We will not walk in fear one of another.

Rating: 8/10 (6 May 2016)

Good Night, and Good Luck starts with a framed narrative in the form of an acceptance speech from Murrow years on, for an award for his services in media. Why place this speech here and at the close of the film, bookending his most infamous moments in the spotlight? We have seen so many of these docu-dramas jump straight into the narrative and throw you into the time capsule world. But here we have a few effects. The first is the immediate moral judgement of the actions of Murrow - we expect, after the rousing call to arms to the people of the media world, so influential and affecting, a hero's story, something that has become mythologised and therefore worthy of being commended. Oddly, within his layer of the film there is the de-mythologising of Murrow too; contrasting the gushing introduction from Mickelson is Murrow's silhouette, swallowing nervously, and the paper he holds in his hand, shaking slightly. The outward shield is of course the copious puffs of cigarette smoke. So we have alternating personas that becomes a recurring theme that is played with even within the bookends of the film - the Murrow everyone saw in his condemnations, and the Murrow off-mic (but not off-camera). The hero becomes humanised. Another effect that becomes more obvious at the film's close is the never-ending cycling of popular media opinion that shifts and morphs to suit its audience and hit those rating. Murrow as a controversial figure during his time on the air, demonised by certain attacks, now being rewarded with an esteemed honour, perfectly demonstrating the hypocrisy and unending ability to switch stances at the drop of a hat of the mass media.
Clooney has utilised the usual technique in inserting real footage of the events within his narrative. This makes by far the most sense of all the examples of this usage I have seen yet. It fits the theme like a glove; most were not there to witness in person the attacks of Joseph McCarthy himself, or the interrogation of the timid Annie Lee Moss, but we endlessly pored over television screens and radio broadcasts that covered the events. The act of scrutiny, of thousands of screens and ears tuning in, each with their own perspective, becomes thoroughly integrated into the film. We can almost hear the collective rise as Welch utters his iconic condemnation, or the hushed, held breaths whenever Murrow takes the stage. Strathairn himself is electric. He has completely submersed himself into Murrow, taking on the cold, steely gaze, mind constantly churning and cigarette endlessly dragging. In his addresses to the public he radiates pure and unadulterated fury that justice might not be served in the courts of America - it is as strong a belief as we can see on our screens. If there is a flaw (though it is not a glaring one) it is that the direction of the attack is perhaps a little on- the-nose. Clooney's political stances have never been hidden away. At one point Strathairn looks right down the camera as if he was addressing not just the fictional audience but the viewer themselves - the furious gaze almost daring us to not see McCarthy for what he really is. But then again, isn't a topic like this meant to elicit such a reaction? Perhaps Clooney is not just pointing at the McCarthyism of the 50s, but events a little more recent.