundry for the munchkins for all we know. Therefore, nothing about Murrow is neatly “explained” by something that happened in his past. This is dangerous, maybe, because obviously the people we’ve become are directly influenced by the events in our pasts. However, Clooney directs our focus to this man as he relates to this one segment of history, and that’s easier to digest while at the same time avoiding running the risk of telling us the exact same story with the exact same spin.
4. Murrow doesn’t have some unusual aspect about his physical or behavioral demeanor that requires some miraculous likeness to be achieved by an actor. Ever feel like we tend to confuse “good actor” with “good movie”? Don’t get me wrong, kudos should be awarded where kudos are deserved (so uh, kudos, Hoffman, Foxx,
5. Nobody’s got a drug problem. They do seem to only be able to get oxygen through their lungs by sucking on cigarettes though.
6. Maybe because there’s no drug problem, the story doesn’t take any sort of Behind the Music turn. That is, there’s no Def Leppard-esque one-armed-drummer downfall that they have to fight back from, closing the film with a triumphant reunion tour at Folsom Prison featuring Quincy Jones and the governor of
7. Maybe also because of #5 and #6, Clooney didn’t bow to the temptation to put some sweeping epilogue on the screen before the credits about how Murrow was the best journalist in the history of journalism, or how he singlehandedly brought down the forces of McCarthyism, or how he went on to win more awards than anybody in history. Not every famous person whose “life” is captured on film can be the absolute famousest and bestest, unless you believe the epilogues. In Good Night, and Good Luck, we’re allowed to draw our own conclusions about Murrow’s influence, and we don’t labor under the delusion that every single American man, woman, and child in the 50s was glued to his television show every week and discussing his accusations at the water cooler* the next morning. The events just sort of happen, and we can see how they help steer certain courses in our collective history; there’s no cheesy montage chronicling his out-of-control ascent to fame and fortune**.
And I’m not saying that the other movies aren’t well-done, it’s just embarrassing how predictable they are. And the more they’re alike, the less credible they are, and the less I believe that their celebrity subject is worth my awe. It’s not that surprising that Good Night, and Good Luck stood out so prominently from its peers. George Clooney usually turns whatever he touches straight into blisteringly hot, molten gold. However, this one was really and truly stunning, and you should get into it. Unless, of course, you just recently quit smoking. Sheesh.
*Did they have water coolers in the 50s? Milk coolers maybe. Malt coolers?
**As you can see, Ray really did a number on me.
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