David Strathairn pulls off a dramatically consistent performance in Good Night and Good Luck, a masterpiece from writer, director and actor George Clooney. Co-written by Grant Heslov, the film covers the news battle between Edward R. Murrow (Strathairn) and Senator Joseph McCarthy.

Presented in black and white, the picture takes place during the 1950s, a time when the communist witch-hunts were in full swing and ordinary citizens were afraid of losing their jobs. To carry the label of “communist” meant that you were a sympathiser with foreign forces outside of the United States, specifically the Russians. Working with a team of journalists, Murrow and producer Fred Friendly (George Clooney) brought the story of Milo Radulovich into the public eye. This Lieutenant in the Air Force Reserves was branded by his superiors as “a security risk.” Murrow, a journalist of some repute, immediately recognised the connection between the case of Radulovich and the tactics employed by Junior Senator from Wisconsin Joseph McCarthy. On his See It Now news programme, Murrow exposes McCarthy's methods.

The biggest triumph of the film revolves around the portrayal of Murrow, a reporter who believed in television and its power to educate and inform. In a way, Good Night and Good Luck is about the downfall of McCarthyism but it is also the story of how television lost its way following Murrow’s departure from CBS. The great reporter's RTNDA (Radio and Television News Directors Association) speech which book-ends the film is wonderfully ironic and moving. On a different note, though, it must be said that the casting of Murrow was critical to the success of the film. Fortunately, David Strathairn masters every aspect of the journalist's behaviour. The way he holds his cigarette, tilts his head or shakes off the nerves before a broadcast – in every way imaginable, Strathairn proves himself to be an inspired choice for the role.     

Another standout contribution comes from editor Stephen Mirrione (Traffic). In particular, his use of long takes and excellent montages makes for quite a spectacle. Equally impressive is the work done by cinematographer Robert Elswit. A veteran of some fifty films, Elswit emerges as the breakout, technical star here. He shot the film in colour and then changed each shot into shades of black and white. Through subtle manipulation of light and tone, Elswit successfully conveys the emotional state of Murrow, whether he is moody, sad, optimistic or tense. Unafraid of using darkness as a key tool for artistic expression, he reinvents the philosophy behind proper film exposure. The result is a groundbreaking visual language with emphasis on the happy accident.

Overall, the camerawork feels as comprehensive and immediate as Murrow’s speeches. The opening sequence bears a wonderful, untouched quality almost as if the lighting was found that way. It is this attention to what already works and keeping it simple that distinguishes Good Night and Good Luck from every other political or media related picture, including All the President’s Men (1976) and Network (1976).

(Released by Warner Independent Pictures and rated "PG" for mild swearing and a reference to suicide.)