Intelligent, timely, and heavy-handed

Rating: 7/10 (5 November 2005)

To create a showdown drama, the movie keeps a laser-sharp focus on the public media duel between Murrow and McCarthy. Nearly all the scenes take place in the CBS building or the nearby bar where the CBS journalists hang out. There's no dealing with Murrow's or McCarthy's backgrounds or personal lives. There's just one related minor sub-plot about the "Red Scare." Focusing so tightly on a short period in time and very few places served to heighten the risks that Murrow and his support team took, and the courage they mustered to face them. The black-and-white cinematography was a good choice, both for period authenticity and reinforcing the starkness of the showdown. These elements, combined with Murrow's spartan personal manner, created a tension and claustrophobia that riveted me.
As Murrow, Strathairn is terrific. According to what I've read about those knew Murrow, Strathairn captured Murrow's reserve, intensity, body language, and quiet anxiety exactly. When contrasted against McCarthy's flamboyance, blustering, and even charm, Murrow comes off like a sleek, deadly, truth-seeking missile. It was a bold stroke to have Mcarthy represent himself by showing him only in clips from archival news footage. There's no chance that anyone can criticize an actor, director, or producer for misrepresenting McCarthy, when scene after scene, the senator himself behaved like the Grand Inquisitor. Of course, one can make the charge that selective playing of the archival news footage demonstrates an obvious bias. But at least the filmmakers are upfront about it: When CBS CEO Bill Paley questions whether Murrow is presenting both sides of the McCarthy story, Murrow declares, ''I've searched my conscience, and I cannot accept that there are two equivalent sides to every story." Murrow's dedication to the facts of the case and his declaration that not all sides of a story should carry equal weight are a clear slap at the "fair and balanced" approach to network news reporting today.
If this rebuke had remained largely implied, this would have been a thoughtful film that respected its audience's ability to draw its own conclusions. But the filmmakers clobbered the audience with their criticism of American news reporting and television usage in general. By bookending the movie with Murrow's retirement speech to his co-workers, the movie drove these points into the ground. Apparently, this heavy-handedness was intentional from the genesis of the movie. The film was produced by Participant Productions, a venture of Jeff Skoll, an Ebay founder. Each Participant picture tries to extend its themes through accompanying "social-action campaigns.'' Said Participant's president, Ricky Strauss, "It's a key part of our business to use the social-sector organizations. Jeff created the company with the idea that media can create social change, and we need to give audiences a chance to do that.'' Crossing the line between drama and advocacy significantly weakens the film dramatically.
In addition, the movie is so tightly focused that the missing historical context lessens the film's credibility. More back-story on the communist fears of the McCarthy era and Murrow's career would have reduced the propagandistic subtext. Also, the sub-plot about the married co-workers who have to keep their marriage a secret seems out of place. If there was a connection to the main story, I missed it.
There are many lessons one can draw from Good Night and Good Luck: Character assassination is wrong, and that we need, and need to support journalists who would speak truth to power, to name two. Myself, I came out of the movie remembering two famous sayings:
 "Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it."  George Santayana
 "Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel."  Samuel Johnson