I could talk about all the good things about Good Night & Good Luck, a film which an acquaintance thought was completely worthless because it told her nothing new. And true, it is preaching to the converted, and there are few (certainly almost none) in the UK who would back Senator McCarthy HUAC trials. Worthless? Maybe even Peter Bradshaw had an uncharacteristic fit of being almost spot on with his suggestion it was just a BBC4 drama-doc with a bit more money spunked on it.
But none of this I care about. Not even the nice smoky atmosphere that Clooney creates tickles me as much as the fundamental reason for the films success in my eyes. It is a pretty small story, set in offices. It is a footnote in history and the film is aware of it. There is no slow motion self-congratulation, there is no attempt to make these people into larger than life heroes. Instead the film comes in, tells its story at a clip, and then finishes. 93 minutes is all you need to tell this story, and without talking down to your audience at the same time. The film perhaps should be called Good Night and Fuck Off, because that is what the film does. And for that I salute it.
(My mother recently moaned at me when I criticised a film for being too long. “You say that about all films” she said. But am I wrong?)